And yes, stretching and little by little care, lest that one go right now leave him hard, NKM is beginning to be reborn Deviant. Our idea is to go online again and complete the 2 numbers from there follow the # 3 and to infinity and beyond. The good thing about using a service like Deviant is that we know in advance that we will no longer be homeless:) So the thing now is for a while. Come and read / see, and wave a comment to let us know that friends were there. It's very nice to read something positive when you get ready and adrenaline together to continue to the next round. F.
[Twenty years ago I worked as a biographer of celebrities in a secret publishing project carried out by Time magazine, the house of Alba and the Communist Party membership base. The project fell through because of the boycott by the Catholic Church and Felipe González, two of my most powerful arch-enemies, and I was left with a fascinating biography of Adolf Hitler's half done. (Later a thing called Wikipedia plagiarist us the format, but that's another story.) Take the quality that this blog is garbage crusher to recover the work here and now, with the orgasmic pleasure of my readers and, above all, my readers. There he goes.]
* * *
Adolf Hitler was a type escapades of the thirties or so (the time hats) who earned jokes life in the casinos until one day, out of the blue, he was involved in politics because of some loafers and ended up becoming a fascist, that was the fashion then, as now to dance the chiki chiki slopes or hang on navo tip.
Hitler was in fact a poor misunderstood with modern ideas and very Chachi for his country, Germany, then frowned in European because of a war that was mounted at the beginning of the century with every reason in the world. So all he had to Hitler was a grudge, because he was handsome and glib, and it created conspiracy among the Europeans, we have already said they were a breeding ground for hatred and henvidia in the era hats .
Hitler was slightly conservative, and not frowned upon women who sets bold dress or to work outside the home, usually hated enough people and had some paranoia that made him a bad person, thus that way, sometimes as a result of the rage that he had the world for being so popular (Führer, in German, everyone knows that means "most popular"). In these hard times was dedicated to get angry banging on the tables and invading poor countries for fear of those who conspired against him in secret because they had no co-ho-ing to tell things to the face. Removing this, one might say it was a pretty liberal guy, easygoing and even enjoyable in the personal treatment of nuns told jokes and had success with women.
The State as Adolfo
Hitler, picnic
Social policy Social policy was essentially Hitler's Jewish settlement and end the strike, which gave great satisfaction to the German people then, he was delighted of life and could spend hours in bars drinking beer and taking snacks without worrying that they attacked an impure or fired from work, everything was so perfect that labor productivity only worked automatically, such as washing machines or the digestive system . In addition to Jews, Hitler also was taken with the gypsies, a people whom he considered regularly spent the day calling and playing the tambourine, that to Hitler, of course, did not like anything because he was a serious guy shooting circumspect not accepting frivolous like that in a modern society such as Germany, forced to be productive and functional. In this way, ended with a few thousands of Gypsies by pragmatism more than anything, and everything was fine because nobody complained.
Economic
Hitler's economic policy consisted mainly of Jews burning in the oven, because Hitler was kitchenettes and devised an entire system (the sea of \u200b\u200bcomplex) for cooking and turning Jews into soap, which saved considerable production costs of the toilet pan, but also eroding the national economy by the huge profits that Jews reported in the country thanks to its ancient tradition of usury, the lending and commerce, for which were fairly given, and that Hitler was not very clever, because usury was their rooms, and in this case was allowed to carry more of the heart than the head, according to historians say as reputable as the brothers César Vidal Gore and , which are all separate Siamese God life.
Foreign Policy of Hitler's foreign policy consisted mainly of Jewish settlement and make see a small set of countries that were more Germans arrogant than they thought, entering with tanks and army training in their territories to show it clearly, and it is already known that this world so stubborn the rod and spoil, and in that plan.
What
war is war, what war was more like a prank, what happens is that Europe took to the tremendous, because Europe has no sense of humor nor will ever. Invade Poland to Hitler, it was like for you to make you one of those photos you take at night hugging a waitress SECSI or other ornamental element night when you go to the girl; similarly, the excessive reaction of the fat countries of the Union for Germany assumed the same surprise that you take when your wife yells at you for letting criminals blame draw four pictures harmless Side parakeet.
Hamistades (allies)
Italy
De parranda
Italy at the time of the hats, was a fascist regime led by a man bald rock looking like he ate many spaghetti. Mr. Bald and Hitler were crumbs from the beginning, though at first he gave for taking the wrong side in the war initially confusing which quickly resolved when their claims of conquest in Africa required the help of the second to take a few brown from home.
