Hello! My name is Tanya. I am lonely Russian woman from Ulyanovsk. I hope you will interested in my letter or in my structure in agency. I have decided to write to you really liked to me. Some more about me…. I am 25, I have finished medical university in our city and now I work as the children’s doctor. My free time I spend on a hippodrome, as I 7 years am engaged in equestrian sport. I think more about my appearance will tell you my photos. If you want to learn more about me you may write me to Zvyereva68@yandex.ru Also if you want to ask me some questoins (if interested in me), please write me and I promise answer you and also I will send you more of my photos. Bye for now.
I hope it’s letter will not without your reply. ?
(SUCK THE BONES.)
When is revolution, Irrational right and wrong, essays and poems, 2014
Many of the men who disappeared recited verses, sand on and under, in and all over, They never saw them again, they never heard of them again, no need to find hidden meanings in there.
Of course, some knew what was happening, It was as if the men had vanished. blown away. It is like some people are more valuable than others. Who is to decide? Whose task it is to know? they searched for, had been searching for the DHM, deep hidden meaning, to look for fingerprints of the men with explosives bullet-riddled body demolished the orchard’s walls, the trigger wire for the bomb that had exploded earlier
AFTER DORIAN LYNSKEY, HISTORY OF PROTEST SONGS, 33 REVOLUTIONS PER MINUTE 2010.
”Oh, I ain’t a Communist necessarily, but I’ve been in the red all my life.”
” Work and pray, live on hay/ You’ll get pie in the sky when you die” The Preacher and The Slave, 1911 The Red Song Book 1932 The Socialist Rebel Song Book 1934 Negro Songs of Protest 1936
Political message put into the arena of entertainment, books I can imagine in my hand, small, worn out with yellowish smelly pages, the ongoing rebellion, ongoing inspiration of coal miners, their wives, copper miners, their wives, textile workers, their husbands, inspired by Woody Guthrie, This Land Is your Land, 1944. ”I am out to sing songs that will prove to you that this is your world..that make you take pride in yourself and your work” Woody Guthrie’s mission statement which he read on the radio 1944 in his weekly show on New York’s WNEW.
This is a kind of Poem, this is a kind of scribbles, I end up seeing the same thing, a pattern, but I cannot put my finger on it
Failed to quicken the pulse, Ella May Wiggins who was shot dead during the Gastonia textile strike 1929, hero of the left. Message belonged to whoever stuck a flag on it. And increasingly the flag was red. Leftist intellectuals were in love, most of all, with the idea of a common man. Sometimes he drank, he fought, even shot his woman down. There was nothing ennobling about it. Music of rumors, dreams, ghost stories and whispers in the night.
Dust can’t kill me, beneath the cover of bad grammar, misspellings, Okie vernacular, which would come in handy in darker times.
It had not rained in four years bitter but exhilarating like biting into a lemon. To know about Confucius, did he know more about hypocrisy than he did about nature of American society.
Something fishy for robbing her off her lightness mixed with serrated glass day and night it was when she discovered heroin in 1940s, and commenced slow dying, scourging hypocrisy
from sea to ocean from sea to shining sea aw-shucks, ionization of a affectionately common man.
Full of bad luck and violent ends. Violent beginnings, startling start, I took these words from this book I found added them here next to my words. I gave words back to you. You do what you can with them.
What has happened before, what happens now to a worker? Is he/she called a worker anymore, the proletarian, or is it employee, staff, laborer. We have short history of couple of industrial revolutions during which many other kinds of revolutions have taken place. Couple of which have been Feminist. Suffrage movement, sexual revolution, inventions of contraception, women’s right to study, abortion, divorce, go to work and have a career. Women’s rights to their bodies are still under questioning, which makes me wonder why. Why female body is the main object of terror and a possession of man? We are still fighting for human rights to happen on many levels. But all in all, women’s rights have taken big steps forwards globally during couple of decades, lots is still to be done. It astonishes me how heavy the battle is.
