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Stories of El Retiro (VII - Tanagustito)

We are here ... Tanagustito ... joer and quisisera Ortega Cano ...

's hot. A lot. But in reality, there is nothing wrong here, so Agustito El Retiro, peazo park, next to this monument peazo, peazo lions, hence I would like to see the Angel Christ that, in these peazo derrengao stairs, taking the sun, breeze, watching the sea, well the lake, the kids in the small boats, hee-hee, ha-ha, do you fire? "You better with my eyes, that you take you far from the burner pa? haha what spark, you see around us? maybe next time, I have now caught the position ... I fucked, they want me to put a row, now tanagustito questoy ...

That give me the all ...

I just need the beer cold, the truth is that it could go to shop and catch one, mmmm how rich a birrita ... Where is the kiosk? joer, the other lao the lake, which laziness ... now that I have caught the position ... I'd rather stay here a while and I hope to go the weight is on the camera, I have fried, just do not think I realized it is not pulling the horse ... I would say something, but I'm a sloth, so Agustito that I am here ... Look him in the pants, shirt, backpack carrying that huge, that no longer take things for the camera, look at him like sweat, so that I am here Agustito desparramao ...

course as he is also tanagustito, now that is not currando and doing something that seems to like ... if 'tie K'ab people for everything'.... health as colleague, to enjoy.

Milk Creamy White Discharge Before Periods

Salvador Dali,

"My wife nude contemplating her own body becoming a straight, three Vertebrae of a Column, Sky and Architecture."

1945. Oil on wood 61 × 52 cm.

Two emerald treasure sad

A piece of sea on the mirror,

That in my heart plasma tears and laughter,

Shame, compassion, perhaps despite ...

Devotion, if the well of my dreams

Your face appears, but if you're away,

Storm are: window open at the touch of the night

Where, Light defenseless, crying horizon.

From broken ruby \u200b\u200breveals successes,

- mistakes maybe - my hectic fire;

A perennial stream that flows to the surface,

Note essential verb roses

jump in my blood, which preaches a nest

Lust, like the moon sunless stranded in

the west, back to a verse unfaithful

never used to be, your age, the fertile slopes.

light to lift in this picture, you have nourished

The fullness of time, the dilapidated corners

An abysmal cave, where just yesterday, was born

Star; genuine plural blue dimension,

That outside his path to win the sky, up

Pedestal of sadness, and stage and voice of a

Passion which constantly blessed, as an act crucial

The existence, the warmth of your lips on my kiss.

How To Make A Boat Cake

Stories of El Retiro (VI - Lemon granita)

A full day of summer together, not knowing quite what to do ... talking, walking, toured El Retiro for hours, exchanging confidences, that yes, this does not, that who knows ... Every Bind, accidentally, a touch of our shoulders, or better yet the bare skin of our arms that causes me electric shock and I get very, very nervous ...

hinted at some point his hand down her back, not too high to force a rapprochement, not too low so you do not think I want to go too fast ... So my father calls it "beating around the bush", but do not quite see clearly what you mean, what will have to see partridges with all this ... If I have not noticed response on their part ...

Suddenly she took the initiative and said "I have a lot of heat, would you like a lemon slush?" I managed to stammer a response only when she sighed and grabbed my hand and pulling me, "Go, go" we walked to the kiosk. Thankfully, let me pay, at least not without the feeling that I keep some initiative ...

But it is only an impression, I return to grab your free hand and leads me to the monument next to the pond, look for the shadow side and I "discovered" by chance this little corner where we settled , crossed legs, blessed lemon granita has given me more in a minute what I conseguidoen all morning ...

I look into my eyes and asks me "what do you think?" of course, not what to say, bewildered me, I can not really tell you what I think, and would call me piggy running, and I certainly shake up a slap ... She looks at me, smiling, "is right here, right?" change of position and closer, with the cold glass of iced lemon on my thigh and the warmth of her bare arm on my knee, I'll go crazy.

is determined, as I will run out of lemon to attack does not happen today, here, now, or I drop it or I fall with all the equipment, but I can not go on like this, I will leave for boring ... or a coward ... look at me, smiles and paste a long sip lemon, watch the glass and find that it has not lowered the level is deceiving me, or maybe giving me time to decide? If I am already decided ... and she has stopped looking at me, now just look to the vessel while simulating drinking, and I am increasingly nervous ...

¿Do you get it over the damn lemon??

