<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436</id><updated>2012-02-16T10:33:25.138-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Leedoralee</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>62</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-3234895247248922755</id><published>2010-05-29T18:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-29T18:49:40.700-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>tocmai trecuse de la subjects to citizens, si se simtea oricum bine, un amestec de senzatii ii venea sa faca dragoste cu cel, intr-o dimineata era obosita, terminase ce era de facut, vroi sa se apuce de citit, era weak, astfel ca se gandi sa incerce din nou, sa vada ce simte, si fuse unbelievable de touching de transhumanta a trupului cu spirit dincolo de borders, si apoi ii cazu o lacrima, dar era una subtire si lina, nu ca altadata un plans, si James intra in camera ei fara sa bata, era sub patura rece, cu un san dezgolit si altul fierbinte, si el se facu ca nu vazu, dar ea izbucni deodata in ras, I was thinking of his dick, not such a big deal, acela se schimba la fata, si iesi repede cu hartiile in mana.....il facu sa sufere nitel.....un blond un pic mai in varsta, dar simpatic, lA URMA UMEI AVEA TRASATURI elegante.&lt;br /&gt;Si trecuse de la subjects la citizens, cand vroi sa puna un citat pe facebook sa il impartaseasca colegilor, si fara sa realizeze, il gasi.....in sfarsit isi afisa poza......arata imbatranit, avu oarecare emotii sa ii vada ochii adanci, incredibil de adanci, inca tinea minte cum o privea, cum o invitase la restaurantul chinezesc si ii spuse, azi esti cea mai fumoasa, comanda ce vrei, avem bani.....&lt;br /&gt;strangely, avea inca o iubita tot cu mult mai tanara, si mai era acolo fiul lui Stefan......we go in australia...for what...we make money and children....daca iar fi dat pasajul din casa presei.....ce ar fi zis.......nu ii era dor sa faca dragoste cu el, isi amintea doar expresii, uvinte si gesturi, isi mai amintea cum tinea tigara intre degete,fuma pana la ultimul scrum, degetele butucanoase, tot trupul mirosind a tutun,nu se indragostise de geografia trupului lui, nici de politici, doar ca ii descatusase dorintele, o pregatise pt ziaristul cu maini de inger, o descatusase ca sa simta.....unde alergi baby, why are u in a hurry, keep me there, just talk...funny, stia engleza mai bine ca ea......facultatea de hidrotehnica.........un tehnician bun........relaxeaza-te, ii umpluse camera cu lumanari colorate, toate pe langa prima saltea, danseaza, si dansa, fericita...el se sprijinea in cot, ii turna in pahat si fuma sexual, era gol, salteaua fara paturi, apartamentul gol, si ea dansa,ca si cand nu conta ca el era gol si ea aproape goala...se intoarse la el cand era cu celalalt, si nu mai simti nimic, si el o ura, simtise schimbarea, ii simtise totul inauntru, si vorbira despre astea, adica despre organe, ca si cand ar fi vorbit doar despre organe.....ea ii spuse, sunt indragostita nebuneste de trupul lui, si de tot cum este el, ii spuse de-a dreptu, cum si el ii spuse altele.....&lt;br /&gt;ce era funny, ca atunci cand il privea pe cel albastru, de la etajul 7,el fuma linistit din tigara cand ii raspunse cinic, uite dupa asta o sa alergi tu, asta vine dupa mine....hey, adica de ce nu cel de la Scanteia, care imi scrie eseurile la computer.....&lt;br /&gt;uneori ii era foame si el o trimitea la el, du-te sa mananci ceva....&lt;br /&gt;probabil ca nu ar fi trebuit sa il paraseasca pe cel cu parinti securisti si casa la baneasca, care ar fi fost o partida buna, cu si fara sex, dar slujba Pro si umor cuprinzator......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;prima data cand il intalni pe Petercat intamplator, deci intamplator, dupa cele dina Casa,era somewhere dincolo de grivita, inspre turda cumva, da, avea o paine calda in mana, seara il visa ca o tine in brate si visul acela o patrunse tare si fuse aproape erotic, i simti tot trupul mangaiere minunata si leagan, si in acelasi timp, undeva nevazut, ii respira sexul cu dorinta......&lt;br /&gt;il dorea foarte mult de parca era mereu un vis, si ii dadu lacrimile cand povesti asta la interogatoriu.&lt;br /&gt;" de asta l-am ucis pe petercat, ca sa fie adevarat"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;dar el o invata nu sa faca dragoste, dar sa simta,fusese rece,o invata sa simta  chiar si pe un birou scrijelit....fusese indragostit, ea nu il privise in o mie de feluri de dragoste, nu il desenase, se lasa doar coplesita de el..era machiavelic, asta insemna supravietuire...o duse totusi la parintii lui, si nu o iubisera nici ei.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-3234895247248922755?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/3234895247248922755/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2010/05/tocmai-trecuse-de-la-subjects-to.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3234895247248922755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3234895247248922755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2010/05/tocmai-trecuse-de-la-subjects-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-3080536274284215776</id><published>2010-05-20T13:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-20T14:41:15.996-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Zero tolerance, the policy adopted by Sarkozy, in combination with zero interest in how the poor are coping, has proven to be explosive. What sets apart the French situation from that in the neighbouring countries is not only, however, the violence of the current explosion. Therehas been a steady tide of broadening popular protest against neoliberalism for at least a decade, from the mass striking during the winter of discontent of 1995-96 that brought down the Jupee governement, and the formation of ATTAC as a network of citizens groups in 1998, to the recent bitter struggle against the privatization of the ferry company serving Corsica, and a strike to preserve the railways as a state company.&lt;br /&gt;For what is at stake in the current French disorder is, fundamentally, the difficulty of applying neoliberal 'market' disciplines to continental European societies that have historically developed under state auspices, in many respects against liberalism.&lt;br /&gt;The European Union's hurry to enact ' market' reforms in the aftermath of the collapse of the Soviet bloc only exacerbated longstanding contradictions between liberalization and the tradition of state intervention in several European countries.&lt;br /&gt;In France, the Economic and Monetary Union negociated at Maastricht was ratified only narrowly, and it worth recalling that at that time, the Green politician and author Alan Lipietz warned that in the absence of any real popular mandate, the socially destructive implications of the Maastricht agreement could ignite civil war within a few decades.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-3080536274284215776?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/3080536274284215776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2010/05/zero-tolerance-policy-adopted-by.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3080536274284215776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3080536274284215776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2010/05/zero-tolerance-policy-adopted-by.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-8664430211804669038</id><published>2009-07-12T15:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T15:46:50.213-07:00</updated><title type='text'>women si umbre...nepoveste</title><content type='html'>Women si umbre....Nepoveste...