Hitler and Paquito Paquito
to be fascists two did not get along very well. Not that big or that are dropped have incompatible policies. Simply, the relationship was cold, distant, something that showed the meeting held at Hendaye to the enthusiast cameras NO-DO, where neither had much to say and spent the entire time sipping coffee and making beats impatient fingers on the table. We know that Paquito attempted a approach to talking about football and swamps, but neither knew what Hitler was a swamp and was very keen on Real Madrid, so the thing was as it was and never call back. (And this without mentioning that Hitler considered Mrs. Paquito a tacky necklaces filled with misshapen ass and Jewish nose.)
Japan
Hitler believed the Aryan enough Japanese to be yellow as they were, and why they took a chance and allowed part of his party on the condition that did not take Trusts and called home later than nine to have gossip. By the way, did clamp against the Reds and bitched to the Chinese children in Manchuria, where Japanese pregnant women stabbed in the stomach so they could not have babies, and throwing cucumbers in neutral territories like the United States. A party, come on. Now in Japan and nobody thinks of Hitler.
Argentina Imperio Argentina was the main ally of Hitler, we know that holiday, I danced on the table with the foot in the air letting it yummy in her bare feet the toe, which he Scythians Mogollon and caused a great joy, also was the favorite folk of the Third Reich and that there were rumors of marriage between them. Hamor on this story was made into a film directed by a homeless horrible squint gray beard and starring by Javier Bardem's girlfriend, a Jorge Sanz chulapa who played with his usual ease and Santiago Segura on the classic role of ladybird.
Henemistades (those in the clip)
not bear success
Hitler had many enemies, like Indiana Jones or the Trio Calaveras (formed by communists, Yankees and British). The cause of these clashes seem incomprehensible, it has been said, is the obstinacy and henvidia (especially henvidia ) henemigos countries.
USSR Russians were about bastards who made the Hitler agreeing puñeta things behind him while buying bullets and taunted him with his tongue. This village was led by a man named Stalin egomaniac, who first invented the rumor (false ) that the distrust of Hitler with the Jews came from the legend who claimed that they had the biggest dick in proportion to the size your nose, which he self-conscious and angry Hitler an egg. Everything was a lie, as has been said, but the rumor stalled in Europe, which since then drew Hitler funny eyes and stopped taking him seriously with his ideas. The Russians, during the war, used the tactic of going backwards like crabs so that the Germans cogieran colds and die, this was a miserable and opportunistic tactics which is still remembered as one of the most glaring examples of foul play in the history of the battles.
Yankees Yankees were taking regular Hitler, did not understand his obsession with ethnic cleansing and territorial conflicts that caused, and I felt something cunning. Despite this, did not enter the war until some misguided and somewhat impertinent Japanese gave them by throwing cucumbers over its port. Consequently, the Yankees (who are as proud and evil-minded), I took everything to heart, leading to the personal, and decided to enter the war by becoming the heroes and the Democrats, ridiculous thing ever there. The decision to enter the war took a cripple called Roosevelt, who apparently was much loved among the people there, to the extent permitted to exceed the limit of two terms in office. In fact, the man was so loved that he even had reelected a thousand times, if not for his tullidez did not allow for more and eventually force him to retire early.
England England at the time of the hats, was led by a fat smoker named Churchill that was pretty geeky, and had a parrot, long-lived, which years later discovered Hitler swearing, surely learned during the delirium tremens of his foul-mouthed owner.
The trio calaveras
The Yalta Conference The Yalta conference was a pantomime that rode the enemies of Hitler to prove they were very cool, them, and they could do clip against his regime of terror (which nobody believed.) It was attended by Churchill, Roosevelt and Stalin, that is, Trio Calaveras, and during the time they were meeting was devoted primarily to tell jokes and mischief about Hitler, and make cruel imitations of him where he was caricatured as if it were a tonteque of those who sell stamps in the corners and speak slowly and with an eye to the Virula. Apart from this, smoked a few cigars and pretended to know how to play poker. As everyone knows, the Yalta conference was free theater served only to show off to the press and discredit an opponent infinitely more charismatic and beautiful than their dastardly characters. Discourse
a country, continent or planet in economic crisis with serious consequences, the idiocy of the masses is expressed with eloquence spree after finding a first-world solution to their problems without going too far above to the homeless, the mutineers of the lumpen proletariat and the hungry Third, in the end must always be the ones to pay the piper for the rich people of monocle, slippers, mustache greased and tails.
