How Much Do Weaves Shoes Cost

ROAD TO THE SUN

That day, in the light of meridian Kreta you thinking if the sea was before, or if it was left, or if model was quite right - but never behind us. Yes, my girlfriend, Those Were the Days ...

18 Wheeler Truck Made Of Wood

Templars


Andre BESSA: The Templars (2007)
mixed media on canvas, 135 x 100 cm (Private Collection)

The Teams Playing Strips

II


Andre BESSA: Insomnia II (2009)
mixed media on canvas, 80 x 89 cm (Private Collection)

Lutheran Wedding Program Template

INSOMNIA INSOMNIA I


BESSA Andre: I Insomnia (2009)
mixed on canvas, 110 x 86 cm (Private Collection)

Womens Private Selfloving Sessions Gratis

Nurturing a story idea

Ah! Write, what a curse! I mulitiple tests, chapter, two, sometimes longer lie on paper and there are losers. Lack of time especially, perseverance (also) humor (sometimes). I console myself by saying that it allows me to nourish the story I have in mind (provided that there rest).

The draft and test first chapter published recently (relatively) I always try, still waiting for a transcript of my paper notes (the issue in these cases is mainly to know whether the work is worth the candle, candle very useful when you have to look painfully on the piece of paper filled with writing and jolting fever (caused by transport and not the madness that is watching me)) even if I write another since the first chapter ( third test of a story that haunted me for almost 2 years), the idea comes gradually to link these stories (not just to pretend that I have three now Chapters saw that I will probably rewrite everything) because he must admit I have another missing is that of not knowing where I go (except for a vague idea of what I want to tell but obviously if the origin and purpose, distant, are leading the way it has not germinated). I operate on instinct, mood (mine of course but also that of the characters, a whimsical wish requiring control, punish, isolate, and the other lost trying to follow and learn. It I need to find spaces where his characters can flourish and that's not all because now I have more claim to want to do it all pleasant reading (where the bottom hurts me tell you) and I can not help but for now not to be satisfied with the results, it therefore makes perfect but my attendance is so it will be a long process. I hope to resume by the end of the year to fix and I finally see it grow a project that tickles me for far too long.

Pulsating Upper Foot Pain

Path - Chapter 1 A draft

I start from a totally different side of what I did before (probably due to my weariness towards fantasy) I look over something in the idea (without judging the quality of what I) Voltaire's Candide with the inspiration and ideas coming. Although the basic idea came to me while listening to the new memory of Dominic A.

She had brown hair, pulling the red, tiny waist. He had wanted her as he had just entered the room. His member was stretched against his heels. His entire being seems to stretch toward her, trying to reach faster. He closed the door and waited at the entrance. He needed to touch it, it was so long. She clenched her shoulders when she heard, she knew it was him. She had always had the gift to feel it, read it as if it were transparent to it. It had thrown in the beginning, he who was so smart, so secret.

He opened his mouth to whisper his name, his hand rose slowly, anticipating the stroke he gave him in a dream already. But she turned suddenly, breaking the daydream, bringing it to the sad reality.
"Go-ho, I do not want to see you Roman, you do not understand?" She threw herself upon him, her eyes red from crying. Since she knows I'm coming thought he bitterly. Formerly, it would have taken her in his arms, the left would hit its small delicate hands, he would have jailed her waist, her hands had fondled her mouth would have sought her lips to silence his weak words of protest. Maybe he would have slid his hand between her legs, or would he thrown on the bed where she would have fallen into submission. All this would change his not so offended by begging.
It would have taken and would have wept for joy this time. Past. But not today. His letter had frozen the heart and even if he loved her and wished he could always much more to impose. He could not force her to love him if she said to love another. Even though he knew she still loved him. But why?

