Sunday, June 22, 2008

Petite Women - Hairstyles

caldo memory of cabeza, sin agua, sin cabeza



Eye slots well in black, tight, sticky slime ball soft dry gained him the Soiffard misplaced, is in custody gargarité the little wet, so little moist remaining, if its secreted almost dry, her liver almost dried up, which packs gregarious secretions, sticky and well massed at the corners, as a last reserve force him to lick when he can, and stiffly back towards the throat Hardback. Would love to drink his own saliva, if there were more. If there were still fluid, clear, saliva. it knocks as ever, but it should advance, even in the overwhelming. Hard work thirsty. He walks, he continues, it continues the pace, but it will not. A sun following or grows, we can not say. But we can say that his movement now is that's here and it may be just that, yet nothing can be read on her face dazzled on the skin so wrinkled mouth, so riddled of both dry mouth, all those little mouths pursed mouths asphixia and voiceless that stunted his face.

End run out of air but still, he has no choice, located in the rout, with the cooked head tanned skin, dive like that since when he knows well, his mouth like that skull embedded in the taisure walking alone is not so sure that it is still he who is there where his head is held. Him, that is to say a good me. But it leaves, it still continues.

In so vast space, now that he stood up and walk there, right track as it may, along a straight line he designs in the head, and takes good care of gargue arid and takes good care of the spawn of the voiceless, the lost desert, Erg and the Great Desert reg breathing, gesture severe wind. As long as he can keep it away, he always follows his line as he is rather shaky right which is in the imagination he has. Something begins to lose the individual in a very special confuses kind of always-same geographical know it all lost, but even should not stop the march of dry taciturn lost in lieu of speech. And erg reg, chapped, choking, loss of its mouth, it's not really keep quiet actually, but here, for him, nothing to say.

sand stone is the voiceless, the mute, wherever he goes, wherever he was stationed, where he resumed, sits, lies down, gets up. Where it crowd, where he scrapes the ground. Where he turns a bit to go. Where it makes holes, raised stones. Where it takes the sand to rub the skin from your feet. There is no face there, and as this in the middle of the mute, the mute running ahead in being erased, and erg reg and reg erg, the mute diminished his mouth walking rout , continuous, and sinks into the desert wilderness, plus the rout surfaced in disarray. In the desert, the rout, the mute march erasing instead of deleting the mouth always wins, that's where it starts to change autic, so to say, this is where the mute mute. From the mute autic a growing mute anyway.

That's what happens: the unrecognizable, it's goin 'on like this line continues, albeit with minor variations, or variations more obvious, but so cyclical, such as the erg to reg and reg erg. This is indeed something that is still nascent, at least it begins to start, but at the same time, can never really tell when this scale. And back and forth to rout the body, and comes and goes without geule-walking, and typed in the desert sun, he goes he comes, and erg reg and reg erg in its defeat, the body throwing up after the circular pattern. As the circle invisible bar his face, like that the ball is lost in the indifferent. On the progress we could say that it deserted, deserted it yes, erg reg and reg erg, and the rout sinks mute mute man and the man leaves the mute man, and all dark and mute within in the outdoors, great indifference. It deserted by transferring the recognizable and yet it clears, and still more, and there is always less than face. On erg reg and reg erg, it mutates so it turns, but what we can say. Similar to the sand, the silence in him advance, and varies as the dune, in stillness.

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