I think the crisis is not so bad, but mostly it's an easy solution. As America goes wild liberalism seeking urgent and decaffeinated socialism to turn the machine back and get greedy Chinese have time to write in my blog graph as a journalist a few reflections that would certainly end this nonsense that we are living in macroeconomic boredom, ignorance and, a little also, with the pockets in the throat in the blink of an eye. Some insane are using the crisis to an X-ray and determine critical system that capitalism is in decline and that we must change it (attention) for a renewed international communist cycle. They are crazy those who defend this atrocity nice, true, but it is intriguing that the content, which ideological / economic analysts and experts of all stripes is so brief as to force us to incur, over and over again, the same mistakes of the past.
just do not understand these geniuses that both capitalism and communism are two remnants economic / sociopolitical not just fix the world, and therefore should be changed. What I propose, therefore, is a classic plagiarized revolution, a revolution-call it "neo-romantic, where no room for violence or hatred or resentment. An elegant revolution, which says a sweet pear revolution. To implement this utopian world could be divided into two teams traditionally known as a powerful and subject: the powerful would be the rich, and their cousins \u200b\u200bthe rich in spirit, while the subject would be the poor and insensitive in general. How could it be otherwise, the revolution would begin as companies begin universal, or bottom-up, or fly style. Thus, if the poor were truly romantic (too bad they are not) it would carry out the following golden dream: that all the poor of the Earth were to agree to commit suicide the same day, same time. Once everyone had gone, we would see the rich have to hoe the fields, plowing, to earn their bread by the sweat of their brow, to scrub, in short, everything.
The benefits of the revolution I propose are strikingly obvious: Libraries international society of a few thousands of millions of people unhappy and balance of honesty of physical work and noble aspirations as a Sun relucirían Imperial. And without violence or hatred or resentment. Elegantly: as one who does not like things.
Manganimart is made by those who know for those who want to know, and is completely free and downloadable. Laburo see who takes the staff of Manganimart to select the most interesting issues, analyze the series of manga, anime, games and more., Thoroughly, and design a magazine that we could be seeing in the kiosks but they prefer to be free for you. A jewel, friends have done it again! F.
As you can see if you click on the url, www.nakoma.com.ar is offline. That's because we moving the comic to nakomanga.deviantart.com pass in a few days I hope to see our new home, where once we start to climb also Issue 3 of the series fresh. Meanwhile, we kept in touch by this blog and from the forum friend manganimart.net There are many developments to tell you, I hope you keep in touch! F.
I have a predilection for the pace, I will not deny. It's something that haunts me because of my powers of observation, and I must say that given the contemplative aspect that has taken my life in recent years, we could ensure that the comment has become a fundamental part of it. Because observation is the rhythm. The pace and score of life, art and its miseries and atrocities. Bum, bum, bum, do not know: rhythm.
But go chronologically. The first thing you always remember the little old ladies. The little old ladies, and their homes, much of the landscape represent cardinal of children when they still are but observers small laugh, cry, applaud or grumble as how you react emotionally to your gear everyday monstrosities that record thanks to their avidity for observation. The old ladies have a cadence extraterrestrial I loved everything about them, for better and for worse, from their sticky chew their way to traverse the corridors, similar to that of a skinny dinosaur. The pace of old ladies is a slow, delightful. For the inexperienced child, the young observer, a good time at her grandmother is synonymous with development lecture pleasure, while a hard time equivalent to a foretaste of hell, a kind of family hearth. Why?: Because the pace of the old ladies child into a parallel dimension where patience involves all the particulars of life as a spider web. Discovering the old ladies when you're a sucker is something like finding out the Japanese horror film when you're a pretentious film festival audience: from then on, you see everything from another perspective, developing a self insomniac boredom and resigned ability to find entertainment, magic or style in which life is understood as a deep slumber. The pace is, and its nuances.