A husband that is wrong, we know it, you love it dearly, there is attached but it has lost the power of novelty, claiming it was a different matter, regardless of its origin status (he hated it already), he had power, enough to seduce, lie and dazzle.
another lover than himself, more present, closer, more real so that took away their uniqueness to him, his place as king in her eyes, and especially in his heart. He would have struggled as do the roosters and dogs but it was too dignified for that, even for her. He would not be different from the one she had loved. She told him she still loved him and he did not understand. She loved yes but by default without having a say. She loved as one loves a painting and not what it depicts, much less the artist. He loved her despair because despite everything he had in life, he did it and somebody had made, not worse, she had given. First come, a very intelligent, very charming, a good man probably if we had confidence in the verdict but another man anyway. He had suffered for some time locked up, decided to live without it, to live despite it.
But he could not really, so he had come to see.
And now here he finally understood that she was in pain, or that it had hurt, it was another way to live it. It saddened him and he winced. His hand instinctively on his belly and then he felt the tears flow without having had time to remember, but despite all his desires to implore her, to keep from getting angry and taking it there he did nothing. He forced a smile and said "I understand, it's probably better that way." It faded slowly, looking to separate their image in the mirror instead of probing eyes, she was like him, blue gray, afraid to see a glimmer of hope, desire. The door closed again without kiss that mouth perfect. The door closes and oblivion took the step. The complete oblivion.

I blinked, slowly at first, the space seemed to grow around me, the air is cool, light invade my vision, blinding me as does the sun when it violates a chamber patient by opening the curtains. I wore a protective hand to my face, I tried to say the least. My arm hung limply stayed by my side, inert, while the right regained sensation in my body. Pain and ants were spreading through me, I winced. Stiff, I took the time to look around. An unfathomable forest, fresh, almost cold, inextricable, tangled, the sun piercing not the foliage. I felt like I feel humus far because while she was breathing decay, decadence.

I coughed, without knowing why, the sun, the freshness, the body resumed his duties an instinctive reaction and protest.

Slowly my eyes veered to his right, running on the plain between me and the forest, I on my stump, the plain was reared in the sun and stretching into the distance, rising in gentle hill where digging a path brown earth. There, the road, there was fate, because I felt the top of the hill drew an innocent cross-timbered inn reassuring human like the smoke that seemed barely perceptible outside the thin chimney.
"You have finally returned to the living world?" I jumped on the spot, tried to look back in vain, his legs still asleep and I do not obeyed me m'affalai softly on its side in the grass like a puppet, which had played a trick which we ' was bored.
I do not remember anything, except the dream, the memory of this love that I already burned the entrails for a woman I did not even know the name. Which I knew nothing except the hair, mouth, eyes, a body that I can almost feel my fingers. But the worst is I knew even less about myself. Panic seized me by the throat. My memory had been erased completely, which made the scene one minding the mind even more haunting, more real and capital. My heart beat faster, I still tried to get up at me wagging gently in the grass. The man, for he was one who had shouted slowly approached, looking at me, curious, head slightly bowed, wondering what freak he probably alpagué there. Her curly gray hair and a battle seemed appropriate age. It seemed, however, carry a attention to his goatee that delineated lips pouting. He was kind enough not to laugh and handed me a helping hand.

Weakly I rose, still wobbly on my legs sore. "Sorry to keep you scared, you are still since yesterday evening at least. A real curiosity about the region. "My throat
was too dry to speak, I merely respond with a thin smile on my lips cracked. Croacia J'émis a kind of comic. The old man smiled: "You must be hungry, come with me to the inn, you will perk up. I smiled again, relieved to find a humane environment, food and especially water. God I thirst. But as I approached
and I was anxious, frightened. It Would there people there. Perhaps even people who knew me or hurt me. Because we had made me one way or another I was sure. You can not get a sudden loss of memory apathetic while walking in a field. I did not know what I had done but I did not want to meet with officials. I slowed down, I tried to keep up with my jovial companion, who already salivating at the thought a good meal. Finally, I stopped completely. I had nowhere to go, apart from the strain where it all began. "It is as if I were born today, already an adult."
The old man looked at me quietly while I tried to explain, the words were hard to come out and as I had not much to tell I do not hide anything. I had returned to walking and talking to her. I understood, I think, that I wanted, not needed to see her. And so it
before a generously filled with meat broth that I finished explaining how little I knew about myself. I talked about it already so that the old man, Tuvan Master, had understood that I was hopelessly in love.
- That is very strange, because you say, I think it has, forgive me, the same eyes that you, deep blue. Outside your eyes are a common brown. No offense of course. Here we are trying to unravel a mystery and that already excites me. Are you sure you not to cling to a dream?.
I felt my face as if instinctively I could well see the color of my eyes. A feeling of anger came over me. Who was he to so doubt my love? I clenched my jaw and fists, ready to get up and go again but I did not know where to go and it must be admitted fear of the unknown was very strong because everything had known. I finally admit grudgingly that I did not know that only my feelings, needs, and lack the warmth I felt in his mind convinced me of the veracity of my only souvenir.
He nodded "Because it's our single track on your past so we will follow." I protested weakly both reassured and worried that he wants to accompany me. He said he could not miss the opportunity to help study and one so strange as me.

