Friday, January 22, 2010

Denise Milani Disappear

Alternative

Barcelona
The alternative guide born in January with the aim of uniting the world tdo therapies in Barcelona, \u200b\u200bhence its name, with great success and acceptance has a Facebook page and a group, but another trade group service between therapists, our next project is following the same line to a center of therapists so they can serve customers.
visit us and sign up for the Blue Pages.

Barcelona

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Lorna Morgan Sharing Her Goodies With Us

Variations on a Theme of love (4)

4. raise my pen, I write, for the first time, what I mean. I write what I say. I raise my pen and start a story that is not I wanted to tell you but how I write what I think or what I write. I start a story I want to tell you that I am about to say. My words always come later, about to sleep and waking.

dream that I am, at the same time here and there. Here, in front of the notebook, but there, in front of you, with the book between us. I write while I tell you that everything is your fault and you dream precedes or follows you, defying time. Challenge is also to space, because I am everywhere, I'm in the letters, and in the future in front of you with a history behind him, but I am here, looking furtively to the left to spy your face, your arm, your hand, that I write.

started with a dream, I'll tell you. A dream that almost completely forgot to wake up. A dream, write, returning suddenly to the violence of fate, the second or third time I saw you and you filled my horizon with the cruelty ambivalent beauty. A dream that I remember now as I write, because you're here next and I spy, I describe and remember you and find you dream to multiplicarte infinite but not enough. She started then started without my knowing, but also begins today and will begin in a few days when I get these lines, and hear my voice when tell you what I'm trying to write now, but I dare not. I would look at things from a perspective outside of time, beyond space, to know what will happen next, when your eyes leave behind the final point on these lines and pop out at me. I would be everywhere. Because I have the right to make pen and letters to the left are you and your hand, and your smile. In the middle I do not know to choose. I would be everywhere, at any time before then.

Before, when I first saw it and wore a white shirt. Now, when I spy on your hands and find them beautiful. I saw you and did not know who you were, I saw you outside, even outside my world of my lyrics and my dreams. Perhaps that is why so hard for me to remember, but also why I would like to be everywhere. You were a cute face in a sea of \u200b\u200bstares. Nothing more. You, first of all, before me, in a state of purity. I can not write, I get lost between times, places and circumstances. You look now at my side and I would like to find and recognize those differences that must exist between your purity and my interference. Then, the first time, I looked sideways and gave up, perhaps frightened by all the possibilities with the game now, handsome figure. Now look at you sideways as well and though I give, I hope. He wore a white shirt one afternoon and then disappeared for weeks. Or did not know see you for weeks. I quit because I can not tell.

But back, back different and it was not you, that of the white shirt and unbridgeable distance, were different, familiar, dear unknown. My eyes will not care that afternoon looked as if you always wait, anxious in your presence, like they know you and see you as necessary. I looked as if he had spent weeks waiting for someone who was not you, but miraculously coincided or was taken over your body and your eyes. As if by instinct, I knew that seeing you again, looking for a place next to you. And so, I found that site, I looked for a way to get your attention and talk to you. Just as the first touch, something beyond me, dragged my body, my thoughts, to you. Laughed and I was able to make you smile. I kept that first smile of yours without greed, as if it were the first, but another of many that I'd given her. Keep your smile as if he knew, as if it were me or has always been aimed at me from a time before time. Minutes passed, at first slowly and then hours, fast relentless hours, but then, without anxiety, I gave off little by little you, as a farewell to the home and all he wants, because he knows he will, I left without Sunset anguish will not return.

You went on crying. I went too. We said goodbye. Although we, then, we were not the same. So confused, confused now, I filled and fill something like the joy of seeing an old friend or looking for home away from guiding the steps, filled me with the feeling of finding the way I thought I lost. Something different, but why. And how to describe it. Why. You left. I saw you leave, I waved a farewell. Resigned, not indifference, my steps divide us, but I thought of you, in your strange mystery transmuted into familiarity, my resignation in something like a calling. I thought of you, in the mystery of thinking about you and feel close but you were a beautiful stranger. A few more steps, the impending sunset and perhaps a cold wind. Your face before my eyes, your laughter echoing in my memory. But it was a dream. Or maybe. Because the jump does not make sense and never did. You, with white shirt and a state of purity, renunciation. You are the same, another, more part of me that part of you.