We talked about old ladies, people. Let's talk about things. There are plenty of objects related to childhood, raised in a specific rhythm, over-the limits of pleasure during the fertile years of their education. This is the swing, whose swing was able to anticipate a spring enjoyment prohibitive devalued over time in this thing we call sexual adrenaline. You swinging form a knot in the stomach whose behavior within sense of pleasure in our bodies is difficult to explain. The children then we formed a knot in my stomach on the swing on the swing the same way as adults we are today as when we swing to the neighbor behind her husband. That adrenaline, identified with the more private enjoyment of our instincts, comes from the rhythm, and bizarre shapes also charged in the extreme sports-bungee jumping, skydiving, "reckless driving or strategic military orgasms in the war front. But is all rhythm, rhythm, rhythm. Bum, bum, bum. Or bum, bum. Or bum. Swing motor bullets. Ritmo! (I do not like exclamations. Infarction texts. But I have not been me who has been the pace. The rhythm takes me.) Adolescence. The truth is that I touched him. The teens were hosts at a better price, because there was a reward. The teenager was mature, learn to ride a bike based on noisy falls. Follábamos in adolescence. And watched. Do not forget that computer: observation. From there you could see everything, including sex. We voyeaures before dicks. Powders pretended enlarging the name of Onan, and what was more than what pace? The sum of two factors: rate and comment (raw, neighbors, mothers). Then came the practice. Alas, the practice. We started to fuck with the girls in our class, the few that did not start fucking with the guys from the upper classes. We had to break, it was very violent. There was no rhythm, just frustration. Then we picked up girlfriend, and that bride follábamos us a lot, whenever we could, at the expense of parents, neighbors and whispering. That you became a professor of energy, understand the rhythm. Teenage girls never tire to fuck. And that was fine because you do not get tired. Was to squeeze sex, find those shades of rhythm, amplificarte as a human being through an empirical vehicle toward personal exhaustion. Later, you fell off the bike. Experienced, lied, and reached the twenty, twenty-some years. Those were different. Did not follow your own pace, and fell asleep with the light on. You were good girls, you wanted them. But it was not thirty / forty. No. Sexually those pooled the best of each. Had the effect of adolescent girls and the experience of the twenties, which eventually turned out to be vague. The fragile marriage would come thirties What was needed? What were you looking at? Nothing more, nothing less than a change of pace. Sex after forty is better not to tell: they would like Godfather III : not that it is worse than previous releases, but it is worse than previous releases, but we need to solve it by saying it is different : sex after forty is the same: only a euphemism. (There's a shagging degeneration called 'sex with love. "Well, this is something else. There is a specific rate for sex with love, which is multiple and changing, and depends largely on the animal. In sex with love not affected by age, theoretically, until they no longer influence, because not all lovers can fuck forever as if they were in love. would be a pig! occasionally get out of the script, and that's when the ages involved. Sometimes, even, come to stay for good, happens when love has ceased to matter, or when no longer in love. When the fault is theirs.) Let to job. At the gigs everything is rhythm. Entiéndanlo: work in newsrooms. Staplers, rattles, computers, photocopiers. And the pages. How I love the sheets. Whether clean or rough, traditional or recycled. Only if one is able to detach while working can read between the lines as and adapt to the ecosystem, because adaptation is pick up the pace. This brings us to the next point: drugs. The drugs slow down or speed up the body and the mind and human deformities to achieve the purpose of socializing or work surprising tenacity. The drug makes the most dull dull, the Ready smarter and more gross gross. We are shifting gears, but not the engine. It is a false mezzoforte.
We talked about life, let's talk about art. The culture has historical significance to pro-rate precision. To break out of an artistic movement in panties must leave after a new style that amaze the respectable, and that there is nothing better than change, there is nothing better than pace. The ancients were deficient contemplative pace that they did not care for an egg, and as far carved their deities in theatrical gestures of descacharrada vibrance perhaps offered some misguided sense of movement but are far less a precedent to be account. The pace began to be the medieval art and its puppet-very clever, the medieval-and his devilish cartoon scenes of violence made. Movement, rhythm, art. The paintings, pictures and all that, beh!, Is art for the weak. Clowns, mimes, circus. That began to understand the human being the importance of silences, the hosts and changes of pace (the unicycle to the elephant), or what is, not to confuse speed with bacon in the most literal sense can be repellent applied to this phrase. We missed the theater. It has been a conscious oblivion. The theater is overacted literature, and literature handles pace through the style. There have been major stylists of rhythm, and even writers who happily reified the pace, if Jack Kerouac. Capote said of On The Road was only typing. But Let us place ourselves: who was Capote? A snake Errol Flynt applauded enthusiastically when he played the piano with his dick. From this we can extract that Capote was a frivolous imperturbable rhythm did not understand, only glory, mud and menthol cigarettes, busy as he was rummaging through his tormented hedonism seedy glamor. Ladybugs, beh! Not keeping pace: they fucked up the ass. Then came the film. The cinema is rhythm. Bum, bum, bum, action, cut, positive. Have you seen any movie by Howard Hawks, John Carpenter, Brian de Palma, Martin Scorsese? Have you seen any movie of Martin Scorsese?! That's rhythm. In music I do not go, because I can not imagine the music if not in a movie, whether real or fictional product of my imagination or that of another sick mind. I need to put pictures to what I hear, identify all with pieces of my life and shameful desires primary depraved character, and binding all in one sensory puzzle that will satisfy my instincts. Everything has to do, as you can see, with the rhythm. Because the pace is everything.
