Toronto Airport Cruising

Smashan Aleyrac Fall 2009

[...] The problem is simple or not is not. I refused to believe and accept the simple act of physical love as justification for all the noise is happening around him. We are not animals. We do not do that in public. We know the shame. However, modesty, what is it if the voice of conscience that compels us to hide illegal activity. Why illegal? Because it contains a contradiction between human nature and aspirations, fundamental. He is obliged to meet its needs, but he hides them. He wants to give the impression that they do not exist. It is already this ethereal substance to which the ambitions are innate. More man distances himself from the animal in his mind, more the contradiction with his nature becomes acute, the longer it takes to camouflage its instincts. And how can they hide better than minimizing them? Explaining that a simplistic way. Than spreading them openly, as they are no more, long time.

Even then I suspected, in the dark garden near the Monte Palatino: any sexual immorality of our time is really the height of hypocrisy, the completion of false modesty. The breasts girls, sodomy and gangbangs freely exhibited, are only precautions old daughter, like the swimsuits 1900.

is spread over a sexuality that is only half ours. More we present a simple, flat, bestial, the less you will be ashamed. We are not ashamed of a false accusation. However, what is shown in the brothels that have become our streets, is just like our prehistoric instincts. But we are not so simple as that. We want something beyond all that, but we avoid talking about it.

[...] At that time there so I thought of a still rather confused, there was in our body that was hidden abscess gradually rot the world.

This is not a complete covering. Today, nothing can hide it entirely. The world is like the syphilitic primitive. He attributes the wounds a bit more innocuous, less fearful. He prefers to decay to the bites, the reaction of some painful days inevitable in a state also advanced. And above all he is ashamed of what the neighbors will say.

From these premises I considered the extreme modesty of our simplistic reaction time as a criminal. I purposely sought to accustom my eyes to strong light, Cash that made light to penetrate our hell and our purgatory would necessarily be blinding, and even quite dangerous to view.

I was not there yet not prepared enough, the night she broke out before me, there will be nearly ten years ago when I passed through Rome, a message encrypted in my head.

I obviously repeatedly reinterpreted over the years, my meeting with the Baroness Catherine Strahl zu which I would still like to know with certainty what became of her, although I only not much doubt about this. I had the courage to forbid me any research preposterous. However, it is known that the convent was bombed and destroyed during the final push U.S. to subalpine massifs.

The few hours spent with them were too overburdened with bizarre events, too similar to the delirium of a morbid sexuality, for a glimpse of their secret meaning immediately, their metaphysical significance. Besides, I was not a metaphysician penny.

Everything is open to multiple interpretations. I could say for example that I made love with a genuine saint, if I had a tendency sacrilege. I could tell that I'm drunk in the company of a zany who thought he was a saint, if I wanted to simplify the price of a lie.

But in reality it was neither one nor the other.

She was away from holiness, but she was made the sole substance which, under favorable conditions, can produce great mystics. She lived in an extraordinary mental stress, the temperature of his imagination was overheated, but staying far from the imbalance. Her fortitude had the flexibility of a foil blade. How could it otherwise stood the test of that night, demanding that I despite myself, without being fully aware not responsible?

I realize now very well aware that any other creature in the middle of the same crises of consciousness and irregular passions, would become after a few hours absurd crank for good. However, I still remember the comforting and justifies all the hopes: having seen the dawn I left his true nature: a steel blade forged in a burning fire, unbreakable, clear as water and brilliant as day.

If the facts that occurred during those few hours were enough impenetrable by their character who fell at the same time the sexual pathology of the occult and mysticism, very authentic, must add that I did not know all the details necessary for a proper understanding.

samples ROMAN VISION by Gregor Paul , Scorpion Publishing, 1952. You can download the complete pdf version prepared for -Magick Instinct by clicking on the image above.

Baseball Center Pieces For Tables

GREGOR PAUL NEWS PACHA MAMA

Conference Peoples' Global Climate Change and Human Mother Earth

of 19 to 22 April 2010 in Cochabamba, Bolivia

We remember the hype around the Copenhagen summit in 2009 and the failure that followed: three pages of wishful thinking, imposed on all delegations by a small group of arrogant rulers. Following this debacle of green capitalism, the president of Bolivia announced that a meeting would be of peoples in Cochabamba in 2010. Thus, loaded as usual symbolism of traditional indigenous opening ceremony This global conference, which brings together 20,000 participants from 130 countries, took place yesterday in the biggest French indifference of our media. They prefer to hold forth at length on the smoke screens, they were volcanic ash, rather than talk about the initiatives of this part of the world, perhaps too revolutionary for their taste. Is that the power to harm the West in regard to any alternative is boundless, and it's already a victory against the peoples that this wall of silence surrounding the event. Hours of television devoted to fruitless discussions of Copenhagen, but not Cochabamba image in newspapers of the great propaganda television. It's just better on the Internet where, to date, Google have particular difficulty speaking to exceed the 6000 score on this important event.

