Tuesday, August 2, 2011

It's in my head

I have just typed out so much stuff ...
+ Note - this keyboard, again, is all out of whack a...
My wife's blog.. link to Patume Dang
..In our house at somewhere beyond the rainbow across Ramindra Rd. we grow trees still no one is on our tree yet however it's probably...the threatening point ..Was it stood upright alone.?

It's in my head
“Who are you?”my hearing ability in test of both option’s intensity and raised my tone of voice which depends on how fast or slow it can vibrate the eardrums and I heard my voice said “God only knows”. In addition.. To here come the sun.. . to this now I always wonder why people raved about my hearing ability by used the neuron test method to here sound by two different means of my writing Fear pleasure, a state resembling sleep which consciousness may remain so in hypnosis or a condition like apoplectic nature,isn’t it some kind of genetic disease caused by the breaking or obstruction of a blood vessel in conduction just to make you all feel better, the weather is not fantastic it is by far warmer thirty-five degrees plus but it isn't quite sunning bathing weather! And it wasn’t rained quite some time. By analyzing the story with a thought of the leading man, by all means, he’s a newsman who once was a cop at Pie precinct,I have seen him play guitar while conducted traffic on the road but this is nothing compared to his role in the part according to the casting crew” Have you ever read the first chapter?” a writer himself wondered and a lot of people said of this work as it came from “an ingenious piece of shit”,but,however some people thought it some kind of the family’s affairs: ..:, to answer..Who are you ? .. it was him Nontas who have thought of mixing the Manthovani’s Love story with Beethoven's sonata-“the moonlight”..”the moon” he saidChicks in big cityflpalbm_opf_files_opf_files in draft the writer himself have put a leading man by plotted him as a musician an unfinished composer who fade away to his country all the way back to Southeastern Pacific as a pen has written….....while penetrated on how his thought brought him into the same situation on how cruel the society it was in the such the folks and family The affair and life of that society still remain the scar of thought and still.Since he has found out the point that righteous assumption by which he believed it was happening than even that assumption to be ridiculous he certainly assured the reader to stand on his viewpoint, unhopeful as though it is by the will of God, and that he can be afforded. No novel has ever mentioned about how one would duplicate another story and claimed to be unequal on its scope of his own. In fact, dog have better hearing ability than men, above all that dog even under stressed can penetrate the exposure of the spirit, never in any form of writing reveal the history of hearing better than Nontas. He have done the extra works obviously on that part so beautiful as artist revealed his masterwork which always come as surprises like spring,though the sun still shine like the reflection of spoon when everything are glistening in the pure air so that the limped eyes are drizzled while the chest-pounding with refreshed body scent like the fragrant of dawn and be bygone the warn night of sonata clings between the stars those are continuing falling to the delight of those who have read the original manuscript, yet to speak the fond of fact that is revelation. The firm foundation on which Nontas himself constructed though it was shameful this literary edifice,. As an ambitious writer herein appreciation whereas curiosity insisted upon the empiricism,Thon D. Nontas wrote. About an uncultivated region of the man who had lived against the wish to survive, the brain, unlike necromancy; meaning divination by alleged communication with the dead in which the spiritualist is the medium seize the building of which


     
  The restoration of King Charles II in 1660 brought the day of reckoning for the men who had to kill his father no other regicide was so astute. Cromwell Oliver called: Ironsides English general and statesman 1653-1658 lord protector of England was dead and his body had been interred with honored before the new king, then removed and have the head cut off and exposed on the top of Westminster Hall where people gathering around through the end of Abbey Road. All the youthful inquiry as to the essence of intelligent are powerless to answer. Just unlike,
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 Typhoon Haiyan/Yolanda in the Republic of the Philippines. An official confirmed deaths stood at 2,357 on Thursday. It was unclear on Friday, where it was still very early in Manila if the government publicly updated that number overnight. Survivors have grown increasingly desperate and angry over the pace of aid distribution, which has been hindered by paralyzed local governments, widespread looting, a lack of fuel and debris-choked roads. The dead are still being buried one week after the storm and a tsunami-like wall of seawater slammed into coastal areas. Many corpses remain uncovered on roadsides or under splintered homes in the worst-hit city of Tacloban. Foreign aid officials have called the disaster unprecedented for the Philippines. . Typhoon survivors, waiting to leave the province of Leyte in the aftermath of the Super Typhoon Haiyan, are pictured in the hold of a C-130 military transport plane at Tacloban airport, in central Philippines, November 2013. Where others stood there was now only a heap of mud with their owner’s possessions studying them in a kind of pitiless decoration. The corrugated-iron shacks in which some of the men lived were no more: here and there we could see the iron sheets in inspected places suspended from treetops, or blown an embedded on to the walls of houses still left standing. There was water everywhere, the gutters were overflowing into the streets. Dead dogs, cats, and rats cluttered the roadside or floated starkly on the waters with blown distended bellies. People were moving about amid this destruction, picking out a rag here, a bundle there, hugging those things that they thought to be there, moving haltingly and with a kind of despair about them. People we knew came and spoke to us in low voices, gesturing hopelessly. “lets us go,” I said. “Go inside I will get you some gruel presently.” Their faces faded; the two younger one began crying listlessly from hunger and disappointment. I had no words to comfort them. At dusk the drums of calamity began; their grave, throbbing rhythm came clearly through the night, throughout the night, each beat, each tattoo, echoing the mighty impotence of our human endeavor. I listened. I could not sleep. In the sound of the drums I understood a vast pervading doom; but in the expectant silences between, my own disaster loomed larger, more consequent and more hurtful. We ventured out again when the storm had subsided a little, taking with us as before, 1,000 pesos. 
This time things were somewhat better; the streets were clear, huts are going up everywhere. And my spirit rose. “To first for rice,” said Joshua, excited. “The gruel we have been swallowing has been almost plain water these last few days.” I quickened my steps: my stomach began heaving at the thought of food. The merchant was standing in the doorway of his shop. He shook his head when he saw us. “They all come for rice. I have none to sell, only enough for my wife and children.” “And yet you are a merchant who deals in rice?” “And what if so? Are you not a grower of it? Why then you come to me? If I have rice I do not choose to sell it now, but I have told you, I have none.” 


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