Still in doubt? Normal. The new generations are going to the floor raw dispense rate, are simplified in a dull prose, as if having a good ear was a concession to the father. They are deceived. Believe they already have their rhythm. They believe they will survive the editors, real or figurative, that are ahead. That will remain intact. But it's all a fat lie to be believed by the innocent or conceited; still do not know that, sooner or later they will spoil the style, rhythm, love and life, and they will be so deaf, dumb, blind and naked as at birth, with no one to protect or cure them failures, because they run more and more, times the hows cannot before, and they ignore it, I guess happy, guess living.
nudity as such should be an invention of priests, as everyone knows thanks to this macabre adventure book called the Bible that God brought us into the world devoid of clothing, which follows that the nudity was invented before the clothes and therefore you are naked without clothes in the same way that I would not be if the clothes did not exist, or is the beginning of time, so no nudity naked and vice versa, thus completing a vicious circle similar to that of yin and yang, good and evil and making us understand in a way that nudity sick painful originally was not such but that was the original nature of man and animals made us free, unprejudiced and very sexual, at least until the shit Eve eating forbidden apple tree snake and doomed to spend the rest of existence outside the Garden of Eden (which by then was more elitist than the stately home of Meir and Pasha together), where cold and yes it does need protection, ie, shelter, ie, clothing, and where you begin to create the first modesty giving walk to the Church to justify, years later, the ruggedness of Nudity with unanswerable arguments based primarily on the threats and terror, and symbiosis emotional priests, of whom we know are treacherous chilly addition, they felt the biblical origins and intricacies of the bedroom, that is, to indoctrinate humanity of divine punishment to the opposite sex is condemned by the rest of his days as punishment for his recklessness historic eating the wrong tree, going down to posterity as sex objects in the hands of generations of idiots eager to stamp his (allegorical) nudity in elegant posters hanging on the walls of his greasy workshop favorite mechanical parts while in the pulpit is denounced by the terrible priests, who of course like to dress with fun skirts reminiscence clearly feminine aesthetic (There must be some metaphysical roll escapes me), in a gesture of contradictory moral challenge should not be surprised to us, dresses, modest and ordinary mortals miserable, because as we said the priests are the first suspects to advertise the same legend about nudity prevents us today riding a ball down the street without getting the attention no civil authority bureaucrat with furrowed brow and the stick (yours) gracefully tapping the horny palm of your hand.
offline for a while that Opposites attract. Thanks
The license of DC Comics most satisfying to me in recent years was Batman. Batman Animated Sea, his subsequent films or the same The Batman, the issue is that they have exploited this character very well. Then to imagine a possible Japanese version of a comic emblem of American is another matter. Bruce Timm, is that Batman is a character well suited to Japanese animation since its dark character with the idea fits with the anime antihero. It was so wrong.
'Batman: Gotham Knight' is a series of six animated shorts that take place after 'Batman Begins' and before 'The Dark Knight' and were already published in Argentina on DVD. There is a two-disc American version that is not here. And yes, bam!
Led by writers such as Brian Azzarello, David Goyer and others, the six chapters of no more than 10 minutes are very entertaining, and at the end, is the feeling that went too fast and wanted more.