I remembered having had a glimpse of my reflection in her own room, briefly during our separation in the mirror in feet that seemed to mock. My eyes were blue, my delicate features, her nose a little long, dark brown hair falling over his forehead. So I asked our host if it does not have a mirror, this utensil expensive and frivolous and fortunately was the case for its more luxurious room she directed us not to tarnish under any circumstances.
My shock was hard because I just was not myself. Where I remembered my face was elongated, thin, my blue gray eyes, my eyes and tortured severely, my mouth smiling. I had a look here simpleton, traits rather round, small nose and brown eyes, his face drawn with fatigue. My first instinct was of course to say "Not me" after all this was perhaps not that my memory had been erased but that my body had changed.
To which Master Tuvan replied: "Oh I protest you are you, the question is whether your memories are real and if so, whether they belong to you because a body is a body, it is not out of the blue Mr. hand, it must mature in the next stages of life, the spirit is quite another. This body is yours and you had all your life, you have lost your identity. "
I was slumped on the edge of the bed which adorned the room (with a mattress! But I did cure) more richly decorated than the others. Probably for travelers to the very full purse, much more than mine. I am surprised to have one.
"I'd say you're looking for a merchant or a craftsman but not a noble one. Outside the field that you have described is clearly above your lifestyle and mine also. It is not impossible that a nobleman falls in love with a poor guy but not so want to make her life with him, let alone the power off is what you seemed to expect. I'm afraid this is just not your memories. As yours have been supplanted by this ersatz life of another, intentionally or not. Personally, I think you have been used, you were either stolen your memories and that these are traces of tampering or we wanted to get rid of incriminating memories for one reason or another. " I protested weakly
"But ... I love her."
"O, that I doubt not, normally I will try to advise you to forget in the arms of another but in this case it would be cruel because it would do nothing of your past. Moreover, I am afraid that it would not work you are so attached to this memory that could kill you forget it. Love here is something so reassuring for you, you've captured the only thing you could and now it is too late. Once the poison is in the body one can only survive and not out. "
- I do not want the checks out, this is not a poison! I replied, stubborn.
"O it is quite a well, the lack of will slowly eat away inside you, a gaping hole you dwell day and night without ever leaving you. The sweet thoughts about it can make anything else insipid, unworthy of interest. In short you are bewitched by someone who probably did not even ask who does not know you.
I muttered a weak "I do not know" What did I know in fact of life that I had forgotten everything?
"Nobody knows" he replied compassionate "That's what makes you so interesting, you have so little certainty, pre-made opinions. I'm sure that despite my scholarship I could learn a lot from you. A man on whom habits and customs have not been made, it is unexpected. "
I shrugged without really knowing what to say. We talked a little but I was tired from all his emotions which had invaded and disrupted today.
So we hired a room and I quickly slumped myself into a deep sleep. In my dream, she walked away constantly and master Tuvan kept telling me pulling my sleeve "This is a dream, it's just a dream." I wanted to call him by name but I do not know. I wanted to say "That's me!" but she did not know me. I could not even tell him who I was myself. And that laugh Tuvan master, he laughed and laughed and I heard her laugh even when I opened my eyes sweat. I was aching and I felt to be even more tired than yesterday. We left late in the day, the sun was high in the sky. This does not seem to worry that my boyfriend he told me, used to travel the world, walking long and sleep on the floor. I told him were so grateful for letting me sleep. When I asked him where we were going he replied. "Far from here, you do not focus."

20 Questions Genie Game

I am still far from final, it is actually the fourth time I do a variation on this theme and then eventually I will have at least a first chapter. So one of these variations (Or early).

She had brown hair, pulling the red, tiny waist. He had wanted her as he had just come into the room. His member was stretched. His entire being seems to stretch, seek to achieve faster. He closed the door and waited. He needed to touch it, it was so long. She clenched her shoulders when she heard, she knew it was him. She had always had the gift to feel it, read it as if it was transparent. It had thrown in the beginning, he who was so smart, so secret.

