What Causes Night Leg And Arm Pain

We are all the sphinx someone


There in the yurt, it seems a noggin. Igualito, yurt and tests Mesme struggle. In yurt there is room for the sphinx, noggin man mixed animal, the Mongolian domestic alliance volatile, the shaman Jah Klacan the idiom, not n'parlant lang de l'hom but the language of things, the language of of tidal yurt. In

yurt there is room for figures of meaning hidden seeds in the soil planted, there is room for this kind of ciphers need to extricate the eye pedestrian, the pedestrian in the meaning that must unravel ith toe, or even go to 4 feet , tal that the animal in good animal, we must take the good grazing Animalist, ith the biting vectors mouth horizontally, flush with the ground, his mouth no vocal, no not just the eloquent but scathing.

It is indeed the Mesme mouth that said, it is the Mesmer, who delves into the carpet signif encrypted, it is the Mesme that eats material, which makes the mute and makes the enigmatic, which is the body through the mouth. It is through this hole that sphingeons. Let

yurt although the man does not derive dignity of his position (4 legs to eat the signifier, it is nobler) but to address feline and democratic, its cultivated taste for the ravine where everything comes together . A

pintor had once said, had heard the "j'étions ravine of the world" knew not whence it came out but had pintor razon, ¿he did not say razon such cosa?

Lo que busque mouth in the yurt, so it's a language, it is a language of the ravine. At this time of life speaking in the sort of scraping the bottom of the ravine, tal El pintor profitablament had stated, must always busque language that would keep our word in our lives.

In fuss would rattle, our life, a life furrowed by the voices of the ravine, a life furrowed voices of the real world, the world's largest mond'poche that the large pocket of the world flowing in crowd at the ravine, flowing ravine say who founded what took me in a language of another. So what

me, tal busque a party to, the excavation, hollow, with you my friend, expatriate, who inaugurated icelui a screed highly shared dialogue sphinx, mysterious speach, hence the de-lang-l'hom violancée changes our lives talking, the mutates into something else, corresponds to the need for another life talking, another language, and darn philosophical, language dug well, a language burrowing.

want to make our life a mystery, because you see that their lives are, are just that, an enigma. Hereunto, talking heads, others also, imparlantes heads. We are all the sphinx of someone. And somewhere in all things is the Sphinx of another, even across the big world, even when it n'dit nothing audible. Between the great things of the world, there is this: everything is connected in the puzzle.

Even mond'poche, even at the Citadel Europe, even in my tooth oxy-bastards, we're in the ravine.

Jah Klacan

Mounted Clothes Dryer

my tongue will die



My tongue is going to die. They say, and probably going about languages like civilizations, religions. My language is born as I write, because we write it, speak it. This requires the youth still incipient suppport of unfathomable age. Who speaks of decadence? The dying alone, silent, traitors, talkative, the powerless.

language arises from a failure: It can not suddenly be at the service of its references to name, to reflect. The French language is naturally subject to the signified: it must provide evidence, detailed accounts, setting rules, giving representation. But suddenly, rupture, and not generally break into a particular mouth, which became the birthplace of the revolution.

In France, the common language is dependent on things and power: it does not, it records. Must dissociate themselves from this joint normal to give birth - in that language mine - the jubilation a freedom that springs from the individual rupture. Then, a moment at least, everything turns from a mouth, and it is not the world that justifies the words, because words enlighten.

ago in this country an old complex of legitimation: everything must serve and is recognized all over the place, but what is a recognition that is established by defining? The French language's role is to anchor these limits, to naturalize by appointment. She is also the substance of power. It is itself mediating since, under the pretext that they can communicate, it freezes everyone and everything in its function as the most servile. My

language is dead in the cultural discourse. My tongue moves his own body, the turns, the next generation. My language is born in the dead language: it too hard skin that meant, she stirred up this verb defeated, and the meaning comes just as the breath of nudity ...

that language is not French in French: it makes the world its meaning, and this model any shape, because the flesh is made word for the bodies to be the future of the words ...


Bernard Christmas