&lt;br /&gt;Cand se trezi, ursul de cafea statea cu burta in sus, ghiftuita, ca si cand s-ar fi adapostit sub o tufa de mure. Nasul lui negru din catifea aburea, de fierbinte ce era.L-ar fi sarutat cu drag.L-ar fi lins. Doar ochii ii erau stucked in tavanul roz, asa ca se uita si ea in tavan. In tavan nu era nimic.Il lua la piept si il mirosi. Venea din povestile bunicului, cand nu mai stia a spune altele si altele, asa ca inventase trilogii cu ursi.Il puse deoparte din nou, sa se uite mai atent. Avea un fular rosu, in carouri, semana cu salopeta ei primita de la Mos Gerila, via bunu….&lt;br /&gt;Incerca sa isi aminteasca, mai sus, cand, cum, unde a fost, unde…si printre randurile acelea nu se mai regasea deloc in acea existenta pustie.Acum intelegea de ce se simtea astfel, mereu panicata. Cand sa se incante ea frumoasa, cand, mereu o alta, si o alta, trecatoare capitala, era’’nu numai cea mai frumoasa…’’ dar si…&lt;br /&gt;Ast noapte, intrase pas, pas, ca un spargator desfigurat,, cu plapuma sub un brat, intrase in camera copilei, cea cu un ceas, pitic, roz, neinsemnat, si un ceas vorbitor si tainic, impunator. Atipise cand se trezi in spasme. O voce ii spuse’’plange din copilarie’’..Tremura, usile scartaiau si se linisti, crezand ca poate mai e cineva. Dincolo de prag, pe hol, Isabel, the Spanish woman cu ochii mari, rotunzi, negri, desenase pe pereti o minunatie de pesti foarte colorati, mici si mari, pentru fiica ei. In camera roz copila aduse si un peste auriu, mediu, clar, viu. Acum vedea clar ce fuse. She was matching the details, the words, cuvintele si necuvintele. Traise printre necuvinte, dar de Comarnic si excursia lui de refacere in singuratate isi amintea de asemenea, de ceaiuri, timp si netimp, de lucruri capitale si lucruri mici, nu stia.Isi mai aminti si ca poposise cu drag pe meleagurile acelea, la doar un an inainte sau mai putin, si fusese degeaba, in umbre si penumbre.&lt;br /&gt;Il adapostise, dar stiut numai de ea, intr-o imaginatie luxurianta, la margine de Bucuresti, intr-o padurice unde mergea cu bunicul, in apropierea unui lac tainic.Mergeau acolo sa pescuiasca, printre ceturi serpuitoare si naluci prietenoase in diminteti. De cealalta parte a lui, se afla o casuta mica, si un nene cu barba, tot iesea din locuinta si privea, cu mainile in buzunar. Acolo, in casuta aia, ar fi vrut sa se intoarca candva. Nu in Uverturii.&lt;br /&gt;Il luase sub sprancene si in alte povesti imaginate, mereu si mereu, si fara sens.&lt;br /&gt;Becky canta, Sammy latra, pestele si ea supurau.&lt;br /&gt;Ziarul aluneca prin buza usii vechi de lemn, negrul disparu asa cum veni, intr-o clipa.&lt;br /&gt;Pe Peel Grove 29 oamenii nu se cunosc. Doar la no24 locuieste o indianca tanara, frumoasa, in sari viu colorate rosu si verde si galben, iese uneori sa fumeze, sa priveasca. Fumeaza lenes, elegant, si face pasi micuti catre celelalte case, le scruteaza, ca si cand le-ar citi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWfQMn0F-3g"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWfQMn0F-3g&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ii dadura lacrimile, si nu stia de unde, ca doar cutia toracica era goala, se duse catre fereastra. o deschise cu cheita, aici totul era baricadat, si se uita la oameni, cum lucrau. Sammy o vazu si incepu sa dea din coada. Fara sa isi dea seama, ca si cand ar fi vazul un curcubeu, desi Sammy era o fiinta, zambi, colturile gurii se lungisera frumos, si asternu un un pic de binete pe pervaz. Isi lua zambetul, se aseza la computer si revazu noul ei tango pasional. ''In curand o sa plec in Argentina.''&lt;br /&gt;Ii veni sa se sarute pe pe par, si chiar sa isi linga coatele si genunchii.Cata pasiune poate fi, asa, in aer, nu stia de unde vine, intr-un trup fara suflet si fara iarba. Spune-mi povesti, dar sa nu aiba legatura cu mine.''Spune-mi povestea ta, strainule cu chipul ascutit sau rotund, sau nedeslusit, danseaza-mi, arata-mi mainile.Vreau sa iti vad palmele, sa ti le-adulmec cand descanti ''.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oN0o_ZgdCL0"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oN0o_ZgdCL0&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moonriver&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-8664430211804669038?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/8664430211804669038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women-si-umbrenepoveste.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/8664430211804669038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/8664430211804669038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women-si-umbrenepoveste.html' title='women si umbre...nepoveste'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-6264430696779785474</id><published>2009-07-12T15:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T15:43:04.426-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Women...roots&lt;br /&gt;De cealalta parte a lumii, intr-un cuib cu Dumnezeu numit Allah, foarte cald,desi intr-o tara mai estica,ea,ca o printesa a desertului rasarita pe meleaguri ortodoxe,primea de la barbatul ei, in zori, pe divan, o cafea foarte tuciurie, aromata, si trandafiri rosii, de la Aymen branduse, de la Taha narcise, si de la Ahmad tot trandafiri, dar galbeni. Un cuib.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-6264430696779785474?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/6264430696779785474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women_1312.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6264430696779785474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6264430696779785474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women_1312.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-490941115612921067</id><published>2009-07-12T15:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T15:41:51.974-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Petite rewrite</title><content type='html'>Era foarte dimineata cand cobora scarile castelului foarte vechi si urat, Britannia, transformat in cel mai mizer hotel.Pescarusii tipau fara nume. Frigul dinspre North Bay ii indoia vestonul subtire, un trenci de fapt, un trenci de culoarea pamantului, daca te uitai atent. Cine se mai uita atent, nowadays. Cobora ghemuita cu coastele indoite, de parca avea o suferinta cumplita intre ele, si deci isi tinea palma, lipita strans, de piept.. O durea locul cu pricina, ii amputase sufletul. Peste noapte se trezi cu sufletul amputat, o fi fost de la vreme rea, acum cobora scarile de piatra, sute, in fata se intindea marea, si statiunea era linistita, oamenii putini, cei care nu luasera micul dejun. Ea isi tinea mana tivita de cutia toracica sa nu tipe, in rest, o mai durea capul usor. Vantul si frigul il anchilozase, si nu mai simti curand, nimic.Un turist, incerca sa isi tina echilibrul pe digul de fier dimprejurul nisipului, cateva banci mici, rasarite, erau auditoriu.In fata, cerul, cu marea, impreunandu-se, plictisit.Nu vroia pe nimeni sau poate vroia un fel de cineva, sa spuna ceva, sau sa nu spuna nimic. Strainul, cu chipul blond, dar fara culoare, era intr-un carucior. Fusese si el amputat sau paralizat, cine stie. Nu se uita la chip cu atentie. Se uita infricosata la cei doi caini, stand cuminti in dreapta lui, unul langa altul: un pitbull si un lup. Strainul ii mangaia cand pe unul, cand pe celalalt, lupului ii scutura blana salbatec. Cainii se uitau rasfatati la mare. Se aseza in celalalt colt al bancii. Mai privi cainii un pic, cu teama, dupa care impresura golful cu privirea.Totul era the same. Valuri, plutind lenes, intr-o imensitate.Pustiul isi continua acrobatiile.&lt;br /&gt;''De ce iti trebuie doi caini?'', il intreba.&lt;br /&gt;''Sa ma apar'', ii raspunse acesta nervos, desi fata nu ii trada nici o emotie cruda.&lt;br /&gt;Apoi tacu si ea. Mirosea a gogosi, si a ceva din copilarie.Inca isi tinea mana pe piept. O durea continuu, ar fi baut niste apa. Da era stucked.&lt;br /&gt;''Spune-mi o poveste..’’ii spuse strainul, brusc, ca si cand l-ar fi interesat.&lt;br /&gt;''Eu nu stiu povesti'', ii raspunse ea, repede.&lt;br /&gt;''Tell me your story'', insista acesta.