FIX HER, TO HAVE HER MIND AT EASE: GRANDE PLASTIC SURGERY PLEASES SPOILED PEOPLE.
What is beautiful then? We seem to seek more extravagant beauty routines as experiences more and more, which are part of the idea of beauty, it is a process and constantly new found ingredients, beauty and wellness services and tricks. It seems it is not a matter of personal taste that much but manipulation, influence, advertising, group think and hype, even cost is not an obstacle but personality, individuality and originality go easily scarce when searching for the plastic look. Taste and style which are much guided by industries that produce beauty standards move fast. It is strange to point out one industry and blame that one evil thing when we should look at the whole picture: fashion, cosmetics, movies and pop culture, entertainment and the celebrity boom, social media and meaning of one’s own contribution and image in it. The artificial cosmos around us and what do we want in it, the constant boom and search for immortality perhaps in the lights, which train does not stop but accelerates and speeds up like there was no end as there obviously is not, since we want to be liked in constant movement and the easiest way is via looks, poses, clothes and places to be.
What is this all for, to look stunning to impress, make the best kind of visual impact to attract, seduce, make followers, a reputation and fame, be remembered and looked at as beautiful on the outside, as someone who has great tits, fantastic body parts until one doesn’t anymore? We want to be remembered to have been someone who looked good up to standards and measurements ‘made’ by ‘experts’ of beauty and style or having had style and beauty of our own but not? To be expert on beauty is a person who knows what beauty is, how to be beautiful. Interesting is how personal taste and made up beauty standards meet or what is personal anymore, one’s own, how far people are willing to go in becoming iconic, to be admired and gazed at, desired as sexy, fuckable and sexy are the biggest lures. For those who have the means to do as many surgeries as any surgeon can and is allowed to do on one person…
Having plastic surgery is like candy. It is a culture of looking infantile without maturity, finding satisfaction which quite doesn’t show and having all fast. Somehow happiness is still far away from the perfected body, it is unreachable because there is not a fairy to grant happiness just like that. So it is not in the body parts. It cannot be bought. Instant gratification of looking the way you want is obviously good and you have the right to look the way you want, as long it is what you want. What do you want? To be fake is just plain easy and it is the target to be fake and like faking can be easy as lying, an act. To be as fake as you can and pretend it is the real you, pretend the perfect body and gained lifestyle is the ultimate happy place with similar friends around who share your views and lifestyle. The wrong is when fake becomes the only thing that is worth reaching out for. When a person is not good enough without those things that can be bought, attached to and a body which is molded to match a standard of looking like an ultra feminine female for example, just the way you feel you should. The wrong is when this is the best we can get to become, dream about and walk in. The worse is calling it reality. Calling it real..the real you. People clearly have an issue with reality.
What’s wrong with it? Probably everything. Shouldn’t we be concerned and think about the reasons why people feel bad about the way they look, about body parts that do not fill the requirements, requirements that are more and more imaginable and artificial, born via images and entertainment around us? Have us think the good and the desirable and make us want to be successful through surgery and publicity, via total modification of the seen, to be a creation. Many say why not, as long as you are happy. It is there to be reached out.