Meanwhile, within the 17 focus groups conducted by the World Conference, and despite the context of haughty indifference of Western media, many proposals are emerging. Far from moving towards the only slapstick of "carbon market", the conference in Cochabamba raises structural issues and denounces the danger solutions previously proposed by the vision terribly reductive that industrialized countries are ecology. In contrast to the Copenhagen Summit, the gathering grows and the overall approach does not eliminate the fundamentals of bio-diversity, water, food and all vital resources.

recall the words of the initiator of this global conference simple and logical and sensible " Since we have profound differences between presidents, consult the people and do what it tells us ." In Copenhagen and in a climate of skepticism, Evo Morales announced the words of the upcoming meeting alternative. So promise kept, without using the theme that carries the soul like a hypocrite marketing ploy, or a simple adjustment variable electioneering. It is the people power of the people, remained silent until now, the president of Bolivia wants to challenge, through a future referendum Global answering questions crazy and unique designs that disrupt our usual world

- Are you of agreement to restore harmony with nature by recognizing the rights of Mother Earth?

- Are you willing to change this pattern of overconsumption and waste that comes of Capitalism?

- Do you agree the fact that developed countries must reduce their emissions and reabsorb greenhouse gas emissions at home, so the temperature does not rise more than 1 degree?

- Are you willing to transfer the money spent in wars to a budget for climate change and would be higher than the defense?

- Are you in favor of the creation of an International Tribunal for the Defence Climate within the United Nations to try those who do not respect Mother Earth?

Nothing less, therefore, a global recognition of the rights of Mother Nature, submitted as a subject, a full-fledged partner. Reporting the remarks of Evo Morales, the Minister of Foreign Affairs and Worship of Bolivia, Mr David Choquehuanca also renowned specialist in Andean cosmic vision, ensures that it has become more important to talk about rights of Mother Earth as human rights. In the design of the Andean Living Well or Sumaq Kawsay , these are the rights that supersede those cosmic rights. "The most important not humans (as posed by socialism) or money (as postulated capitalism), but life. The goal is to seek a simpler life. The path of harmony with nature and life ... "Here we are at odds with the anthropocentric conceptions of ecology.

Clicking the official logo of the conference, the head of this article, you can access the official website at your disposal, actively participate discussion by signing up and ensure that your sites and blogs are becoming partners in the conference.

Sympathy Letter Friend's Father

The writings of Marie Ndiaye

Three powerful women

These three stories have not really a narrative link, and the fates of the three main characters that do intersect in a very stealthy. What unites them is the writer's exploration of the inner consciousness of characters in direct contact with a hostile world, their way to tame it, to understand consciousness and progressive, painful, their interiority. In the first story, Norah, a young lawyer who lives in Paris, returns to Africa (the place is not specified) to see his father, former businessman loses. As in Rosie Carpe , reports progeny are described under the angle of monstrosity: the father is a lecherous old bastard, who abandons Norah and her sister and fled to Africa, taking their brother, condemning them to a tragic fate. By finding Norah regains a piece of her past that she tries to forget and which reappears to swallow in a hallucinatory reality. Gradually, all the markers it was built to collapse in contact with the father at the corrosive power, presence and animal vampire. In the second story, the protagonist and the narrative voice is a man, contrary to what the title announces the novel. This is Rudy Descas, poor seller in a kitchen design company, married to the beautiful Fanta he forced her to come with him to France after a tragic episode in their lives in Senegal. The time of narration only lasts a few hours, during which Rudy reviewing all the episodes of his life and gradually becomes aware of his mistakes. The last story of the novel, that of Khady Demba, is poignant and has the distinct style of the novelist at his apogee. Khadim is a simple woman, very uneducated, who lives on a level with his conscience and emotions, as in a mist shrouded interior that prevents fully understand the reality. A series of circumstances beyond its control takes him on a mare that aims illegal immigration. Here again the character will gradually become conscious of itself, and despite the horror of the fate of Khadim, his only and ultimate triumph is to have forged a clear conscience, safe, and his valiant inwardness and uniqueness of human being.

In these three stories, there is no real action, there is rather an expansion of the narrative, contrasted by the dizzying whirl of thought, which causes the character in flashbacks and hallucinations and immobilized in a kind of stasis inside.