The segments were directed by: Yasuhiro Aoki - "In Darkness Dwells" Futoshi Higashide - "Crossfire" Toshiyuki Kubooka - "Working Through Pain" Hiroshi Morioka - "Field Test" Jong-Sik Nam - "Deadshot" Shoujirou Nishimi - "Have I Got a Story For You"
The truth is overrated. There is more to take a look to newspapers in the morning to realize that lots of news that would bring much better handled, in the case that correspond with the facts that are intended to inform or not, since the news of being manipulated would be also be improved because the newspapers in this country tend to do so in imitation of truth, a truth hypothetical, fictional, virtual, in order to convince their readers that is a proven fact, and we have said at the beginning of this article that the truth is overrated and therefore not worth fighting for her or for her costumes. In universities
reporters insist that they must fight for truth. It's something I do not understand: the teachers are irresponsible, which drive students to a professional life of misery in which in addition to supporting the sweat of the editorial, the stupidity of their leaders and the indifference of readers will be forced to seek The boring truth like a dog chasing a bus. Universities are a dogmatic church where you can learn a lot of rules whose only purpose will be to further bolster our consciousness that the rules, which means they only have one mission: rape. In that respect each other can we ensure that college is a real school of life. But put an example of inadequate truth. Is the cross-known journalist and university professor Arcadi Espada defends against literary rhetoric in the media reports. As he really is not accurate enough and embellishments that make it attractive novelero the news. Therefore, it has spent much of last year to denounce the violation of this rule by peers of the profession in his personal blog, first, and currently maintains stay at El Mundo, then that sneak in shorts pointing on the board antics of his friends in the absence of the teacher. Arcadi Espada's teacher is Mr. Pla (Josep), who made history in our literature by the annotations daily on their daily journalism and misery in the notebooks, as gray and gray, Sword now has as its particular stylistic Bible ethics and applied in life and work. But there is a problem or two: an old Catalan Pla was wearing a beret and boots gnawed wine, while Sword is just a moralist; Pla never took himself seriously, while Sword is taken very seriously the two, himself and Pla, and so on. Reading the notes snakelike ambiguous and Sword on the profession I'm glad I made it something more cheerful, fun and a liar during my childbearing years in the newspaper where he now works to put tildes on proparoxytone. Invented interviews, characters and situations, exaggerated everything that I exaggerate, I colored my chronicles with slander and shameless that were not always true, but at least they did have a good time to readers and ethical irritation to my bosses. Finally, note that a year ago I met with Sword in a ceremony and threw the smoke in the face for a reaction. All he did was head down and tear one's hair. I asked him about the truth then, and as he spoke I could not help but notice the abundant hair on his arms. Before it ended, I interrupted to tell sexist jokes and he rose from the table face divide by thirteen. Conclusion: The truth is for Pring. I like things simple prejudice and full, I think, therefore, that my career could be divided between those like me we take it with humor and those like Espada make it a boring routine dedicated exclusively to the crowing of a mediocre reality . It is known that the dark side chana infinite nun more than Obi Wan.
not believe: I had to make intense intellectual effort to clarify my mind and develop this theory, not everything in me is frivolous and inane chatter. It was about the year when eighty-five impregnate my girlfriend Melissa and I found the practical possibilities of the lie. Parents Melissa, who was then still going to school, people were very traditional, if not accepted in any way let alone our relationship were to swallow the pregnancy, but we had the advantage that people were also careless. Let me explain. At the time, abortions were not so popular as today and the girl was a sentimental, so we decided to go ahead with the child. Thus, the solution to the conflict with his family was as simple as preposterous: simply, do not count. When he went to family meals, their wacky relatives of egged with comments like "stop eating now, you're getting such a seal." And all so happy. The family For its part, still without news of samophlange. Now, although I had been alert to the double edge of the truth, my wife was not always so clever. Shortly after birth he had the audacity to confess two things: first, she had doubts about the paternity of the child, having sex with another man, and second, that he loved me deeply, we, who loved me, come on I was in love. What is said was an outburst of sincerity, and paid dearly: I could not handle the pressure and I went off home. How could he say such a thing and yet expect me to remain with him? I mean, how could you tell me he loved me and yet expect me to remain with him? The anacoluthon would prejudice seriously against my principles. Otherwise I had no difficulty in accepting non-paternity of the child, the end of the day it allowed me to leave the home without any pangs of conscience, and returning to the carefree single life, in fact, had never left behind.
What would have happened if Melissa had concealed the truth? What had become of my life if I had not confessed her feelings to my teen horror (for then I had just thirty years behind me)? Probably now be corrected with relish the schizophrenias literary peers Press slide amid reports increasingly distorted and unrealistic ambitions thanks to its aesthetic, as well as a Arcadi Espada anyone, rather than here, belching mamarracheces a prestigious blog without charging a penny. Some would consider my position completely pathetic or delayed, and will have their reason, but will certainly ask that obtuse if what I write is true or poet pretending otherwise, and that is the reason for my moral superiority over those who worship truth as a measure of redemption for the human misery: I am the salt poisoning their diets, I blew up the world from within. But really. Or more or less. You get the point. So.
This post is dedicated to Shiro Kuro, who published a review of NKM in his blog about Gantz 2nd Phase. Here is a generous review Shiro but worth walking around the blog , which is full of surprises.
As we were doing Nakoma, we know many people from different countries. It is one of the greatest joys one gets to work on a project like this. Sometimes one is the author of the material, sometimes the same person becomes a reader of others, the roles are blurred, people connect, is perfect.
Our mail is here on the blog, available to every person who wants to contact us. If you want to say something about NKM on your blog, or want to tell us what they think in private, do not hesitate to write. Meanwhile, we continue working on the argument of # 3.
can of Pepsi and told him the can of Coca-Cola: "You're stealing the heart." Background could be heard washing dishes, many furnaces in operation and a Southern lilt. Deeper, people, and deeper, crickets. It was, what is said, heavenly music. Synthetic happiness had taken a hit in all the fucking face of XXI century.