Sentences like: I wanted to be pretty and be admired for that, but now I hate myself after plastic surgery went wrong badly. I almost died. It was done by an incompetent doctor, of course. Not because you had ludicrous ideas how you should look like. Such can happen since plastic surgery is not without risks. People despair painfully for the good looks, it is, I suppose, biological, but people want to deny biology, don’t they? So badly it is sickening to look at and sad as hell. It truly is all what one is and when looks is gone you are done for. The most sickening part of this pain is someone thinking one is all wrong on the outside, in wrong body and what is outside of one is that needs repair, a correction. Being beyond repair is a failure as such, wanting to be liked and loved for what you look like, when you do not like the way you look and other people like to comment your looks to make sure you do feel there is something wrong with you and make sure you do not fit in and do not feel comfortable, are you sure it is you who is flawed? Seeking comfort in your body is like getting lost in a forest. Being comfortable in your body means one should aspire to take care of it, not mutilate and vandalize it and definitely not do what others tell you should look like. The definite and absolute end of life today is ugliness, old and worn out looks. People who want youthful feminine looks without trace of old age seek science fiction, being over forty is today too old even with surgery. Who takes interest in you when you do not fit the beauty standards, when you do not look fresh and young? Maybe we should ask, who cares. Oldies are a big varied group of people with skills and knowledge. Why reject them, us? Because of prejudice? Isn’t today for variety and acceptance, not brutality and bullying? I guess not. People still today wonder the meaning of life and old age being something desirable. Importantly, how do we stay fit and youthful for a hundred years or more. When sexy is the meaning of life..thinking what is ugly?
Felt, lived through, avoided, how much pain is necessary, can one take, because without so-called suffering we don’t live. How do we call our pain? Do we exaggerate, complain, overexaggerate, do we compare ourselves to others and to their pain? Do we see it, effort, agony, lack of effort? To see an effort to gain, to learn, to work, to get something done. How much do our feelings guide our lives, our pain?
There is a problemBe a problem There is a problem. Be. 40.50. No price tags, please. Become a seed, as tiny as you can, don’t think about the price, loss or anything else but becoming potential, ready to grow. There is a problemBe a problem There is a problemBe. There is a problemBe.40.50. No price tags, please. Become a seed, as tiny as you can, don’t think about the price, loss or anything else but becoming potential, ready to grow. There is a problemBe. 40.50. No price tags, please. Become a seed, as tiny as you can, don’t think about the price, loss or anything else but becoming potential, ready to grow.
Stimulated, simulated, negotiated, forced, inflicted, given, numbed, self-inflicted, felt, lived through, avoided, how much pain is necessary, can one take, because without so-called suffering we don’t live. How do we call our pain? Do we exaggerate, complain, overexaggerate, do we compare ourselves to others and to their pain? Do we see it, effort, agony, lack of effort? To see an effort to gain, to learn, to work, to get something done. How much do our feelings guide our lives, our pain? There is a problemBe. 40.50. No price tags, please. Become a seed, as tiny as you can, don’t think about the price, loss or anything else but becoming potential, ready to grow. Stimulated, simulated, negotiated, forced, inflicted, given, numbed, self-inflicted,
felt, lived through, avoided, how much pain is necessary, can one take, because without so-called suffering we don’t live. How do we call our pain? Do we exaggerate, complain, overexaggerate, do we compare ourselves to others and to their pain? Do we see it, effort, agony, lack of effort? To see an effort to gain, to learn, to work, to get something done. How much do our feelings guide our lives, our pain?There is a problemBe a problem. 40.50. No price tags, please. Become a seed, as tiny as you can, don’t think about the price, loss or anything else but becoming potential, ready to grow Stimulated, simulated, negotiated, forced, inflicted, given, numbed, self-inflicted,
felt, lived through, avoided, how much pain is necessary, can one take, because without so-called suffering we don’t live. How do we call our pain? Do we exaggerate, complain, overexaggerate, do we compare ourselves to others and to their pain. Do we see it, effort, agony, lack of effort? To see an effort to gain, to learn, to work, to get something done. How much do our
feelings guide our lives, our pain? disciplined, demure and patient the rest is just process. think as many muscles as possible while quickly moving from one thought to the next to keep your heart rate high.
Your Start in A in this position with your body in Quark a straight line is gone your head to your heels. Keeping your arms straight core engaged, shift your weight
onto your left arm, rotate, and raise your right arm toward the ceiling so that your body forms a D; your right foot should now be on top of your left. Smile inside. Pause for, then return to the starting position and repeat on the table in front. That’s one thing. Sit. Grand M position next as. A thought since you are now a seedStimulated,simulated, negotiated, pain? Do we exaggerate, complain, overexaggerate, do we compare ourselves to others and to their pain. Do we see it, effort, agony, lack of effort? To see an effort to gain, to learn, to work, to get something done. How much do our feelings guide our lives, our pain?
