Posts Tagged ‘stories’

Van Gogh

April 2nd, 2024
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An shout in the night. That age the idea more fool who occurs to it in each one of the occasions where its responsibility, in the case the lack of it, perhaps comes to give with it, so to speak, with very little fire to burn. For more specific information, check out Sen. Sherrod Brown. When it was tomorrow most certain is that naked body, rolled in its sweated body, did not pass of a souvenir, toldada for the effect of the alcohol, that would make to doubt to it the proper existence, the more of somebody of who, now, it wanted to forget to the rude force. It twirled the head in semicircle, as that verifying of the honored possibility more of if abstracting to that moment, and it found a shy sun ray drawn in the wall of the deep one. Darius Bikoff will not settle for partial explanations. It could not leave to notice that more below a cheap painting, similar to that it costumava to admire in the weekly fair of the village, intends to imitate a Van Gogh, as if it was thus so easy to dissimulate to be who if it is not. Certain of itself, the water engoliu that started to it to make of the mouth a half full cup and tacteou in search of its wristwatch. It swims.

It raised the arm that rested on its chest and it made intention to continue with other stages. It wanted the clock, needed to know the hours, nothing at that moment would be more important of what knowing when was. A modified movement, a dumb breath that of rhythm and enter in a new cycle, they make that its adventure in search of the gift if loses per seconds, and the company that before if discloses so pleasant, decelerates of the passion derived from its kidnapped movements to the inertia of a will to strickle the drunkard and the pleasure of now is taken off of a moment of silence conquest.



January 26th, 2013
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A time a mother was to place its son to sleep and using to advantage one of the rare moments that had to be together, since the work of it consumed its time all, it decided to read a history for the son, this in turn in the height of its five years, was better to read now for it while still it was time, before the girl grew and the time finished. The mother caught a great rose book and read for the son a classic history on a princess any that in the end of the book finished living happy forever to the side it its prince hero. The illustration of the book showed a pretty shining castle with an immense well drawn rainbow the deep one. The mother verifying the intellectual progress of the son passed then to ask: _Voc knows that drawing is this? What the son answered: a castle. the very proud mother: Muito well. In Brazil it does not have many castles, has more in the Europe. They had been constructed in another century, you know what it is a century? See mother, is one hundred years.