&lt;br /&gt;Eu nu am poveste, ii raspunse ea sincer.Da imi plac valurile. Sunt cuminti.Nu e prea frig, isn’t it?&lt;br /&gt;In timpul acesta, fara sa isi dea seama, ca de obicei, cand era la orice masa si avea o bucata de hartie, si acum, pe fasia de nisip de sub picioarele eei, desena cu varful piciorului o casa. De fapt, doar un patrat.&lt;br /&gt;Strainul se uita atent, sau poate plictisit. Cine mai deosebea astfel de lucruri nowadays.&lt;br /&gt;''Asta e povestea?''&lt;br /&gt;Nu era de fapt decat un patrat, nu-i mai puse acoperisul, era un patrat urat.&lt;br /&gt;''Nu-mi iese, nu-mi iese nici un patrat,'' spuse ea livid cu mainile tremurand, ca si cand ar fi trait cu mainile.&lt;br /&gt;Cineva, un alt trecator cu caine, mai mic, trecu grabit. Fuma. I-ar fi cerut o tigara.&lt;br /&gt;''Tu nu fumezi?''&lt;br /&gt;''Nu.''&lt;br /&gt;''Nici eu, da acum as fi tras in piept o tigara.''&lt;br /&gt;Valurile erau cuminti, dar neexpresive. Nu mai putea ghici nimic, dincolo de ele. Se ghemui, si pleca cu gandul departe, unde nu gasi nimic.&lt;br /&gt;Strainul scoase de undeva, o muzicuta.Incepu sa cante.&lt;br /&gt;''E prea devreme pentru asta'', il intrerupse. ''Tu de ce te temi?'', intreba nervos.&lt;br /&gt;''De oameni, ii spuse straimul,'' si isi mangaie cainii.&lt;br /&gt;''Eu ma tem de mine si de valuri ce par cuminti. E greu si fara o poveste,si cu sufletul amputat. Fiecare are o poveste, nu?''&lt;br /&gt;''Nici eu nu mai am suflet, si nici picioare, dar traiesc.Dar, e drept, am o poveste'', si ii zambi dintr-o data frumos.&lt;br /&gt;''De ce ii mangai?''&lt;br /&gt;''Ma apara'', raspunse simplu, convins, cu buzele stranse.&lt;br /&gt;''Right.Ma duc sa cumpar doua cafele, tari.''&lt;br /&gt;''No, with milk.''&lt;br /&gt;''ok.''&lt;br /&gt;Mergea incet.&lt;br /&gt;De cealalta parte a statiunii, dragonii casinourilor luminoase, infricosator de electrizate, urlau.&lt;br /&gt;Se intoarse repede.Ii oferi cafeaua de la distanta, si ii spuse asa, fara legaturi.&lt;br /&gt;''Mi-e frica.''&lt;br /&gt;Vantul sufla, in fata, era tot marea, cu cate un vaporas in coasta ei.&lt;br /&gt;''maine nu pot, ca sunt la service. Si inca niste zile. Asociatul meu are o casa goala la comarnic - un sat pe un deal, inainte de sinaia. Cum devenim mai de incredere ii cer cheia si merg in week-end sa-mi bag mintile in cap. Te anunt si pe tine?''&lt;br /&gt;''Auzi? Canta desertul.''&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWfQMn0F-3g"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nWfQMn0F-3g&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deschise geamul si peste gardul din caramizi rosii se inalta gardul ghimpat, cu trei randuri de cercuri de sarma ghimpata. Altfel, trotuarul mirosea tot timpul a ploaie, inceata, frumoasa, buna pentru respirat.Departe de ea, vedea camilele si bedouinii. Mergea in desert in fiecare an. De parca nu ar fi fost simtea adierea vantului. Peste cer, mai treceau pasari, ca si cand ar vasli in desertul de valuri din North Bay. Ya nour el ayn, asteptase ea, cu inima cat un purice.&lt;br /&gt;''Hai la Sighisoara. E o pensiune unde putem bea cafea dimineata. E la strada, in apropiere de gara. Am mai stat acolo.''&lt;br /&gt;''Iubito,mergi cu mine la munte?''&lt;br /&gt;Strainul radea.&lt;br /&gt;''Cum s-a intamplat?&lt;br /&gt;''Un pusti, eu nu mai cerusem nimic, un pusti se daduse in carusel.Si a vrut sa imi citeasca in palma trecutul.&lt;br /&gt;Eu nu as mai fi vrut. In dimineata aceea as fi vrut sa hranesc porumbeii. In dimineata aceea vroiam sa joc sah cu tataia sau hide and seek, apoi, sa mancam orez cu lapte. Atat.&lt;br /&gt;''Hai sa mancam.''&lt;br /&gt;''Ce? Nicidecum ghiveci sau cataplasme.Poate doar orez cu lapte.&lt;br /&gt;''Esti culmea. Oricat de blestemat as fi, orez cu lapte nu pot sa iti fac.''&lt;br /&gt;''Hai sa dormim.Ca cersetorii. La marginea orasului.''&lt;br /&gt;''Ai vorbit cu Isabel?''&lt;br /&gt;''Nu, dupa miezul noptii, cand ceasul cu cuc o sa vorbeasca.''&lt;br /&gt;''Bine''.&lt;br /&gt;''Eu nu am poveste....le vorbi tacut pescarusilor..&lt;br /&gt;Pescarusii scanceau, cerul se uita sticlos.&lt;br /&gt;''Draga mea, multumesc ca te-am intalnit, sa-mi arati ce e cu adevarat important in viata - altora. Stiam doar ce e important in piata, fosta a Victoriei. Roman al cuvintelor. Incep sa am timp, chiar si presarand pulberi de tristeti, si ma astern, din nou, la drum descris. Iti dedic un capitol. Capital.''&lt;br /&gt;Acum, se uita departe, acum...nu mai avea suflet.Nimic. O astepta pe Isabel.&lt;br /&gt;''..ma indop naturalist. pregatesc o lista de subiecte pt maine. in rest, stau la birou, ca iar nu sunt singur acasa .)) discut cu colaboratorii. si ma proiectez in viitorul in care tu - client room service, eu - client. mergi la comarnic? ''&lt;br /&gt;Let's sleep, better.Loong, long time. Cineva batu la usa. Tresari, apoi amorti.&lt;br /&gt;Dupa minute isi dezlega limba.&lt;br /&gt;''Who is it?, se ridica obosit, apasa pe clanta..Nobody.Ceasul din camera alaturata batea puternic, inima ei, la fel. I se facu rusine de visul cu o seara inainte.Teama nu ii era.&lt;br /&gt;Sau poate chiar mult...&lt;br /&gt;Veni noaptea si cerurile se imblanzira.O visa.Cubaneza ii rase de chip dimineata.&lt;br /&gt;''Is that your smile?'' Gorgeous. Altfel, aici la 29, oamenii nu se mai bagau in seama.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mC70NvYiSm0"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mC70NvYiSm0&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ii veni in minte un gand..un verb din trecut, a te darui, adica esti un dar si te asterni frumos in palma cuiva... un dar, dar de fapt...&lt;br /&gt;''Mai am un singur lucru de facut. Acum exist.'', isi spuse puternic in gand sa se auda.&lt;br /&gt;Alaturi de Liban, Marea Rosie,si de langa Jaffa, cineva o sunase.De ce, ce putea fi Petite, decat un fir de nisip, neinsemnat, in apropierea marilor stangace, dar conturat.Nu raspunse.&lt;br /&gt;Acum stia ce o lega de Isabel. Ce ciudat. Un ceas care ii vorbea, si o alina.&lt;br /&gt;Becky inca se dezgolea mandra in fata tatalui ei si tipa deznadajduita sa o spele pe spate. Yulla, copila lui de pat, nu era interesata, tipa din motive financiare. Straina ii privea, indignata, dar prea slabita sa reactioneze.. Incepuse sa nu mai vada bine deloc. Prin geamul mic privea aerul cum tremura usor, in spatiu. Totul era poluat.&lt;br /&gt;In frigider nu mai erau decat ham si carnati englezesti, cu gust de o pasta incerta.Ziarul aluneca prin crapatura usii. Acelasi negru pe bicicleta, cu geaca subtire de ploaie si o sapca.Vesel, fluierand.Joanne spala. Continuu. Masina horcaia.&lt;br /&gt;Duminica, lua Magic Bus si mergea sa priveasca golful, fara masti, netrucat, foarte putin mandru. Strainul, chiar daca nu o privea, ii vorbea. Locuia pe una din coline, si obisnuia sa coboare spre mare dimineata, devreme, ajutat de un pusti. Nu aveau nici un sens, BOTH OF THEM.Reci, sfartecati, amputati prin toate cotloanele, blestemati, si apoi spovediti instantelor.&lt;br /&gt;Petite&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-490941115612921067?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/490941115612921067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/petite-rewrite.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/490941115612921067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/490941115612921067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/petite-rewrite.html' title='Petite rewrite'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-6485466272532791584</id><published>2009-07-12T15:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T15:28:25.252-07:00</updated><title type='text'>multi</title><content type='html'>Erau multi, trebuia sa curete dupa ei, casa era un pub, bause o sticla pe Arniston bay, desi e o blasfemie sa faci asta cand esti sad, si deci, isi puse un neglijee negru,. cu trandafiri transparenti pe sani, un string trandafiriu , era in capul scarilor, barbatii lustruiau, ochi stucked, coborase...o mana ridicata...Nooooo, Lora, They smiled, they were stucked, she smiled&lt;br /&gt;Doralee&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-6485466272532791584?