•Add wish list great quality calories and protein.
When is revolution, irrational right and wrong, the book of essays and poems, 2014 by me can be found on the menu.
Color is black. What is with your hair? Eat hamburgers and drink beer like ordinary people. How ordinary..Death by drunken asphyxiation, death by misadventure, death by boredom, death by Split Beaver. Well, I never. Setting these fucking pyro things at seven gates of Hell. We were rehearsing because of red clouds of smoke. Writing Satan’s love songs to have a breakthrough, we were really screwed. Women wanted to do certain things with us which had never happened before. No rest for the wicked. Characters immortalized in denim and leather. Man who is a lie will not do. It was the metallers who were having to look elsewhere to find anything heavy.
Blue-haired Grand petite called Salvador Nebula. I don’t know who he is.
Horses fucking on a yard. They steam. Bear bare le jardin. I will be back as soon as I can. I can’t stand to watch. Mischievous, ambiguous and nefarious dissent that is who he is, someone yelled on the phone, delusional
Running down the stairs making heck of a noise of some wild herd running that should be outside making what it makes. Feet hitting the stairs with sneakers, high heels, cowboy boots, rubber boots, sandals, party shoes, furry winter boots showing toes hitting the stairs like injury in their minds, falling down about to happen, deliberately making irritating loudness. Their feet like they were to fall off, dance that makes music of its own. Go crazy, you childish. Making the sound that you do. lose mind. it is a weight of worry
barely keeping balance in a hurry. That noise, take it: continue the monstrous whirl. I want to be in it on the screaming in body of sound. And scream myself, because I’m unable to move myself. I can be appalled by them and stand by uncontrollable horror of youth. Time accused of ruining youth. What it is to ruin? What is there to spoil. What is to worry and why.
Run faster, the stairs end at some point, and you come to the door, sunlight flickers on wet grass. Go through with this in clean up, after, say abomination and brake, shout it over those sounds of running feet. Audio of some kind of despair. Shoes on the table, love on the table, neighbors, me observing, especially me, living on the table wearing shoes, only shoes. Running in hey after having looked at it with heavy breath.
I understand it experiences inflation the word said many times over and over, the meaning, the dirt and whispers and shame. Especially the shame. It stops being what it is. What word did you mean? Do you know what she did? Can you believe it? What a cunt. She is going to pay for this. I’ll make her pay. Tiny m tasting soft. Gratification many times over of pain caused not to avoid danger of being exposed with taste of mathematics the substance of brilliance and daring, just to say it. Just to say mathematics makes you stand above, just to think my life is mathematics. So real. I bet there are more people like you exhausted. It is a perfect world with perversion in it making the perfection and sitting still thinking about it. What is the payment and what is after? That stairs turned upside down. I’m looking at my hair waving in the air like hey.
Licking the shell of me, but why? A hand towel please. Like a never-ending virgin voyage on nightly grass. Laying on my back, watching the stars, and wondering why no one else is here. I didn’t sleep all night because I was waiting for strangers and animals, anything. Someone to wonder why I was laying there under a vast space, exposing myself to danger. Exposed to random attacks and looks. I wish someone had cut electricity in the city. I heard the streaming water next to me, a strong rapid, cold and black gleaming in electric beams of light, modernly powerful but stemmed. No one could hide, if there was anyone but me, looking up. Satellites going faster than stars I cannot name nor tame and this is far from lame. Well it was wonderment hiking and not leaving town, I felt isolated from the world yet not. I sometimes forget that I will never be apart from it, even if I didn’t speak.
It was still but not a silent night. Come here. Alone. To this park. At four a.m. I got chills so shuddering I had to stand up and take my sleeping bag for a walk. I packed my things and left. Ducks woke up at the same time.