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s eyelids, and composed his lullaby on the creaking metal blinds the few shops that were still open. The night was hers at last.
prepared the chute quickly, in a ritual performed almost unconsciously, with the ability of a fox sticking his teeth into the jugular of its unsuspecting prey. Dropper filled with bubbling placebo, curled a thick paste and worn around the arm and pushed the stick starving slowly, savoring the height of the ritual. Red and white are mixed in a vicious embrace, imbued with a passion corrosive fascinating latent evil that can only portend a tragic end.
pushed to absorb the last drop, and rested peloss in the kiss that made her float and bleed at the same time.


"You done it again. You're pathetic.


"Get out, bitch.
"You have made me come. You made me come because you feel alone, because you're only a wreck lying in the corner full of shit like you.


"This ... is my throne. Only me.
"Do not make me laugh ... your throne? A trash throne for a king without subjects. A court of lice that just want your dirty blood. You could not expect otherwise.


I do not need anyone. I do not need.
- Do you really want me to go? You can not fool yourself and you voice trembles. Look, You disgust. "Creis that somebody needs to you? You need to believe you because you have no self to anyone.


"But I have a story ... I who write.
-A story of princes and princesses junkies whores. A story that does not interest anyone. And even you who guide your hand.



A story in which the rulers only want the horse he rode in his veins, where the prostitute princess with a kiss of love poisoned, tainted by his own lust. A history of kings without kingdoms to conquer, wandering among the vast corridors crestfallen ruined castles devoured by ivy. Salty river of tears, sulfur-breathing dragon wet because they forgot what es fire. A barbed wire guards the blonde locks of all the good girls, uprooted by curiosity. Weep for your gold, now it's just dirty and disheveled esparto. Surrender tears to your insatiable demon that devoured your innocence, but now you are their slaves.




Poor junkie, who slashed his wrists trying to collect the broken glass of a dream. And sleep, perhaps forever, in a lie that will not cause nightmares.

Who cares?

There lies much nicer.

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elo, very complicated task.
One of the girls, the largest in height and width, I approached him a complicit smirk at the other two, and in all the world's mug, I wondered:

- "Are you ugly? Well

. You will not puncture the skull because violence is not you are good, because it's only because if there are girls and mothers with menacing in the world, it eats them all with potatoes, bones included. Respond politely and with a smile as if you were profidén to give this girl a lesson in civility irrelevant will not forget in life.

I do not know, that would have to decide for yourself, do not you think?

hesitated a moment. He looked at the other two, who did not stop the eyelet splitout a pumpkin anywhere, had not lost a shoe and, of course, my botarras destrozacanillas were not even remotely of cristal.Todo right, and also all Pizpireta mice can be transformed into noble steeds were very far away in some dark basement of some obscure macdonalds a not so dark or distant mall. Oquei, orzogüei, return to your brainy reading and guard the anecdote to tell it in your diary and everyone can laugh with or without tigo.

Ains, these children of today. Or these women's projects still too honest. If you already Zarathustra said: 'If you go with women, take a whip. " Seven lines, if possible. And two better than one.

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sco when you have time, if it's the last thing I do. Forging his revenge on that trust regaláis everywhere, not knowing if one day you can reach exhaustion. I snatched it from a blow, you rub off the misery brought by yourself for so long, and will grow between your ribs, feeding your soul like a malignant tumor, to devour your heart in the ecstasy of his relentless metastasis. And finally die brandishing a smile of toothless gums. He is free, and you portaréis their chains.

I hate, I hate everyone, hate, hate, hate ... I hate you because every one of your silly questions is like a punch in the stomach, for your eyes sink my eyes in their sockets until agrilled, and can only see the black unfathomable disappointment, anger coagulated red. Tejéis with lies and false smiles concealed the web that gets me, the frustration that I choked. I need true, but only want to offer masks. And I can not give me nothing but lies.