I see myself walking in the evening, I look in a few days telling you that I walked in the evening thinking about you, telling you leered and insistently as he wrote it thinking of you walked in the evening. I look to write the word dream, I want to explain everything. I write what I will say that again like a dream, the sun suddenly brought all my body perfect and absurd explanation that is the cornerstone of all my words. Timed and simultaneous beginning of everything that goes on and heaven forbid, will continue. In the evening shook my body, I closed my eyes and smiled, still in my place, between one step and another, weighing on you and suddenly understood the source of the injury and blindness.

was a dream and forgot the dawn, a dream that was erased or hidden awaiting you, in your face, your voice and your smile as a sign of remembrance, as a rallying cry. Two or three nights before, I dreamed of you, in white shirt, other than you, dreamed you looked away in an environment similar to ours. I dreamed I smiled and extend your hand to me. I dreamed I was in disbelief and smiled as I approached too shaky, uncertain, take your hand. And with that logic we decided to sleep in a moment of doubt, discussions and fears. We decided to be happy. A driver was waiting for you with the luxury car but you still clinging to my hand, take me away and hide, you made me your accomplice turned when the driver and escaped him. In the dream I certainly cruel to ask him what ", but there was no room for your response. Or maybe what followed was a response. Embraced me tenderly and desperate, as if he guessed secret ambition to confess I did not know until I closed my arms and smiled in turn decided to yours, just like you to be happy. No matter, I thought, happiness expected. You kissed me. I woke up happy without knowing why, with no memory of that dream until you came days after a rescue or release from prison in the confines of my resignation. All this, suddenly, in less than a second between one step and another, as I think you and I see the sun go down. When you finish the day and darkness comes you will not be the same, you may not be the same as ever.

raise my pen and write, write soon, within a few days will tell you that I dreamed of you and that dream I was able to find a place with you and dared to seek by all means the magic formula that will allow me to repeat your smile as often as the world without enough support to fill never my ambition, my desire, my darling. I look then, later, in front of you, I confess that I now write the same story to tell you story before. We look in the future, face to face with these letters in the middle as a bridge or a chasm, and I can not imagine your face. Now, as I write, I look up to find your eyes and find them, but I still can not imagine your face tomorrow, in a few days, I guess your smile or your rejection when I say that I dreamed of you and I forgot. When I say I remembered my dream at dusk, between one step and another. Or that you forced me to invent a dream to waive the waiver. Your reaction when you say and know at last that since that evening, remembering my dream and so far, when I write and look for your eyes, every day and every moment between now and the other, find the constellation of Orion as a summary of the cosmos your skin, your right arm. And so you find combined in endless nights of my life when looking at the sky, stars and was looking for solitude. The future is closed to the imagination when I think about your reaction after finally tell you it takes weeks to write your name point to point whether such a beautiful word can with five letters, enclose the infinite contradictions of my dreams, illusion and your truth. Weeks

about to write your name, inventing the first touch, lift the pen with your smile immaterial to my eyes. A point of writing about the fear of this moment to be, fear of infinity it is not enough. A point is always a moment before. And I can not take the plunge until they know. I'm stuck, since that evening, between one step and another, frozen beyond the time, watching the ubiquitous fractals your story or my destination. Move will not know until you know, when you read this or hear a story, until you look at me with my eyes, lost in this labyrinth of time, dreams and fears, lost in a maze of fractals can get me any equation, a maze as you draw sometimes lost. But staring at the light and making my way and sentenced to the scaffold, from the abyss where you do not know or expect, where there was not as a shadow silhouette. In some ways I'm still there in the evening, marveling at your face, dividing the possibilities and expectations that arise and disappear when the feed. I can not move until you look down from my eyes to this labyrinth, where the distance light shines perhaps be thy name.

A point, but still. Unable to move even a micron to my universe fragmented into possible outcomes find a solution, escape or hope in your smile or your rejection. Do not write your name. I dare not. I'm about, but still. The end is near and the light makes me see clearly the distant scaffold is always waiting at the end of every labyrinth. Then write your name, when there is no doubt, fear or hope that that word of yours and mine, be happy or curse.



November 25, 2009