The litany of names

In Three powerful women , as in Rosie Carpe , proper names of characters, repeated to themselves in their consciousness dazed and risen from the depths of a torpor atavistic, seem the only bodies capable of anchoring the characters themselves and a monstrous reality, nightmarish moving. Norah, Rudy Descas, Khady Demba, among the inner turmoil they experience, often say to themselves: I'm Norah, Rudy Descas, Khady Demba. The last part of the novel is largely symptomatic of the centrality of the proper name in both the narrative structure and style of Marie Ndiaye: it is often a careful exploration of consciousness with a reality which changes always a nightmare. In this confrontation between individual conscience and character of this reality full of traps, bloated characters and hallucinated hallucinating, charged a very high coefficient of strangeness, is the proper name as the anchor of the character itself, the extent of its existence, the metronome of his presence. The floating of these existential characters who have in reality is unlikely that an anchor on the bottom of this belief inside, this tireless persistence to repeat itself the singularity of their own name, which is the condensation of their being, came entirely take refuge in their consciousness.

Marie Ndiaye's style reflects this perception of the characters, surrounded by a strange world that seeks to sluggish thinking decipher but which always escapes their understanding. His catchy prose, coats the characters in the meanders of a long sentence, stretched, serpentine, as if to establish the hegemony of the words that fly inside their head as if to show their congealing inside a spacetime particular good. But the turning of a clash with reality now that the sentence is sharp, as for rolling these torpid consciences and awaken to new perceptions. The prose is as dizzying as the dive into the abyss that is the thought, especially when it is cut the world.

Bestiary and fantasy

The novels of Mary Ndyaie are always interspersed with moments of fantasy, as if reality escaped from the pores of the story and was carried away in moments of drift, skid, to fantastic vistas. Suddenly, in a reality that has become unbearable in a cruel world, at once sordid and absurd, appear fantastic moments of madness that embody the inner character. Often, these abuses are carried by the fantastic appearance of animals, very evident in his prose as both a metaphor and become archaic as an attempt to inner transformation of the characters. It is within the novels as Ndyaie inside a dream, painted by a surrealist painter. We think much to Surrealism by reading this writer, since Surrealism was expressed more than any other paint ambivalences of reality through the distorted minds of beings. These surreal moments sometimes arise in a very unexpected and strange, as if we were in direct contact with the inner madness of a character and with moments of magic, mythology: for example, the emergence of a nozzle on the windshield of the car Descas Rudy, who is in the middle of the campaign in the doldrums and inside c ' is the father of Norah who turns the night into a bird refuge in the flamboyant ...

It is no coincidence that the writer chose birds as omens of a strange, disturbing, even terrifying, the manner of a Hitchcock: only survival of a presence even in the urban wild, they are the embodiments of this nature raptor, this constant struggle for survival and existence that the characters also live at their level. With their eyes still and tellers, their sharp beaks, their mobility fulminant, they are there to make the characters face to face with a world both terrible and elusive.

Rosie Carpe

In one of the novels Ndyaie Rosie Carpe is a young woman born in Brive la Gaillarde, parents petty bourgeois mediocre and who has kept his childhood memories and distant yellow the family home and the only thing that glorious childhood drab and dull: a white magnolia in the garden. His childhood was not prepared to Rosie Carpe's descent into hell as an adult, when she left her little corner of the province with her brother Lazarus and goes to Paris. Soon the two are separate to each go to a lousy destiny. Rosie Carpe began working in a hotel in the Paris suburbs sad and uniformly gray, with Antony, and then several events and meetings will seal his fate forever, and ordered to drift. What is beautiful in writing Ndaiye, is that it comes to alternate distance and empathy, in turn, clinical and emotional, it also makes it perfectly inside the delirium of character through small realistic ratings in its environment, on acts of daily life. She understand the inner turmoil made it even more noticeable by a simple glance at the window of this bedroom suburb of banal, she felt discomfort in a conversation through the obsessive repetition of an innocuous little phrase, yet chilling. Something in the character of Rosie Carpe is both pathetic and unsympathetic: his passivity, his lack of foresight in relation to others, his stupor in a cruel world and without any amenities for the frail and flighty little thing it is. The author take his character in this distance between the inner uncertainty in relation to itself and adhesion intermittent pain and despair of being hit themselves, parachuted into the outer shell of a body given the world. At the same time, there is not an ounce of pathos in style, not an ounce of letting go. It is a remarkable performance, there are pages breathtaking, haunting prose and boring at once: his prose is both Flaubert and Julian Green, the former because Ndaiye wraps his character in a kind of prose whirling, dizzying, in long sentences that seem to offer endless support to a spurious character disorientation, the second because Ndaiye knows beautifully put a tormented human consciousness, moving in a setting and environment still outside, indifferent, and the contrast between the two is poignant. She knows how to impose this rift between stasis desperate things ecstatic and can not be.