I hate you because you never become like you. I hate you because you will never be like me. Special

, you say. Is too vague a word, prostituted most of the time. A euphemism to give you a nice name for a drag. And if this is my gift, if that makes me special or different, or just rare, it is a curse rather than a salvation, if it makes me soil stains and rot, and hatred, and anger, to turn the brilompañero that can support (me).

It's so frustrating not to put a name to this fucking shit ... Spitting craving for revenge for not knowing where to spit, scratch back to the border of absurdity and doubt like so many other times. Those tracks trembling had chalked left with the rain, and now only scattered screaming into a wall of fog or concrete. The rain always comes.

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I blind, absurd symphony of horns caught in a jam, even the screams of the insane drivers. It's a delightful mess, strangely warm. I think that's why I love my chaos in the world turns, and finally found my balance. While

R. tuned the strings of his old guitar I ran away to the corner coffee shop, as (almost) every day. I order a coffee, light a cigarette, looked through the glass, I sometimes get lost in whimsical strokes of raindrops sliding down its surface, sometimes scribbling on a napkin wayward strokes yet. A boy of about fourteen or fifteen years I watch from the other side of the bar. There's been gone almost all summer. It is still a child. Did not leaveseeking only memories behind glass and in their own eyes. Among plastic dolls, plastic exchanged words. Flees, or corrompiéndote end up with all this shit, you end up thanking four currencies touched, thanked thanked for things they never deserve. Living behind a bar. Just like your parents. Or mine. Or me.



The rain makes the rock sound more authentic. Or rather, that Pink Floyd float in the air in a perfect mix, as if he had found his natural habitat, sigh: ')
A song that is September, fall for someone who is (and yes, you know who you are, monicreque feathers: P)


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Nobody knows, but a trail of sighs slips through the cracks of the blinds closed.

A group of children laughing and playing in the yard.
not know, but they are swimming in sighs. Sighs anonymous.





Sighs drowned behind the glass of any window.

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The days are like beads on an abacus. Uniform, heavy, monotonous. One, two, three, four ... recite a hollow echo of wood, without rhythm or rhyme, or intonation. One, two, three, four ... days in a calendar labeled with a pen without ink, just enough pressure to not tear the paper but do not leave a note hover color on that surface anodically white. Hours, minutes and seconds are hanging from the neck in a hug lethargic, sickly parasites eager to swallow every last drop of blood from a dead body too.

thinking is nothing but the murmur of a broken skull against the floor, sobbing looking for their chips, while the skin bubbles up under a scorching sun. Evening mist soaks and ghosts

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seems that this country has stepped on something and is wiping his shoe in the brains of its inhabitants.
I have a strong personal sense of individualism.
feel sympathy for people who do unusual things, such as building theremins.
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hate people who poured into something fashion, it is unfortunate that Galicia is burning, children are dying of AIDS in Africa and seem to matter less. Or those who do humanitarian complaints yet are unable to shop around a day to go to donate blood.
hate people who believe that elections do not go to vote have no right to comment or cagarte in somebody's mother, I find a real cocksucker.
hate democracy as it is conceived, as ifSTEM ad aeternam self-perpetuating without possibility of change. Tends to bipartisanship, the manipulation of information and loss of control of the town. Arguably not believe in any leader who can not "have a shot." Hate
lifeline given by the education I received, study hard, make a run, make money, find a partner, 1.8 children, forget your motivation and ultimately become an asshole.
hate the music business, is packaged, corrupted, sold was adulterated and are trafficked her like a drug (because music is necessary for humans), there are always small wholesalers and camels, and them to those who are persecuted and punished unnecessarily while the great magnates of the music living in the former home of Capone or Scarface in Miami and other places where they drink Martini equally tacky and will shoot botox. Hate
fans and unconditional love. Hate
illuminated.
hate sensationalism and preprogrammed responses. Hate
gold and people full of objects made with this metal.
I like making lists of things, anything.
hate the noise they make wooden shoes on the escalator and the indifference of their owners to drill the ears.
I love the illusion, mostly the old mechanical tricks von Kempelen, Jean Eugene Robert-Houdin, Houdini (you know the origin of the name).
So it should not be any surprise to say thatI have a passion for steampunk.
hate people with "mystical experiences" in India.
hate people who feel attacked and respond aggressively to any discussion and, in general, anyone who is unable to be minimally objective and depersonalized.
hate people who claim to hate the game to look good and that is what an intellectual person alleged to have said.
hate people who eat with molasses.
hate people who write well "wenaz, Paza ke" and also those who confuse "See" and "Have" when you only speak one language, bilinguals have something like an excuse.
hate people who talk about the private lives of others without being morally approved or reported to it, something thatappears to be an official sport in these environments.
hate when someone asks you a song of a group, give in, and then do not reproach you have listened to your requests (¿¡?!).
hate people who assumed full open-minded and who are surprised when asked how much they want (from zero to ten) to fuck your mother.
I like science, paradoxes and contradictions.
I want to kill Tom Hanks.
I hate Dutch win the lottery every two days and a Senegalese rich widow wants to share his fortune with me every weekend.
hate people with no sense of humor. Hate
religious behavior trying to include me in your "project", I

