Birthday Card For 18 Year Old

Se dream as the Countess Castiglione, Virginia, who was anything but natural. Be
permanent representation in the mirror and worry, when the first wrinkles appear.



This was the experience the beautiful countess, a cold November morning, and that's what makes him the desire to break all the mirrors in her apartment.
Whether these mirrors were lovers gifts, gifts of friendship, offering to its beauty, offering price paid. The countess was all broken, with his heels and punched. He had to break this reflection was no longer hers, since these wrinkles, they do not belong to him. The marble and alabaster do not bask. These mirrors, we do not cross, they are merely a reflection of reality cruel and cold as November. They sometimes reveal more than we wanted. They reveal the fear and its attendant despair. She goes out at night to avoid being seen, not to present the forfeiture that is hers, she shone Dame de Coeur in the balls. Marble is eternal. A rose does not fade.


A rose does not fade, but there's still fun to see it fade. Fun
fierce. The pleasure of not having power, because this is something stronger than us, and it's time that passes, and since she knows now, as surrendering behind black curtains and rose petals that creak under the heel. The countess uttered a loud laugh and his hands, blood flowing from his wounds, they reopened it and started breaking the reflection, one that fades before the mirror, but not before the camera. Him, he flies. She raises her eyes hard on the goal and he will remember his eyes, and he will also remember it was beautiful and wanted. And the countess never flees if it desires. Besides, she prefers to leave rather than being unwanted. And loved.
The Countess is hiding and reveals.
And now, she will be artist. A whim, a sudden urge. The countess has always been temperamental. These photographs will be in his grave over the new playground, and then, she has no fear, because there is no difference. It will be more beautiful than ever, more beautiful even than when she was moving, it will Recalled frozen, it will be inquisitive eye, scrutinizing those who scrutinize it will be beautiful and old, proud in suffering, hidden, and tell the truth of her body and soul, and it will be the widow of her beauty, she is the widow of all young men and beautiful young men who were in love with her one day.


The countess is on the other side, and she chose herself to go. Nobody forced them, and it is anyway too rebellious to obey anyone. Solitaire forever, it digs its delicate hands earth. Nature does not like it, and never loved. That's why she was never natural but always lush and fragrant, corseted and playful. Of illusion, and that's it. It sets the goal. She fixed it remembers how much she is alive, how she is sad, and she does not care if others say it is a disease to be as sad. It never forget.
She knows that Death will pick the one morning in November.
Too bad.
All is vain, except love, and pride of a aged look and burning, never printed in the retina of the other, other. No one will forget. Mother Pain wrapped in her shawl to forget the cold.
the turning of a corridor, we will not see more than his robe. She dresses in black to be ahead.

Acrostic Poem For Cell Respiration

Syd And Me

Syd the Junkie, the schizophrenic who once shaved his matted hair completely, Syd leaping everywhere and continuously when brushing teeth its crises, Syd singing as a child, and Syd, who loved children so much he wanted his songs like nursery rhymes twisted from a former world and chaotic. Syd
the misfire, which was fired because he took drugs. Because he could no longer sing in tune. Because he forgot the lyrics in the middle of a song. Because he froze, his mind elsewhere.
Because he was a little crazy.
is the official.
Syd had the blessing of strange creatures and mythological.
Lucifer Sam the cat, Matilda's mother who tells stories, Grimble Gromble the Gnome, clowns, bicycle stolen it can not lend and few planets .... and then also the scarecrow. Its dual
, sad and resigned.
Hermit with dark curls, those girls that love to graze his hand. Hermit dark eyes, he kohl makeup, and if the eyes are the mirror of the soul, then that Syd is tired, old and mischievous at times. Tired eyes as Piper At The Gates Of Dawn .
His guitar is tuned as desired. This desire is not the neighbor. He hesitates when starting the chorus. He improvises. It is in the game Nobody really understands, except Grimble. Asked to be more thoughtful.
Whatever. In the game, despite suffering. Creation, and alone. Syd and laughs. The Madcap Laughs
.
Syd was gone, that's what we said. He may be dead, scorched by the brain as amphetamines and its chimeras. It was perhaps killed by jumping from the window of his room at the asylum.
He deserted from this we can be sure.
One day when he no longer loved life, at least over this life, he decided to stop responding. More
meet people, answer the phone more. Except to those he liked. And yet. But because Syd is a nice, he greets passers-head who tell him hello.
He had to borrow a bicycle from Emily or Jenny. Syd
the misfire, Syd has failed at everything, even his Art. On leaving the asylum, they say he continues to use drugs, they say it is bloated, it says it continually looks the same point on the horizon, like a Buddha sitting idle and lost. Sad man surrounded by flowers and bees, no longer listening to jazz because the rock gods are dead. It tries to understand the coded messages of the clouds. Her sister replied that they are only clouds. And Syd
laughs, but his laugh is sweeter.
Lucidity terrible. Wonder if ignorance is more expensive. The anonymity and a veil of dust to better listen to the lunatic who was in his head, he who chose the LSD to understand what he touched only the tip of the fingers. Syd
as an avatar of Garbo. Distance, the raw flesh and Lucifer Sam's take the boat.



It's horrible that you see me again ...
Let me be clear, I am no longer here .
Syd too sensitive and too fragile for this world. Too weird for some, too childish for others. The Engineering Thunderstruck, that's what we tell him when death opens his arms. It must say something. Syd does not care. Because he writes only for himself. Because he has not been struck. Not really, not that way. He paints and gardening, his hands stained with paint and mud. One way as another talk, communicate, because Syd, who was always taciturn, chose silence to cure his malaise. Tchaikovsky held his head when he led the orchestra.
Syd painted and finished his painting. He photographed, and destroyed the work. That alone should be important. The God of his world. This is not a point lost on the horizon that looked no more than its past flamboyant rock star and fallen who spoke to the kids as the greatest (the border does not exist) is its heart under the dust and broken wings, and clouds in the sky. And, hidden under a bush, the Gnome Grimble. Recluse, he was perhaps fortunate. I would say probably.
Syd could watch the timid world of his children's eyes and forget that one day he was a scarecrow.

There Was A King Who Ruled The Land. His majesty
WAS in command.
With silver eyes, The scarlet eagle showered silver
On The celebrities,
Oh Mother, tell me more. Why'd You Have

to leave me there hanging in my
infant air waiting?
You Only Have to Read the lines of scribbly black and
Everything shines. Across the

Stream With wooden shoes, bells
to tell the King the news. A thousand misty riders

climb up Higher once upon a time. Wondering and dreaming

.
The Words Have Meanings differ ... Yes they did "...


For All The Time Spent'm his room,
the doll's house, darkness, old perfume, and fairy stories
Held
me high on clouds of sunlight floating by.
Oh Mother, tell me more ...
Tell me more ...