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/6485466272532791584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/multi.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6485466272532791584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6485466272532791584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/multi.html' title='multi'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-6305176358361744279</id><published>2009-07-12T15:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T15:12:51.229-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Women, daughters</title><content type='html'>Women, daughters&lt;br /&gt;''Doralee, u make me feel embarassed, stop it....'', o trase de mana Becky.&lt;br /&gt;''I am sorry, I am sorry..'', isi opri scancetul urlator exact la jumatatea pieptului si il ucise printre omuletii gatului.&lt;br /&gt;Se facuse primavara, se urcase pe cer un soare rece si ranjea.&lt;br /&gt;''Du-te dracului''.&lt;br /&gt;In dimineata urmatoare se intoarse in Scarborough, la North Bay, sa il caute.&lt;br /&gt;''I give u anything, just do it''&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lB8n0UBXnE"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lB8n0UBXnE&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pe banca cu pricina, nu era nimeni, se asezase nisipul. Merse ca si cand o durea bratul cu o zi in urma cand donase sange spurcat, merse inainte, durea ca si cand s-ar fi strapuns, si in loc de asta, dadu peste un barbat cu trasaturile ascutite si un caine cu trasaturi la fel de ascutite, o corcitura de Leslie cu vagabond.&lt;br /&gt;''Te-ai intors? Pentru ce? De ce te intorci mereu?''&lt;br /&gt;''Esti mai putin fioros, doar ascutit? Cum faci asta?''&lt;br /&gt;''I will show u something tonight..But tell me, why does it hurt u now? You sold your heart..''&lt;br /&gt;''The memory of my heart hearts me, stranger.Exactly in the deep of my eyes and my body''&lt;br /&gt;''Sing a song''&lt;br /&gt;''What? What song could be for me, when is no story?''&lt;br /&gt;''Let me think. Could u dance?''&lt;br /&gt;I am always the queen of dancing. On that night, before of selling my heart, I danced like a queen.Some music were dead a long time ago. They asked me..Are u a professional? The women went away, and one girl just told me, that I am wonderful in feeling the dance.That woman was a cabaret dancer.&lt;br /&gt;''Thats all about u?&lt;br /&gt;''U know everything about me, but I will answer to u.&lt;br /&gt;I dont know, is just a basic instinct. I am an animal again. I don't have any heart, or any rationality. I am biting.''&lt;br /&gt;''I will show u tonight, how can u do it.''&lt;br /&gt;''After that, I will make love, with me, on an empty place, in my body. ''&lt;br /&gt;Becky ii aparuse in prag, o ruga, ''Becky do u still need your, your...si mintea ei se bloca....o privi pe pe copila, cu ochii rotiti de-a lungul camerei, o astepta sa termine, desi parca nu o vedea, era pana nu demult un copil, vesel, razgaiat, rau,acum fata i se plamadise, isi avea un fel de tristete in ochi, care o facea femeie, o noua Lolita pentru un oarecare, caruia nu ii va pasa ca mama ei murise la 10 ani. Fostul ei sot, isi luase o alta fetita la numai o luna dupa funeralii, fie si ca erau despartiti de ceva timp, deci plecase in Cuba sa isi aleaga o fetiscana de 20, care strivise bietul copil, prin pretentiile ei, de fetita. Moonriver&lt;br /&gt;Moonriver&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-6305176358361744279?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/6305176358361744279/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women-daughters.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6305176358361744279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6305176358361744279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women-daughters.html' title='Women, daughters'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-1142351276211306733</id><published>2009-07-12T15:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T15:10:02.733-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>nefericit&lt;br /&gt;''Si la ce te astepti tu acum?''simti intrebarea strainului in ceafa ei, odata cu vantul. ''Sa ma iubeasca putin, foarte putin, asa cum iti iubesti calcaiul ingrosat...sa poata iubi foarte putin pe cineva care nu merita, asa cum eu am iubit mult cand nu merita.'' ''Esti nebuna.Unde exista asa ceva?'' ''In povesti cu ingeri, fireste.'' ''Dar tu ti-ai vandut sufletul lui Besemoth, cu cateva nopti inainte.'' ''Adevarat, sunt un om nefericit, dar inca mi-e dor de gura lui moale, ireala, fantastic de fierbinte, ca a unui cal salbatic.Nu am sarutat niciodata un cal.''&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-1142351276211306733?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/1142351276211306733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/nefericit-si-la-ce-te-astepti-tu.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/1142351276211306733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/1142351276211306733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/nefericit-si-la-ce-te-astepti-tu.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-1965369051886673923</id><published>2009-07-12T15:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T15:07:29.105-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lolite</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x0dMBqtGtOU"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x0dMBqtGtOU&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Era foarte dimineata cand cobora scarile castelului foarte vechi si urat, Britannia, transformat in cel mai mizer hotel.Pescarusii tipau fara nume. Frigul dinspre North Bay ii indoia vestonul subtire, un trenci de fapt, un trenci de culoarea pamantului, daca te uitai atent. Cine se mai uita atent, nowadays. Cobora ghemuita cu coastele indoite, de parca avea o suferinta cumplita intre ele, si deci isi tinea palma, lipita strans, de piept.. O durea locul cu pricina, ii amputase sufletul. Peste noapte se trezi cu sufletul amputat, o fi fost de la vreme rea, acum cobora scarile de piatra, sute, in fata se intindea marea, si statiunea era linistita, oamenii putini, cei care nu luasera micul dejun. Ea isi tinea mana tivita de cutia toracica sa nu tipe, in rest, o mai durea capul usor. Vantul si frigul il anchilozase, si nu mai simti curand, nimic.Un turist, incerca sa isi tina echilibrul pe digul de fier dimprejurul nisipului, cateva banci mici, rasarite, erau arena.In fata, cerul, cu marea, impreunandu-se, plictisit.Nu vroia pe nimeni sau poate vroia un fel de cineva, sa spuna ceva, sau sa nu spuna nimic. Strainul, cu chipul blond, dar fara culoare, era intr-un carucior. Fusese si el amputat sau paralizat, cine stie. Nu se uita la chip cu atentie. Se uita infricosata la cei doi caini, stand cuminti in dreapta lui, unul langa altul: un pitbull si un lup. Strainul ii mangaia cand pe unul, cand pe celalalt, lupului ii scutura blana salbatec. Cainii se uitau rasfatati la mare. Se aseza in celalalt colt al bancii. Mai privi cainii un pic, cu teama, dupa care impresura golful cu privirea.Totul era the same. Valuri, plutind lenes, intr-o imensitate.Pustiul isi continua acrobatiile.&lt;br /&gt;''De ce iti trebuie doi caini?'', il intreba.&lt;br /&gt;''Sa ma apar'', ii raspunse acesta nervos, desi fata nu ii trada nici o emotie cruda.&lt;br /&gt;Apoi tacu si ea. Mirosea a gogosi, si a ceva din copilarie.Inca isi tinea mana pe piept. O durea continuu, ar fi baut niste apa. Da era stucked.&lt;br /&gt;''Spune-mi o poveste..’’ii spuse strainul, brusc, ca si cand l-ar fi interesat.