not want them in mine. I hate to sound
fixed telephone, the sound makes me frantic, and if you answer wrong and if not worse.
I think there should be a license to have a computer, such as a driver's license.
hate people who can not bear solitude.
I love almost everything that takes Native Instruments. Hate

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invent excuses for people not to stop being a coward.
trekkis hate with all my being, and without explanation.
hate all of the above and I hate not being able to do anything but throw me aside.
I lied when I wrote "101 Things."
So for all these reasons, it is quite likely that you hate you too, deargone reader, now air.

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For several days the city is twisted between a belt of flame increasingly tight. On the streets, the air is a thick, choking smoke-stained lungs each time you dare to drink it. You do not see the sky, and it seems the sun has run to hide away from here, looking back to another place with the quiet and dreamy calm that is supposed to summer. The clear coat before, a pure blue almost insulting, has been replaced by a leaden gray shroud that slips on the facades of buildings, among the treetops and the port's iron giant, by sticking to the skin of people that down there, they continue their daily routine as normal, trying to ignore the rain of ash falling on theiris, I wondered if anyone among all these people would be praying for the life he succumbed to the flames only a few miles away, if you would ask that deity finely carved and wrapped in cloth of gold that keep those flames to which was as vulnerable as any piece of wood. I also thought what if one day I stand on the street, lost my sight in the clouds and start singing like a robot. I guess misunderstanding. I guess that make you mad or not depends on the context, but above all, what most think, a disagreement between fools ends up being a fool among wise. And I wonder if my questions have any meaning or lost in the absurd, like I'm lost. My feet weighed

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On Friday I went to click the Malandro with Giorgio Rara Avis (é a diavolo), to our surprise we were told that day at 03:30 pinchábamos up, bad deal considering that at 04:40 into the festival started Curren Monegros!, other splicing Day crush!. Overall, we finished the task and where I had been with two other technicians, we stopped in Alcobendas (where Christ lost His lighter) and thence to the festival.

It was not long time on the road when I heard a muffled sound and short, I asked if we had stepped on a stone, a bump or what, but what is ... had run over a fucking cat , we were so flip that not even stop to see the status oftively past threads, at about 20:00 h begins to loose the PA losing the stereo (Defcon 3.5 for the long-suffering stage manager), seems to have been minimal power loss, following the event. Suddenly starts to rain and the PA starts to loose until the point of falling down and refusing to start, stop the set and protect the team's dedicated Stage Manager, for which incidentally I have only good words, gradually goes Defcon 3.5 Defcon 2 at the end of the typical hype that is thrown when something goes wrong and must stop it is clear shot. Still raining relentlessly, lightning, lightning and two towers of light (literally came down). (...) We stand

hours of God is falling and despite being under a carpa and 7 meters from the end of the canvas, raining over me (so I imaginéis camber). I is physically very resentful and think the Prodigy set is mounted and protected from the rain, ditto with Luke Slater, who had all the uncle!.