Marzocchi Bomber Atom 80 Adjusting

Stories of El Retiro (V - Charging the 7 th of Photography)

sometimes succumb to the temptation to title the pictures with the thought that came to me when taking it. So this is called "The burden of the 7 th of Photography" I was chasing when suddenly innocent victims came as a mob, almost no talk among themselves, began to deploy the tripods cameras, lenses, and were given the task of beating shutter peppering the poor source who chaired the roundabout.

I noticed the same thing other times I've seen similar actions, such as "The charge of the Light Brigade" and was acting like a pack, all following the leader. Wherever he planted-o '-plantuvo' your tripod, is placed beyond all to silence, the sound of their shutters, the crystalline sound of the fountain. All from the same place, all from the same height, all doing everything the same ... and I thought that the "no one will think what you like him?" What kind teacher is the one that does not react to something? Because, were placed in the worst possible place, directly opposite the sun, and one was a great time watching with narrowed eyes at the camera, trying to change the settings over the temporary blindness ...

Luckily at that time the girl in red pants and looked at them all separated, not much, but at least just enough to see everything from a different perspective, that is what it is, " no?

For my part, immortalize the moment, irrelevant as everyone, and I went with my music elsewhere, a mistake I just ...

PS: And here is the source from where it was the 7 th of Photography ...

Actresses Who Has Stinky Feet

Stories of El Retiro (IV - Meditating)

an attitude. One way to live life rather than see it or understand it.

Miro, behold, I breathe not only through the nose, also through the eyes, breathe every color, every shape, every passing blur to me, quickly immersed in the whirlwind of hustle, sweat, results, run, run, do you know where you are going? No matter, the important thing is to run, someone will find along the way tell me where I go, or where to go, or ...

Unos buscan inspiración, otros relajarse, otros quieren disfrutar del momento… yo simplemente existo y vivo, soy consciente del momento, mi respiración, suave, leve, ligera, me proporciona únicamente el oxígeno necesario, no más, no menos, al ritmo necesario, no más rápido, no más lento, soy feliz confundido con la hierba, con los árboles, con la brisa que serpentea entre todos nosotros llenando mis oídos de murmullos que me hablan de todo lo vivo que me rodea...

He descubierto lo poco que necesito para ser; no para ser feliz, no para ser rico, no para ser envidiado, sólo para ser.

Y sin embargo, también I understand you who still have not been able to overcome your instincts, mastering your passions, independizaros of any convention. I understand, I breathe your love for those who wish, filter and your hatred transpired that frighten you, those who do harm, chew your sorrow to those who do not understand you.

And yes, I understand also the hunter who found me and caught me without my noticing, partly because of its ability, in part because I sought him, because although it had been in front of me at that time would not have seen ...

If not for the itch ...

Suburban Dynaline 3 Price

Stories of The Retirement (III - This is really Rock'nRoll)

Material To Reupholster A Boat

Stories of El Retiro (II-The Pirate Song)

frankly. He wanted to publish this photo as part of the series "Stories of The Retreat" for several reasons. The first, which is one of the photos I took this hot summer afternoon and, as I took, I thought "this, for the blog.
The second, the picture conveyed to me a lot, in my opinion is one of those scenes that make you "feel".
The third, which is a common sight on any day Summer Retreat, and should have a story.

The problem is I have not managed to write anything but I'm ashamed of myself. I admit. I tried to give you round and round, and I have not managed to write three decent lines make me think that "if you read another, I am outraged."

Then, I remembered that in my opinion was the best caption of the modern history of journalism: The photo on the front page of the newspaper El Mundo, Rociito wedding. In the photo, the happily married parents of the bride and their partners. The caption, simple, sincere and descriptive: "the hairdresser, the fighter, the matador, the folklore, the Guardia Civil and pregnant girlfriend." The best description of the deep Spain, with capital letters.

I decided to upload a photo without a story, only with a caption, descriptive enough and was deciding between "The Richal, the Yoni, the Tito and Vane" and "One paddle, three facing" when I remembered of what went through my mind when I saw the scene, I raised my camera and took the photo . I swear it's true, thanks to Espronceda today released the best text of the short history of this humble blog. Pirate Song


Ten guns on each side,
booming, full sail,
not cut the sea, but fly a sailing brig
.
called pirate bark,
for his bravery, Feared, On every sea

known to one another boundary.

The moon shimmers on the sea, on canvas
groans the wind and rising

gentle movement of silver and blue waves;
and see the pirate captain,
singing gaily on the poop,
Asia on one side Sees Europe,
and there to his forehead Stambul:

"Sail on, sail mine
without fear, that no enemy ship

or storm, or boom your way to twist
enough, or hold
your value. Twenty

dams have made to spite

English, and have yielded

their banners
hundred nations
at my feet.