&lt;br /&gt;''Eu nu stiu povesti'', ii raspunse ea, repede.&lt;br /&gt;''Tell me your story'', insista acesta.&lt;br /&gt;Eu nu am poveste, ii raspunse ea sincer.Da imi plac valurile. Sunt cuminti.Nu e prea frig, isn’t it?&lt;br /&gt;In timpul acesta, fara sa isi dea seama, ca de obicei, cand era la orice masa si avea o bucata de hartie, si acum, pe fasia de nisip de sub picioarele eei, desena cu varful piciorului o casa. De fapt, doar un patrat.&lt;br /&gt;Strainul se uita atent, sau poate plictisit. Cine mai deosebea astfel de lucruri nowadays.&lt;br /&gt;''Asta e povestea?''&lt;br /&gt;Nu era de fapt decat un patrat, nu-i mai puse acoperisul, era un patrat urat.&lt;br /&gt;''Nu-mi iese, nu-mi iese nici un patrat,'' spuse ea livid cu mainile tremurand, ca si cand ar fi trait cu mainile.&lt;br /&gt;Cineva, un alt trecator cu caine, mai mic, trecu grabit. Fuma. I-ar fi cerut o tigara.&lt;br /&gt;''Tu nu fumezi?''&lt;br /&gt;''Nu.''&lt;br /&gt;''Nici eu, da acum as fi tras in piept o tigara.''&lt;br /&gt;Valurile erau cuminti, dar neexpresive. Nu mai putea ghici nimic, dincolo de ele. Se ghemui, si pleca cu gandul departe, unde nu gasi nimic.&lt;br /&gt;Strainul scoase de undeva, o muzicuta.Incepu sa cante.&lt;br /&gt;''E prea devreme pentru asta'', il intrerupse. ''Tu de ce te temi?'', intreba nervos.&lt;br /&gt;''De oameni, ii spuse straimul,'' si isi mangaie cainii.&lt;br /&gt;''Eu ma tem de mine si de valuri ce par cuminti. E greu si fara o poveste,si cu sufletul amputat. Fiecare are o poveste, nu?''&lt;br /&gt;''Nici eu nu mai am suflet, si nici picioare, dar traiesc.Dar, e drept, am o poveste'', si ii zambi dintr-o data frumos.&lt;br /&gt;''De ce ii mangai?''&lt;br /&gt;''Ma apara.''&lt;br /&gt;''Right.Ma duc sa cumpar doua cafele, tari.''&lt;br /&gt;''No, with milk.''&lt;br /&gt;''ok.''&lt;br /&gt;Mergea incet.&lt;br /&gt;De cealalta parte a statiunii, dragonii casinourilor luminoase, infricosator de electrizate, urlau.&lt;br /&gt;Se intoarse repede.Ii oferi cafeaua de la distanta, si ii spuse asa, fara legaturi.&lt;br /&gt;''Mi-e frica.''&lt;br /&gt;Vantul sufla, in fata, era tot marea, cu cate un vaporas in coasta ei.&lt;br /&gt;Poate am sa iti spun odata o poveste, da e plicticoasa tare, desi e cu doua Lolite, e cu scenarii care se repeta pe capitole, intr-u totul...cu umarul alaturi, atunci cand e momentul, cu carti, cu vizite tandre, adolescentine, ale lui, cel vazut ca Jeremy, parca.''In materie de filme sunt zero. Am citit insa prostii''.&lt;br /&gt;Strainul rase.&lt;br /&gt;Ea tremura, tremura din toate incheieturile.&lt;br /&gt;E foarte frig.&lt;br /&gt;Linkul era un elefant. tandreturi, la indigo....Nothing, there was nothing behind.''Ii placeau pustoaicele...le boteza.''&lt;br /&gt;Pe plaja pasise si un pusti mai mic.Parea truditor si chitit sa construiasca un castel de nisip.Avea lopetica, galetusa, etc...&lt;br /&gt;Cand nu aparusera Lolita cealalta sau celelalte, toate fetele mici se viseaza Lolite,ea visase primul semineu, deci pe vremurile alea, nu foarte indepartate,el ii cerea lui Doralee, seara, sa ii spuna cate o poveste inainte de culcare. Doralee ii cunostea setea de povesti si inventa cadane, tiganci, gheishe,vecine, vrajitoare...Poate doar asta sa fi fost in sine o poveste, povestile imaginate. In rest, poate nici nu fuse, decat o gura de povesti.Povestile se suparara si plecara, si ea ramase cu buzunarele goale.&lt;br /&gt;Se ridica din strain si pleca fara sa spuna la revedere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jop0EtQID_g"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jop0EtQID_g&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-1965369051886673923?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/1965369051886673923/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/lolite.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/1965369051886673923'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/1965369051886673923'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/lolite.html' title='Lolite'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-8580313171356663099</id><published>2009-07-12T14:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:55:16.229-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=lolite" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;lolite&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-180" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=VAfKKpRgI_Y-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday 10 May 2009 - 01:50PM (PDT) &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=VAfKKpRgI_Y-"&gt;Edit&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?d=VAfKKpRgI_Y-&amp;amp;.crumb=iA9abqq.HEU"&gt;Delete&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=180"&gt;Permanent Link&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=180#comments"&gt;0 Comments&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ready to go&lt;br /&gt;Avea noodles prin vene,&lt;br /&gt;simtea noodles prin gat,&lt;br /&gt;avea noodles dupa gat,&lt;br /&gt;serpi de noodles zbierand,&lt;br /&gt;scuipa noodles, manca noodles,&lt;br /&gt;continuu cu euri spasmatice,&lt;br /&gt;o piscau noodlesii pe sira spinarii,&lt;br /&gt;se varau prin sani,&lt;br /&gt;sanii se faceau noodles,&lt;br /&gt;gustosi,&lt;br /&gt;ready to go.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-8580313171356663099?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/8580313171356663099/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/tags-lolite-edit-tags-sunday-10-may.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/8580313171356663099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/8580313171356663099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/tags-lolite-edit-tags-sunday-10-may.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-480394983620117372</id><published>2009-07-12T14:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:53:30.340-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Surprise&lt;br /&gt;The beginning of paying the bills .The nightmare scream ''Doralee, your bill for Romanian phone calls''..200 pounds the phone bill http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nu2aHbkGiwU&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5EDm3vkfRzo"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5EDm3vkfRzo&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-480394983620117372?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/480394983620117372/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/surprise-beginning-of-paying-bills.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/480394983620117372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/480394983620117372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/surprise-beginning-of-paying-bills.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-6045822760335488032</id><published>2009-07-12T14:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:52:02.569-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Empty heart on Fountain street&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jop0EtQID_g"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jop0EtQID_g&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prima data cand se simtea rau,ca nu avea aer din cauza ei, a relei Doralee. Isi lua paltonul, autobuzul fucking Magic bus, si iesi sa respire. Poluase aerul din casa.&lt;br /&gt;Ploua, nu era de mirare.Merse repede sa nu se auda, sa nu se simta. Simtea ca o dureau umerii ingrozitor, nu stia exact de ce, de povara constiintei.&lt;br /&gt;Longhsight, e un cartier musulman, dar si infect. Nu are importanta.&lt;br /&gt;In Manchester oricum toate vilele erau la fel, din caramizi rosii si deprimante, cu o mica portiune de garaj, si o fasie de cativa centimetri de iarba. Centrul era altfel.