He opened his mouth to whisper his name, his hand rose slowly, anticipating the stroke he gave him in a dream already. But she turned suddenly, breaking the daydream, bringing it to the sad reality.
"Go-ho, I do not want to see you Roman, you do not understand?" She threw herself upon him, her eyes red from crying. Since she knows I'm coming thought he bitterly. Formerly, it would have taken her in his arms, the left would hit its small delicate hands, he would have jailed her waist, her hands have caressed her mouth would have sought her lips to silence his weak words of protest . Maybe he would have slid his hand between her legs, or would he thrown on the bed where she would have fallen into submission. All this would change his "no" offended by "yes" begging.
It would have taken and would have wept for joy this time. Past. But not today. His letter had frozen the heart and even if he loved her and wished he could always much more to impose. He could not force her to love him if she said to love another. Even though he knew she still loved him. But why?

A husband that is wrong, we know it, you love dearly, it is attached but it has lost the power of novelty, claiming it was a different matter, regardless of status, its origin (he hated it already), he had power, enough to seduce, lie and dazzle.
another lover than himself, more present, closer, more real so that took away their uniqueness to him, his place as king in her eyes, and especially in his heart. He would have struggled as do the roosters and dogs but it was too dignified for that, even for her. He would not be different from the one she had loved. She told him she still loved him and he did not understand. She loved him so but by default without having a say. She loved as one loves a painting and not what it depicts, much less the artist.

him he loved him from despair because despite everything he had in life, he did it and somebody had made, not worse, she had given. First come, a very intelligent, very charming, a good man probably if we had confidence in the verdict but another man anyway. He had suffered for some time locked up, decided to live without it, to live despite it.
But he could not really, so he had come to see.

And now here he finally understood it was wrong, or that it had hurt, it was another way to live it. It saddened him and he winced. His hand on instinctively to his stomach and then he felt the tears flow without having had time to remember, but despite all his desires to implore her, to keep from getting angry and taking it there he did nothing. He forced a smile and said "I understand, it's probably better that way." It faded slowly, looking to separate their image in the mirror instead of probing eyes, she was like him, blue gray, afraid to see a glimmer of hope, desire. The door closed again without kiss that mouth perfect. The door closes and oblivion took the step. The complete oblivion.

I blinked, slowly at first, seemed to expand the space around me, the air is cool, light invade my vision, blinding me as does the sun when it violates a sick room by opening the curtains. I wore a protective hand to my face, I tried to say the least. My arm hung limply stayed by my side, inert, while the right regained sensation in my body. Pain and ants were spreading through me, I winced. Stiff, I took the time to look around. Insoudable a forest, cool, almost cold, inextricable, tangled, the sun does not penetrate the canopy. I felt like I feel humus far because while she was breathing decay, the decadence.

I coughed, without knowing why, the sun, the freshness, the body resumed his duties an instinctive reaction and protest.

Slowly my eyes veered to his right, running on the plain between me and the forest, I on my stump, the plain was reared in the sun and stretching into the distance, rising in gentle hill where digging a path brown earth. There, the road, there was fate, because I felt the top of the hill drew an innocent cross-timbered inn reassuring, humans, like the smoke that seemed barely perceptible outside the thin chimney.
"You're finally back in the living world? "I jumped on the spot, tried to look back in vain, his legs still asleep and I do not obeyed me m'affallai softly on its side in the grass like a puppet which had played a bad and whose turn it was tired.
I could not remember anything, except the dream, the memory of this love that I already burned the entrails for a woman I did not even know the name. which I did not know nothing except the hair, mouth, eyes, a body that I came to feel almost under my fingers. But the worst is that I knew even less about myself. Panic seized me by the throat. My memory was completely erased.

Poems To Attach To Gift Basket

"Quodlibet" for Brass Quintet

To begin the year 2010 a good idea is to make the acquaintance of a series of miniatures for Brass Quintet united under the title "Quodlibet". There are five small rooms without major technical difficulties and character rather playful and slightly naughty and which have been written for two trumpets, a horn, a trombone and a tuba. The partition that contains the five songs can be downloaded free by clicking this link here.
Good luck and happy new year everyone!