And so ends the No. 2 Early Prototype Nakoma, with these 4 new pages. * POP! uncorking of champagne *
I do not mean nothing except to invite you to go read and once again thank each of the readers who follow us or are added as this story grows and develops.
And while we put a deck that matters will happen in the number 3 ... enjoy this finale!
The Summer's no longer what it was. This delivery is one-hundredth of the stove, and probably the last. I have no desire for more: I have broken the schemes, dreams and everything that gave meaning to the maintenance of the blog. Sorry to get
idiot.
I call the muses but they do not respond, they have forgotten me, and not the first time. One would have to get used to, but not customary. You're growing tired of the paper which he has had to interpret and contempt of those who one day you gave it everything and now does not give you or good night. Nobody can deny that I have taken flowers to the Muses, which I have sung and poems written they, with their touch, provide the latest rhymes to my poems and give them meaning. Now they have no meaning or rhyme or verse. I was a pimp muses: Now I'm nobody.
too many times I counted the spots on the ceiling without there being any impertinent wide web looking from above, rooted in a corner. Those who wish may meet at the Tupinamba drinking beer and not feel like laughing jokes.
Thank you all for your attention. I leave you with the largest.
Guaranteed. No matter how hard you are. Especially if you're male. And if you spent years dreaming about this. (Well, at times at least). Because whatever they do, can never be enough. We are too "animated" with waiting.
Finally back on track, and in the final. Within the next few days, we will be uploading impressive 4 pages we approach the end of a hair NKM # 2. As the pages are letters, climb. Meanwhile, I leave a breakthrough.
And while we are working for you in the first pages of # 3. a breakthrough: until now, all that happened is just an introduction to the overall story. Gradually, we are going to see why so many characters. Well done. (Able to forum encouraged me to throw some more spoilers, if you want to spend are invitadísimos). Hello everyone! F. Directed by Satoshi Kon
-based on the novel by Yasutaka Tsutsui, Paprika is more or less like this: a very nice little machine allows therapists to get into the dreams of their patients, but of course, everything goes wrong. The solution is Paprika, a young woman dreams swarming around trying to fix a mess that is becoming more and more dangerous.
I have to say that the movie is highly recommended. I thought that with the Voyage of Chihiro and the Tramp Castillo had enough surrealism, but to see Paprika, the colors, the animation reminded me of the mental break that I was at the time Akira and their children with old faces. A fact not less: this movie is edited in Argentina and Blockbuster I had it in the bed of prealquiladas for only $ 20 and in optimum condition. I give him eight bananas with dulce de leche. Sallu! P.
The night is sad, the night is long, night betrays us all. That's because the night is honest and tells the truth, sometimes so forcefully that forces us to avoid it with corny games dependence on drinking whiskey just hand of seven friends who are not, or if evidence to ourselves (and all night) that we are alone in the world, okay, but drunk.
Night is a lie colored. The bars, a defense mechanism. Noise Viva, viva alcohol, loneliness and the starry night. Beautiful girls live. The topic. Viva piercing you hang the navel, the seam of your skirt, the joy of the mirrors. Sounds in the distance a bocinita. Ring. Today we are all sad: young people, students and students make social life in the clubs and who comes here is because it calls for war. ... Because this war is not a disk. Have you seen that blond girl? Did you see faces? Wait, do not go, I will pay you a fanta. Alone but drunk, what we said before. Here does not escape anyone. Even the piercing.
Girls. The girls are painted. The color of the grapes on the swing died of her eyes and ribs musical, stereo speakers with screaming, synchronized, which attract the attention of the weaknesses of the bar as they come out of the bathroom laughing and nudging the Nothing, that you go to know one friend unhappy, fat and equipment. Girls, what whores. Eyesores that come with them hold their vomitera. They have no heart. Them. Walking blind and premature menopausal those with access times, and hopefully, between drinks, uncle and uncle. Oh, girls fucking with girls. Girls are about indecent. Have you seen face? Alone but drunk, remember?, Fanta to pay him a girl. Living on the edge. What we were saying before.
are anorexic, pretty, girls, I like a lot, and studying all institutes, and smoke all very classy. Anorexia. Wow. Here is literature, for the anorexic, or applicant does not want to be good, to put it once, but his esquelatura, design itself, we suggest the harp violent teenage love and harmony. Few generations have been well primed and only the most sensitive minds of the generation of dog and hamburger turn against it, they discover that the feminine ideal is not in magazines or on runways, but within the same. The evil of the century, anorexia, is an evil soul, the answer he gives it to the body, suck the body's own body, sexual cleansing does not exclude sex.