Time for The Prodigy and still had no PA, for about an hour and a half the public began to get mad, which I understand. I do not understand is that shout "motherfucker" to anyone who carries an accreditation organization, in order ... things of the drug, while I took the opportunity to go to dinner, and I must say that I got enough to eat! . BP eventually recover and start to prepare their set. With all built (including lights and smoke) the public starts to really get madyou in the van, looked at least like electronic music that I bring in the mp3 and I started to try to get some sleep. Limited success, many past threads wander around shouting and doing those things people do that goes very fart, especially the glorification of friendship and total conviction of being a sex symbol. About

07:30 until the next day I reported that we will go to the hotel to get some sleep before loading the truck, typical thing that you forget you have to do at that time and I fell like a jug of cold water the last minute. So after about 40 hours without sleep, I crawl into bed ... and I can hardly sleep a wink. Finally I fall into a deep sleep, so deep that neither my partner C. and I we hearWe raised the alarm and asking the receptionist over the phone by someone else, the 1 and fourth, very late. I shower and go at full speed, we get in the car ... And it starts ... (panic)

tweezers and got the van loaded with something the battery ran out ... and we spent the output Highway to the festival ... we wandered for 60 miles where there is not a fucking U-turn (panic) while clearly imagine our bodies mutilated and burned by the rest of our team. We arrived at the tent at 15:30, surprisingly are all so happy to get out of these circumstances that do not notice that deserve death, live!. We took a cable that remains and Madrid, unload the truck

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No pick up a brush as I collapse, as if this stupid piece of wood weighed tons? And then another, then a small fish mural copy of a catalog of interior design with a mother who has decided to decorate the room of her offspring, and will probably end up hating when you are fourteen and repudiate their sheets and blankets circus dogs printed. All liability, all for dirty and filthy money, smelly scum will not even be mine, figures that others play and I am slave.

I would burn all the ropes that bind me, but the most stout stem from my mind, and she, as always, is stronger than me. I'm tired of losing even my own games.

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In my building, at about eight o'clock in the afternoon, someone whistling a song. Every day. It is a matter of Kill Bill, 'Twisted Nerve', which sounds when Elle Driver is about to put to The Bride a lethal injection while in coma.

is a loud, deep, male. I always listen through the window overlooking the inner courtyards, in the Music Room. Belongs to a big guy, strong, with short hair and dark complexion, slightly pointed ears. His face conveys strength and serenity, and always smiling. Just whistle a phrase, but it does perfectly, including the last part, which is that nobody remembers. It's like a ritual. He whistles a phrase, I whistle the following from my window, jamming the end. But nUNCA continues.

not really know him. Nor do I know. But I enjoy thinking about the echo of whistles of all the neighbors echoing between the walls of the courtyard, singing an unhealthy and addictive melody of Kill Bill without really knowing why.

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nothing but problems, problems and more problems as a reward for all the effort that I have caused, if I could continue to play my position within the herd as you wish. But I'm not made for that. Although I truly believe that I'm not made for nothing. I can not

accomplish what you ask me, though it hurts me beyond words to tell me that in this way will be an unhappy all my life, but try to behave normally in your eyes to give you back the illusion. I am no longer your girl, I lost that range, I'm your pride and your confidence. Now I'm just a broken, a piece that does not find its place in the world that does not even have the strength to get it. A strange and lonely girl, a bad influence on my I

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ill say no to all those romantic nuances that are very often attributed to that expression, I am not sick of love, sighing at the moon for a great lost, lost in memories captured in photos of smiling faces and carefree. This is only the beautiful, poetic beauty, one that would inspire all the verses of poets are cursed, which piceladas gray paint with more melancholy prints in the world, who would steal bits of soul to dilute them in sad songs, but for that other party horrible, petty, so stained with soot that consumes all the sketches of my great work half of my story without end. A lot of unfinished stories reduced to ashes, after the helpless child teach the wolf teeth and disrupt allend, happy and sad, making a blur report, eroding both the role that it is impossible to draw a new sky over the ruins that threw the storm.