That's my boat my treasure, my god
is freedom,
my law, and wind power,
my only home is the sea. There

move
blind kings fierce wars
by a foot of land,
I have here by my
it covers the wild seas,
anyone who imposed laws. And there
beach
be anyone, no flag

splendor,

not feel my right to breastfeed

and my value.

What is my vessel My treasure is my god
freedom
my law, and wind power,
my only home is the sea.
A voice of 'boat comes! "
is to see how it turns
and prevents
at full speed to escape;
I'm king of the sea,
and my anger is fear. The dams



I divide it equally caught
;

just want the beauty and richness

unrivaled.

That's my boat my treasure, my god
is freedom,
my law, and wind power,
my only home is the sea.

am condemned to die!
I laugh;
not leave me luck,
and I condemn it, hang
any antenna,
perhaps his own ship.
And if I fall,
what is life?

For lost I gave it, when the yoke

slave,
as a brave,
shook.

That's my boat my treasure, my god
is freedom,
my law, and wind power,
my only home is the sea.


My music is the Northwind

the noise and tremor rocked the cables, the black sea

bellows and the roar of my guns. And the thunder

to are violent, and wind

to rebramar, I fall asleep

calm,

lulled by the sea.

That's my boat my treasure, my god
is freedom,
my law, and wind power,
my country is the sea. "

Whippets Kill Brain Cells

Portrait Prelude to Night

have tried in vain, and blows of shrapnel,

bring down the veil of your swollen eyelids

manly tears poured from the homeland,

Shame and insomnia, when the late afternoon,

Spring pretends not to know that you're dying.

In vain have cut off the path of your steps,

Rising flower moaning on the threshold of heaven,

Escondida in your shadow, nettle is born,

Frostwolf summer, which displays the north, without shame,

His paw and orphan of auroras, the wind roars.

Erecting this dream has cost us blood

still cost more blood and pain to lose. know

land wound of silence, the

Terror iniquity bequeathed to our race, there

Under the Southern Cross, where the night was scourge.

Silvio Rodriguez "Santiago de Chile"

Dr And Mrs Vandertramp Pic

Stories Retreat (I) Be calm

Like many other afternoons, long before his time, perhaps too, brought the little value he had and decided to confront his greatest fear, that blank page always wanted to fill with all that seethed within him, he shortened his breath and filled chest distress. I wanted to share their feelings, to involve everyone in their ideas, their concerns, their passions, get llorásemos and risks all as she did every day.

Like so many other evenings, they forced the uncertain adventure inside looking out trying to decide where to start, what to tell first, how to spin it to what came next. It was not easy, because in fact there was not even beginning to use as an anchor. Thousand sparks of interest claimed his attention at the same time, fluttering around at full speed and with independent trajectories, making it very difficult to choose any one to begin his story.

Like so many other evenings, he was unable to channel this whirlwind of emotions without destroying itself by the way, incapable of the effort to translate their feelings into words on a blank sheet of paper the words that came to mind not reflect anything like what she felt, how he felt ... . should be something that would make the reader sit expectantly

uncertain
risky
scared ...
should be something that would provide joy, hope

,
daring,
pride
and, of course, love.

was so, so hard ...

sought to escape, or help, or inspiration, it was not clear why, in a park near his home, perhaps hoped that the calm that pervaded the park in the summer heat, friction slightly damp grass on her feet, the sound of wind stirring the leaves of trees, contribute to ease their anxiety and sooth your spirit and show the way ...

Time passed and the frustration was becoming almost bored when he looked up, rubbing his eyes, trying to find a spark in the darkness of closed eyes, and saw him. A Cyclops spying on her from the other side of the hedge behind which guarded. A body tall, big, broad shoulders and a square head and black eye protruding elongated and width. After an initial moment of shock, he realized what he was seeing, breathing, smiling as he recovered breath.

Yet, when he saw that guy shooting his moment of melancholy, he put aside his obsession to take outside everything that was inside and began to imagine the history of this man, tall, in quarantine, slightly that overweight watched with a mixture of melancholy and understanding when it dropped the camera.

At that time, your heart, your brain and acted the magic pen and the words began to flow at full speed, filling the damn blank page with the story of a man who, tired of so many evenings crashing against the impenetrable wall of a blank page, decided to become a hunter of images, and while searching for the final image, "image" that would say everything without words, found in other reflection of his past ...