&lt;br /&gt;Credit crunch…o realitate care sapa aici deja de un an. Oamenii mult mai putin grabiti dupa Mango, Esprit, River Island sau miss Selfridge, sau Next sau HM. Picadilly centre. Oameni saraci, cersetori mai multi, odihniti pe cate o bucata de carton, cantand, sau motaind. Foarte putin agresivi.&lt;br /&gt;Trecatorii, nu-i mai vedea, doar trecatori, de toate culorile, nu le mai simtea.In Boots, ca peste tot, reduceri uriase, mai impunatoare decat in alte zile. Oamenii nu mai aveau bani nici de Tesco, daramite de Clinque, Clarins, parfumuri, crème luxuriante, Lancome, free gifts, free gifts. Le mirosi pe toate in gol.&lt;br /&gt;Cu doua zile mai inainte isi gasise inca o colaborare, la o firma de import export. El, un ‘’amic’’mai vechi, venise in pauza sa o vada, ‘’Can u manage/…baura o cafea si scoase in joaca un portofel. Ea isi manca sandwich-ul cu mayoneza si tuna, shit, de altfel. ‘’Guess the code of this wallet.’’Ramase un pic blocata.’’Well…se gandi ca era vorba de gambling or lottery, si zise la intamplare..400 hundred… ‘’No, the code of this wallet…is S..U..C....K..’’ She really didn’t understood, so she asked once again..’’I don’t understand..&lt;br /&gt;El, ’’Es, iu, Ci, Kei’’..&lt;br /&gt;De obicei, facea fata, ori radea si facea o gluma tampita, ori,..’’u are such a jerk’’. Ori..’’who do u think u are?’’&lt;br /&gt;Acum, simti ca i se face rau, se rusina, nu stiu de ce dracu se rusina, ii veni sa intre in pamant, se facu ca nu aude, deci, deschise geanta , scoase hartiile, isi desfacu ochelarii…’’Or, we might go out in a very nice place, u can spend as much as u want, u but a gift or anything u want’’..Intoarse hartiile, isi aminti de altele, ale ei, ii veni sa planga, de ciuda ‘’I need to the toilet’’&lt;br /&gt;Nu se mai intoarse. Acolo, un fel de acasa, deschise computerul, isi continua discursul de sictir…el ii spuse ca ii fusera returnate mesajelee, i se facu foarte mila si i se facu rau de ea, dupa vreo ora. ii paru rau sa moara, da trebuia sa fie in continuare mala mujer…, de ea cui ii pasase cu adevarat, doar pt ca nu era mai tanara si mai blonda, apoi iesi..&lt;br /&gt;Iata acum, in Tesco, pana si ouale de ciocolata, imense, sunt doar 99p.&lt;br /&gt;Era deci credit crunch. In Tesco sunt televizoare, sunt BBC non stop, Obama vorbeste tot timpul desi nu-i al lor, ea nimerise doar stiri de la ei..VREME REA, PLOAIE.&lt;br /&gt;Era bun aerul asta, isi curata un pic, nu stia exact ce, in rest, ramanea pierduta, isi privea cizmele, cum mergeau, mandre, ce frumoase erau cizmele acelea, pana la genunchi…cand un negru o opri sa intrebe de autobuz, vorbea foarte prost, incerca sa il ajute, vasazica locuia in campusul Salford, si ce numar de autobuz, si, nu mai intelegea..’’can u repeat?’’ Mai spuse ceva, se uita la trasaturile lui, niste trasaturi, si vazu ca isi scoate limba ca si cand ar linge-o..’’I am sorry, I can’t help u’’&lt;br /&gt;O lua la sanatoasa, jamaicanul dupa ea….’’F uck off’’, ii striga…&lt;br /&gt;Langa Primark, cand isi intoarse privirea, nu mai era.,Privirea ii era innorata. Incerca sa gandeasca logic, pamantesc, de ce i se intamplau toate astea azi, de ce ei.. Nu se imbracase ca o tarfa, poate ochii ii erau pierduti, stia ca se uita nicaieri, cand umbla, stia ca nu mai putea vedea nimic. Poate parea ca isi cauta un punct de sprijin, dar nu era asa. Vroia doar sa se odihneasca ca si cand nu ar vedea nimic, ar simti doar aerul.&lt;br /&gt;Uitase, de ce era acolo, in PICADILLY, uitase si de Jamaican, ploua. I se facu dintr-o data teama.’’Mi s-a taiat macaroana.’’ Oricat ar fi vrut sa arate ca e puternica, acum era in rahat. Burger king, oameni mai amarati, full. Merse pe Fountain street, bulevardul plin cu firme de ‘’Applying for a job’’, le incercase pe toate..’’u need experience..’’. Era noapte acum, strada era putin luminata, doar un Pizza Hut pe colt, un singur client, desi 7pm doar, Pizza Hut era scumpA si pentru englezi, nici ea nu se putu apropia de un an si jumatate.&lt;br /&gt;Mai jos, Shakespeare pub, un indivd mai in varsta, isi lingea degetele, era alaturi de o blondina, o englezoaica tipiCa, pustoaica…CE ar putea manca..Aberdeen angusbeef or something, I mean shit.Mneah.&lt;br /&gt;Apoi, Tony@Guy, cat a vrut sa isi tunda parul macar o data acolo, acum, nu avea nici un sens, ..ce , iti iei o foarfeca si scapi de par, sau mergi pe Northmoor, ti-l taie, tu te usuci, tu te stergi etc..7 pounds’’&lt;br /&gt;Acum , daca avea sa merga voluntar in Congo, ce nevoie mai avea de tunoare moderna.&lt;br /&gt;Si omul ala, omul casei, care le avea pe Yulla si pe BecKy, nu intarzia niciodata, nu stia de altfel nici cat e ceaul, nu mai avea nevoie de telefon, nu mai avea nici cine sa o sune.Stia ca nu intarzia niciodata, nici macar un minut in plus.&lt;br /&gt;Se tot plimba, mai era aproape nimeni, era mai mult de8 pm, office-urile erau toate tacute, I se paru ca ii vazu masina, alerga inapoi.. In locul cu pricina, nu erau decat un mulatru cu o fata cu parul saten, lung, exersau sarutul, isi roteau capul duios, 9o grade, 180 grade, ii urmari, ii vedea linia ciorapilor ei negri, pantofi lacuiti, cu toc, negri, parul, lung, pe spate, lenes, pana pe fese. Curand se oprira din romantism , traversara strada, se apropiara de ea, si abia atunsi realiza ca fata, elegant imbracata, era drunk, very drunk. Se intreba ce ii lipsea, ca avea de toate.&lt;br /&gt;Omul intarzia, I se facu foarte frig si foame, si se cutremura ca nu avea telefonul cu ea…se simtea pentru prima data, cu adevarat singura si foarte vinovata.desi nu mintise cu nimic, doar ca ei nu-i pasa de toate cele spuse, erau mult mai multe adevarate si minunate….she got frightening.&lt;br /&gt;''Iarta-ma, dragul meu drag'', si izbucni in hohote. ..Ia-o, te rog, recucereste-o, daca crezi ca e minunata''.Si asta inseamna o putere titanica de femeie sa suporti tenebrele,angoasele deluroase,fricile existentiale stancoase ale firii lui.&lt;br /&gt;Si poftele.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jop0EtQID_g"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jop0EtQID_g&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqkJzimAhRM"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqkJzimAhRM&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Noapte bunica....cel..&lt;br /&gt;Moonriver&lt;br /&gt;Gata, ies eu din rahat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-6045822760335488032?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/6045822760335488032/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/empty-heart-on-fountain-street-httpwww.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6045822760335488032'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6045822760335488032'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/empty-heart-on-fountain-street-httpwww.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-9098530538449378115</id><published>2009-07-12T14:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T06:11:54.660-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Fii&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFHWN_Yqabs"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YFHWN_Yqabs&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ai forta sa le accepti pe toate, sa te ridici si sa dansezi ca pamantul cu focul, un nou dans, barbar, adevarat, plamadit din simturi rebele si monstri smintiti? Dar sa fii. tTipa, dar fii. Nu te amagi cu apa rece, maine mai primesti un pumn peste suflet, dar fii. nu vrei safii doar o gasca de birou, visand la tipologii ''perfecte''.&lt;br /&gt;cealalta spuse...gol, eu, haos, tu, gol..''ea nu cere''..un articolas scris greoi, o data pe saptamana, asteptandu-l sa vina. isi baga capul in cuvinte tipologii, si se facu ca nu vede si nu aude.parca era cealalta, intr-o alta viata.cealalta, nu isi putuse imagina ca exista femei si asa, caci nu cunoscuse niciodata...nici macar pe calea aerului..cum e sa fii special de normala, o umbra, sa stralucesti in coltul lumii.