Coal burned on a canvas.

I'm corrupt, incomplete. Marchándote knew you'd end up, I guess. I knew it, but tried to deny it by all means, just do not fit into my head that could happen, although it was aware that every beginning has an end. He also knew that you would leave with empty hands. But imagine that you would like to take just that made me happy, that both shell of talking, which helped me not feel too much.

The uprooted, and that muscle weak pulsatingspurts are still the marks of your nails, bleeding every time I try to beat a little stronger. Keep your stigmata, admiring when turned off, hating and loving at the same time every time you cut up my skin again, each time they return to kill me a little more, forcing me to seek your embrace in the shadows.

Why I can not bury once and for all, as you've done with me. Why I can not fill your emptiness with a lot of faces, names, laughter, and that picture only relegarte from which I still stare. Why I can not break into pieces, why I can not remove all the walls against which I have been starring in these two years.

Two years, two years ... I thought

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"Believing in God is good, you know? I helped a lot when your grandfather was sick, gave me strength.

"Mom ... do you really think God did that for you? Why attribute this great merit to something that does not even know, instead of otorgártelo yourself? If not for you, God would not have achieved anything. absolutely nothing. "I

I mean, Esthercita. I felt how I helped. Whenever I went to the hospital, went before the chapel, and asked him to give me strength to tell your grandfather all those lies about how good it was going to get treatment. He did not ask to heal him, because he knew that was impossible. But he helped me stay out whole, but cut me off por inside. It helped me to cheat, and do a little happier.

"But was not God, Mom. Just your faith what made you keep walking. It was just that illusion, the power to believe in something. There are people who believe in Allah, people who believe in God, or Buddha, or in reincarnation. Some people only believe in itself. But the only thing that unites all these people is belief. Are different realizations of the same sentiment. Of faith .

But do not blame you, Mom. Everyone needs to believe in something, everybody needs to imagine a light at the end of the road to accept that there also ends its destination. Although the light does not exist. White lies sprout like weeds in their boundaries, but it's much better to think of que are beautiful flowers, flowers that make the trip much more enjoyable, flowers intoxicate your senses and get you close your eyes while you keep walking, walking, always walking, always forward.

But sometimes, just sometimes , this weed invades the way, entangled in your feet. Then open your eyes, finally. Open them all at once, violently, and burst lashes butterflies, rotting in strips of faded dreams. And you never get back again to smell the aroma of the flowers, because you discover that are full of thorns everywhere. It is horrible, the worst thing that could happen, because you exist, exist as it is as if you stopped there. From that moment, your whole life sn it, when you yourself are the architect of its falsity? do not blame you mother, and now I feel bad for having said all that stuff. Because I have no right to question your illusions, they exist only because I lost. Continues to believe in what you want, still keeping the faith in the God who helps you when you need it, but above all, keep believing in yourself. Because even when you lose faith in yourself, then ... then you have lost all

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point my phone number on a napkin, and always, always avoid anything related to sex, love, 'túmegustasyotegusto' and all that sex sporadic, momentary heaters, etc etc. I can not, beats me.

It is hard not to feel the slightest shit, anti-female and monkish of the world when your boyfriend tells you that this girl was so nice that you tried to throw the quoits as you turned. Or talking with that other girl who seemed so innocent in his many conquests have folleteos list, and how much they needed to get to the hundred. That if logging glances, hinting that if Pascual, if Somebody's niece sent photos of her in moving balls to a guy who just cclass international and that she's in love.

What the hell is it?