you telling me seriously that does not want a fanta? Behind
are the masters. Puf. Some are ridiculous of course, of those who are clad in shirts teens and ask for all mixed drinks, and there are decent, too, of those looking over his glasses and smoke cigarettes want to be a metaphor for something, who knows what, and going out and stacked in a lonely cemetery. (Look, you have a metaphor.) Laugh, talk and applauds them, the gentlemen, with unique and intemperate applause. Plas. How funny that you said. What a joke that you've done. Say. Because this is a bar, a dive, and how much I bitch and that old, okay, what you tell me, what you want me, heaven, but here is coming to talk while drinking, to throw the slime that of to the side as we scratch nose and hysterical belch truths to the rhythm of the night. I is that I love and I hate drug addicts, you know, but finally finished watching the condescension past four in the morning. What complicates the exchange of winks to make their noses between curtains of smoke! One always wonders why more do not hide, and you always find yourself doing when they have to accelerate the eighth time he goes to the bathroom. We are back at it again, we know she can not lie, and between crowing and cackling nonsense stunned evening and hear about the vulgar context of opium that keeps. Football, Euro, Villa and its wonder. Ah, Spain, how good you came. I hereby make the chronicle of one, two, three and a thousand dirty napkins give you give you with football. It matters little economic slowdown (or crisis) that has the empty terraces, truckers strike or lack of sex in the marital bed magazines reported on inside pages. In Spain the only thing that matters is the van. You have to fuck. Outside, sounds an bocinita. Now it remains an ambulance.
girls are back like birds that have learned yet that can not fly, agarraditas of their children, most big men who can not smoke without staining. It is the night, Spain, is the day before yesterday cutreidad, bad taste, we. Playing music for old, distorted guitars petite distortion. Can not hear how she sings, how you say his name? Let, parakeets, I invite you to another fanta. Take A dance on the edge, dance like you know. Move the skeleton sad.
girls, anorexics. Let me close with them. Its thinness is dangerous, its thinness is lyrical: a response to the seven fat cows that we eat today in one piece. The definitive answer to the vulgarity of plump. It is to love dieting. Ay. And romantic vinegar took ill, and vinegar to make our new romance is nothing less than death. You understand that the adolescent resident in the slow suicide and beautiful, because they have very close childhood and puberty, that bulimia, and, especially, are very close even to parents, with their healthy sexuality and swine. All the girls are great except that poets make poetry. Anorexia, except a dangerous disease, is the reply we get from young to mature, a system against excessive presence, against the flesh shirt of the millennium. Just a lot less. Powder
are ducks, but they seem Gaviotas. (Miro, relief, drawing, to take the ass perspective. I should be writing, would be smiling.) Above me Sun later made the background, not so much: those trees over there are four gray clouds, very together and very gray and complicated, that seem to be waiting for Nothing doing-no-no. Not even hide the sun And that's because the Sun is above me, the sun is mine alone. I made a pun. I have come by accident. Now start hitting the wind.
Okay so that kings stumble, but sometimes you want are dropped altogether. It is not ideology, nor sentimentality. It's morbid. The opium of the people, as Marx said the cheesy referring to something else. Monarchical societies are about to fall to their kings from time to time, because if you do not feel invincible and are scared, and just to cut off its head in the manner of the times: purchasing gossip magazines who dig real injuries or teaching the whistle at the polls. The whistle of the people is usually harmless, tiny and child, so in principle they-the-kings should not worry. On another level should be put the guts of paper and Latin heart that beats faster and with greater suspicion than ever: hearts, you know, are some tomfoolery. We should not miss these smooth, repeat. We inflate the democratic self-refreshing the landscape. We have a crown menopausal the pearl that comes from electroshock on the street, the noise of the blunders. The gaffes are overlapping topics of newspaper titles to the king: earthy, natural, spontaneous and English. English, English, English. Is there anything more English than a nap? Never mind that this is the take the monarch in the midst of a public event. A nap is a nap, and has a designation of origin. A stumble is a setback. Etcetera. To hope for a future princess in miniskirt we put all our trust in institutional outbursts State, either in the form of reprimand stertorous gorilla or ridiculous Venezuelan coup compassion, milk, the host. A wafer is a wafer. Spain is a nation. And in Eurovision have been in the forefront. What more do you want the skeptics? If, moreover, the monarch sat with his dignity devilish misstep. By my balls, my balls, that more was lost in Cuba.