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oN0o_ZgdCL0"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oN0o_ZgdCL0&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-9098530538449378115?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/9098530538449378115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/fii-httpwww.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/9098530538449378115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/9098530538449378115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/fii-httpwww.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-3040515641467691503</id><published>2009-07-12T14:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:45:19.695-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Buze</title><content type='html'>Buze&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCkLfuokl9E"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCkLfuokl9E&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Buzele ei rosii sangerau pe taraba de vise transate si doruri starpite. Asa, sangerande, incepura sa rada in hohote. O viata.&lt;br /&gt;''Ia-ti anii inapoi'', spuse vantul.Ploaia mangaia cuvintele.Ii dadu si numele, cu care o botezase, in ras.&lt;br /&gt;Are sa plece fara sa afle adevarul unei lumi. Construita din vata de zahar si joaca. Un carusel.&lt;br /&gt;Isi intinse picioarele pe pat si se gandi, parca simtea miros de orez cu lapte.Isi puse palmele pe pulpe si le mangaie ca si cand cu buzele ar fi mancat zahar ars. Buzele erau sangerande. Pulpele ei, usor bronzate. Dorul, starpit.Cuprinse cu drag dorul in brate, si il mangaie, asa, tandru, frumos, ca si cand ar mai fi avut viata.Dantuira, fara sa stie nimeni.Dorul ii saruta buzele sangerande.Ii veni sa planga de fericire.&lt;br /&gt;petite&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-3040515641467691503?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/3040515641467691503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/buze.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3040515641467691503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3040515641467691503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/buze.html' title='Buze'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-1617302877670563118</id><published>2009-07-12T14:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:44:34.111-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Arniston bay</title><content type='html'>&lt;a id="m174" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/slideshow.html?p=174&amp;amp;id=aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-" winoptions="2" winheight="550" winname="null" winwidth="800" winurl="/blog/popup_slideshow.html?p=174&amp;amp;id=aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a id="m174" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/slideshow.html?p=174&amp;amp;id=aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXOxEUr53cE"&gt;www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXOxEUr53cE&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXNApZ2ALiQ"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXNApZ2ALiQ&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ieri, in zorii aprigi ai umerilor mei,&lt;br /&gt;ma minunasem ca sunt ascutiti ca un muget stancos.&lt;br /&gt;Deci, ieri,&lt;br /&gt;yesterday baby,&lt;br /&gt;mi-am luat oile si m-am dus&lt;br /&gt;pe Arniston Bay.&lt;br /&gt;Imi fierbinteau calcaile pe nisipul din sufletul tau&lt;br /&gt;Arniston Bay zapusea,&lt;br /&gt;oile zapuseau, tipau ca nebunele,&lt;br /&gt;Nebunaticele se dezbracara,&lt;br /&gt;Sa se arunce in mare.&lt;br /&gt;Eu imi smulgeam camasa de raset,&lt;br /&gt;calcaiul se inveninase impotriva-mi,&lt;br /&gt;vroia cu oile, in bay,&lt;br /&gt;strigam le ele, ele nu mai auzeau,&lt;br /&gt;oile, dezbracate,&lt;br /&gt;behaiau,&lt;br /&gt;mi se parea ca te vedeam, erai tu,&lt;br /&gt;North bay, scaldandu-se in Arniston Bay,&lt;br /&gt;Aveai sunrise pe buze,&lt;br /&gt;Ti se scurgea sunsetul prin coltul gurii,&lt;br /&gt;erai noapte si zi,&lt;br /&gt;hohoteai ca bivolii,&lt;br /&gt;Oile behaiau ca oile in mare, ce nebunie,&lt;br /&gt;incepusem sa ma iau in brate, aveam nisip in brate,&lt;br /&gt;imi curgea printre sani,&lt;br /&gt;simteam calul nechezand in mine,&lt;br /&gt;stateam ca o oaie behaita,&lt;br /&gt;mai, boule,&lt;br /&gt;pe Arniston Bay.&lt;br /&gt;Vii?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXNApZ2ALiQ"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXNApZ2ALiQ&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S..''Did u say dance? Come on my boy..Let's go, hop...I have so much to tell u''&lt;br /&gt;P.S. 2 Dimineata spala lana de pe oi si apoi le hrani cu humus. Locuia peste doua coline, pe un delusor pitic.&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=arnistonbay" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;arnistonbay&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-174" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=79T08xtgLPI-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-1617302877670563118?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/1617302877670563118/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/arniston-bay.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/1617302877670563118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/1617302877670563118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/arniston-bay.html' title='Arniston bay'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-877164256877474559</id><published>2009-07-12T14:42:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T06:14:20.034-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>More than fish and chips&lt;br /&gt;Esti pastrama mea maturata,&lt;br /&gt;stufoasa, afumata cu scortisoara din plin.&lt;br /&gt;esti plin. imi placi.&lt;br /&gt;imi place plinatatea.&lt;br /&gt;imi place boiaua de dimineata, iute, inversunata,&lt;br /&gt;sa ma arda pe limba.pana la sufocare.&lt;br /&gt;imi place sa ne gadilam prin ochi.&lt;br /&gt;sa ne duelam ca zmeii&lt;br /&gt;prin nelinisti si minciuni expirate.&lt;br /&gt;e criza.&lt;br /&gt;oupsy.&lt;br /&gt;padure de cozonaci ce esti, buretosule, ciuperca cu venin,&lt;br /&gt;vrei sa te rontai crud?&lt;br /&gt;mai bine nu.&lt;br /&gt;sa te coace well-done o gasca.&lt;br /&gt;pa.&lt;br /&gt;PS. ''Ai numa poola-n cap.cirnat de casa prajit, orez cu legume,, ardei gras copt, ardei iute in otzet, piine neagra..''&lt;br /&gt;Comin thro the rye&lt;br /&gt;She is not Ava Gardner, wonderful in Mogambo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s9muc06G4pA"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s9muc06G4pA&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She is very pale and tired, his office colleague with long legs, fifteen years younger,he is the mentor, the editor, and I am dark and crazy.&lt;br /&gt;‘’Ea nu cere nimic’’, she is allright with him, a few times per week, when he is not tired. She is patient and understands him, in everything, e ca un ceai de ciubotica cucului. Eu sunt ca un pahar de sampanie, sau ca o bere Ursus, anyway a big trouble, not normal.Sometimes, a pain in the ass. But alive.&lt;br /&gt;Watch that and u will understand what I mean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s9muc06G4pA"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s9muc06G4pA&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sa facem dragoste ca reptilele, sa ne incolacim ca serpii sa ne sugem sangele sa ne frangem bratele sa jucam piese de teatru sa radem pana la dinti si apoi sa ajungem in cerul gurii sufletul sa il invelim in piele sa inotam in noi sa gafaim sa lovim peretii cu trupurile sa ne storcim frumos, sa inflorim pe pat sa bem vin pana sub cearceaf si saltele sa ne rasara degetele de sub sprancene si sa ne gustam pe sub brate sa ne sarutam ca dinozaurii asta nu stiu cum se face da stiu ca sunt uriasi pana la cer sa fim pana la cer in sarut pana in oase sa ne creasca iarba iarba cu dragoste pita si vin pe sub ele primavara nesfarsita cand te trezesti sa ma gasesti sub coapse&lt;br /&gt;Capitolul doi.Ceapa, puiut, cartofiori, rosii cam trecute,mucegaite pe o parte, se taie ce e rau si se pastreaza bunul, suc de lamaie in loc de bors..patrunjelul in bin ca mirosea cumplit a chimicale si... fierbe..mi-e cam frica.O sun pe Joan...''In ten minutes a wonderful soup is ready. Come along with a deep bowl.Please,but very deep cause it's a lot. Becky, Yulla and Sid are too far away.''