I would be less innocent. I would confide least the appearance of people. I would like to be able to try to lift your boyfriend or girlfriend or two-headed dog hip or someone so easily and without remorse. I would stop being so stupidly noble, because here it seems that who hesitates is lost, and I have stepped on the laces and I'm lying on the floor while all quisqui passes over me.

I feel stupid. I'm dumb. Of course, the problem is not that I'm stupid, is that 'the others are too smart. " Oh, sure. I'm watching it, someday all this sexual frustration accumulated endI'll throw exploding and all humanity, at once, in a massive orgy where not able to distinguish where your body ends and another begins, or the sweat dripping on your forehead is yours or neighboring fifth, that adorable puppy plaid coat.

Bah, fuck, I'm too angry.

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Look I'm tacky. And freaky. But do not fucking know what it is to get a picture with a rose in one hand and camera in the other, without noticing that you've done.

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Guess there's no point of discussion by stating that man is stupid almost by nature. That, while not born stupid, and it's natural that mainly social factors we end up transforming the real dumb ass, especially after a certain age where you start to need above all to break into a collective adapting to certain binding rules to belong to that small club in which the individual has to feel accepted as a defense mechanism against the rest of society and as a means of asserting one's personality, but that personality not found to be more than a mere copy of other.

Lately I've been surrounded by people with significant awareness iand for their lives in it, while the 'colleagues' who tried to separate them also had just received his and translated into more conciliatory good punches. Fortunately, all this violence was concentrated in the chewing stage sanjuanero VIP, and our comfortable but also ultraconcurrida cove could breathe the scent of peace and grilled chorizo quite reassuring. Call this subchapter 'violence as a solution to all problems, or the volatility of the term' friend.''

The horror came when I decided to plug a hole that had little in the stomach after going 8 hours without eating anything solid, and seized me, I went to a kiosk dangerously close to the VIP box happy. Of course, not getuntil we decided to ask why the hell did that. 'Because the beach is not fuck, that will be home to fuck', 'Because we see sex disgusting' and 'Because my Catholic morality does not tolerate these things' were his judicious answers. Ten minidots for them. Most horny

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-' I know a terrific joke: Who will adopt a black? Yo! "
- 'I do not know, I want to take someone who is hungry, a Chinese, or black, or a Korean or a Moroccan, I do not. "


There were many, many more, but unfortunately I'm afraid I do not know how to use more than 10% of my brain, and I can not remember. But at least not administered with a dropper, which seems to be afraid to use brains on whether to spend, or something.

Such experiences are leading one to wonder if it really is you who is crazy, or is the world in general to which he is the pot, how someone can start something like a game and finish it in a fight, comor you can get to find fun in something potentially dangerous to others, how they can adopt as its own indisputable dogma handed down and perpetuated by social inertia, instead of using that wonderful ability to reason has been given us to find our own responses. How can you be able to nail his fist in the face until just now called 'friend'.

We are the most unyielding scourge that has walked the face of the Earth. And worst of all is that we are completely stupid. Or maybe I'm overly stressed and I get too picky for remedies, when really no big deal the matter. Or maybe I'm a bit stupid. I guess all three.

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When I was fourteen I wanted to be manga. He dreamed of someday traveling to Japan and go to work as an assistant in a study to prove my self worth and gain popularity. Drawing comics without stopping, sent them to magazines, featured contests, struggle to build my dream from below, from the most humble foundations. I wanted to have a hairy boyfriend to play at a heavy group wanted to be more to go live with F. shared a wonderful room overlooking a patio lights, or wherever he went. Wanted, wanted, wanted.

But one day, put my dreams aside and decided to ask for what?

And all vanished.

was a silly dream. It was a light sleep. Perhapss even selfish. But it was my dream.

And now I have nothing to pursue. Study to get a job that does not enslave me too, but I think that school to work for years and hope to someday retire to a life goal aberrant, absurd.
road because I have my hand to the people I love, love way, but that love is also doomed to extinction, by force or by their own exhaustion. And only bring more pain.
enjoy appreciating the beauty of the world, I enjoy watching the delicate flower of a dandelion, I enjoy listening to the murmur of the waves and feeling the wind caress my hair. But I do not understand why amid all that beauty. I do not understand what my role, except lour chains. For the first string is our own body, threatening, vulgar, stale, and the string that ties us down and prevents us from being part of something truly great, eternal and imperishable. For the second string is our mind, our supposed intelligence turned into arrogance and stupidity, blind us into believing that we are unique, superior, masters of all that our eyes can cover, when in fact we are the greatest scourge the world has undergone . I would not fight a wolf pack to make me a hole in a pedestal that no longer interests me, because I have become afraid of another wolf. And even the wolves devour each other. Because of selfishness, pride and greed are born all the other chains that preventMan becomes ever free. We envy the birds and manufacture of wax wings to fly, but we can never be like them. Today

review, study and play in shaping the lock that suffocate me tomorrow. But claiming the meaninglessness of life is not an excuse to escape, right?

is just keep walking, like a robot, but like a robot too aware. And clean rust from sweat to paralyze the machinery, a machinery millimeter accurate and repeatable, carefully calculated performance. The parts that stop working end in the dustbin.

P90x Plyometrics Online Free the_swampman @ 2006-06-07T15: 53:00

On Thursday we got to Berlin by plane from Barajas, my good friend was esnucado Aramcheck all the way, sometimes on my shoulder, at times ranging from back in his chair and empty, almost fell into the corridor the plane, as was decided not to say anything funny.

At Berlin we went to the car we had rented to go to Leipzig, a Mercedes pedacho not the pole vault, jumping a gypsy:



So Monsieur Ratkin grabbed the wheel, we put the GPS and hang up to Leipzig.

There is something oddly attractive about driving at night, but if it is in a different country to yours and go with your best friends at event biggest annual loss in the world, what I can tell. Amid the excitement, we stopped to eat something and find something that would surprise us more every day that was passing, there do not speak English or Perry.

Unfortunately, the hotel where we did the night before that would be our permanent accommodation (no room on the first day) was so to take the ass, that when the GPS said cheerfully "You have reached your destination" in the middle of a hill where there was absolutely nothing, we decided Descojonado unison rather than mourn, I was the other option. A few meters away we saw the hotel where we would overnight, to 40 km. Leipzig.

I have to say in his defense that the hotel was a 4 star as Godmandates that cost us less money than a 3 in Leipzig, where he also had beer in the mini bar (which we only discover pimples) and breakfast which has happened to our memory as one of the best that we've gotten under his belt ( all while a camera crew filming a scene for a German soap opera = S).

So on Friday we went to Leipzig, we parked the car fantastic and we got into the Top Vivaldi Hotel, which although was not in the center of the city by tram number 16 came easily to the central station (total No one paid the trip). We left all the stuff and went down to the first round Endino Franziskaner beers.





Hotel Weekend

What Kind Of Football Does Alabama Use H - A - T - E

I bite.

Has Anyone Bought The Abortion Pill Online Beating

keitarochukijei

and get the hell in taxi.

And on Sunday came on the appointed day, thank God the technician resident of the Galileo who was there is a fucking guy and I could get their hands (obviously he had not seen anything of the show). There were problems with the musicians (how difficult it is for a professional musician playing twice with the same intensity or maintaining a distance between the instrument and the microphone?), When I was playing the CD is mated stage mics, and each ending theme had to change the configuration of the MIDAS, but in the end everything went well. Pictures soon.

Yes, put a CD in Autoplay him alone.
Anyway, this Saturdaytakes place at The Crypt the official presentation of the magazine Elegy Ibérica, next to the first guest DJ this month, which is essential cargadísimo session (of the same Saturday, Tarantula, HarmonicaMan, Ferio, Mary0 of Last Days of Jesus and


DJ Darlin 'Graves

of All Gone Dead)
It is less for the triple concerto!, buy your ticket now, chump!