&lt;br /&gt;Joan vine cu un caston atat de urias incat nu mi-as fi putut imagina. Pun pun,ea imi vorbeste de familia ei. E asistenta sociala, paper work, bureaucracy, wages down, her mother from Germany born in Jamaica,her father Indian.''Be careful, everything is full of chemicals here.'' vorbim de patrunjel si de dezinfectatul puiului cu lamaie.Rincing the vegetables twice.Then we talk about fumes,pollution,water etc.''You're such a good girl, u want to share all the time, English are so different.''''Oh,how much I know that.''''Those ten pounds...''Eu tot torn si imi dau seama ca e imposibil macar sa umplu pana la jumatate bowlul.Her son, oh beautiful Apollo,for him I have cooked eventually, her mouth is watering,mine too. She's leaving..with the hot soup to her Obama.&lt;br /&gt;Lora, u believe in God, in fish,and in a lot fantasies. It's very bad for your mind.&lt;br /&gt;Isi infasura prosopul alb, imens, in jurul trupului si se gandi ca se afla nu numai singura, dar si stapana peste Longsight.Cosea zorile cu ata alba in pielea rasfatata. Din cand in cand, si o ceasca de bergamota si brandy. Ce mai conta? Se simtea si altfel decat musulmana.&lt;br /&gt;But there was a moment in his life that he was married with both. Neah. that marriage was in Las Vegas, is not legal.&lt;br /&gt;''Are u in a good voice?&lt;br /&gt;No, But I feel like singing.''&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXOxEUr53cE"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXOxEUr53cE&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=77"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-877164256877474559?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/877164256877474559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/more-than-fish-and-chips-esti-pastrama.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/877164256877474559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/877164256877474559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/more-than-fish-and-chips-esti-pastrama.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-7154099555503170863</id><published>2009-07-12T14:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:41:27.246-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-7154099555503170863?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/7154099555503170863/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/blog-post.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/7154099555503170863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/7154099555503170863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-6079134433169644855</id><published>2009-07-12T14:40:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:40:49.096-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>De dincolo&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hDURv8fj9dk"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hDURv8fj9dk&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Se aude un tractor…aici nu pot fi tractoare, e poate doar un excavator cu constiinciozitatea unui tractor…Deodata, o umbra cu trup si suflet, parea fi barbatul cel drag, se apropie de ea, si, in treacat, ii mangaie fruntea si parul.Ea ii saruta causul palmei,cu un fel de drag de lumi. Simti asta ca pe o raza de soare frumoasa, dintr-o vara anonima,in care ar fi rasarit, si apoi, ca o floare a soarelui, s-ar fi mirat. El cobora, se auzi sipotul robinetului, se spala pe maini si rase, fara motiv.Forma un numar puternic si spuse…un taxi va rog…la aceeasi adresa. ''Anii aia nu mi-i da nimeni inapoi''.&lt;br /&gt;Simti doua lacrimi ca pe niste ape, nu ale ei, clipocira pe birou, pic,pic, lua o carpa si sterse biroul de praf.&lt;br /&gt;Fetita isi trase plapuma cu indarjire, acela i-o smulse, ranji,asa iti trebuie, in frig sa dormi,tara plapuma pana la patul lui si se inveli cu amandoua.&lt;br /&gt;Da-mi patentul ala…lua-m-ar dracu, nu pot eu sa le fixez pe toate..se uita pentru prima data la mainile acelea, intr-adevar, nu erau decat umbre, si dintr-o data, vazu si ca ceasul nu era nimic special, era doar roz,si langa pestisorul auriu, care plutea lenes, mai era un ceas, pitic. Vasazica erau doua.&lt;br /&gt;Lacrimile. Nu ale ei.&lt;br /&gt;Se apropie de plaja si vazu cum copiii se jucau in nisip. Tinea in mana un atlas, de Phillip Allen,un atlas al atlaselor, imens, pentru cineva cu trasaturi minunate, dintr-o viata imaginata. Il rasfoi putin,dupa care ramase cu privirea la omul care construia un dragon urias in nisip. Copii se jucau, faceau castelele lor. Marea se unduia continuu si isi desena atlasele ei, pana dincolo de pescarusi. Pescarusii de pe langa castelul care il inspirasera pe Bram Stocker, stateau langa cer si din cand in cand, scoteau cate un scream, de deznadejde sau din obisnuinta de a sta intre lumi mincinoase. Statiunea era larga, pe de o parte monstruoasa, cu monstrii de jocuri si games si gambling si vapai de diavol care scuipa. Pe de alta parte erau inghetatele de la Spring Time de pe Victoriei si cu martipan, si cu mint, mai erau gogosi si mai erau si fish and chips.Oamenii se asezau pe bucatile de piatra rece, vantul batea,si mancau fish and chips. Langa ei, fel de fel de rase de caini de la cei mai mici, pana la cei mai mari, care salivau, si dadeau din coada, ca barbatii, pe langa femei cu picioare lungi sau sanii mari. Ei impartira in patru o portie, caci in the evening, era for free, si trebuiau sa isi pastreze burtile pentru atunci. Inghiti in sec, si Lenka se simti vinovata ca simte pasiune pentru o bucata de peste&lt;br /&gt;Tu, strainule, poti iubi dincolo de orice, si de trupuri?&lt;br /&gt;Noapte bunica, pescarusule…&lt;br /&gt;Orase murdare si hoteluri cu miros de spital infect, cu sufletul smuls si tarat, odata cu trupul obosit, inclestat in nesomn si spaime de alte si alte taramuri si realitati defrisate.Taramul de dincolo, in care te intalnesti cu sine, si cu scancetul lui,un sine devorat de truths.dincole de basme.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8gqeKUx6Rm8"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8gqeKUx6Rm8&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PETITE&lt;br /&gt;P.S Cum ar fi putut putut cineva care isi achizitiona cu drag, fara sa stie exact insa de ce, numai femei cu picioare lungi, stereotip, si sterse, sa fi iubit o petite?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-6079134433169644855?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/6079134433169644855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/de-dincolo-httpwww.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6079134433169644855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6079134433169644855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/de-dincolo-httpwww.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-2440731713570713700</id><published>2009-07-12T14:39:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:39:50.746-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Are un ceas , vorbitor, si un urs, tacut</title><content type='html'>Are un ceas, vorbitor, si un urs, tacut&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xnNCidccbG8"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xnNCidccbG8&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zVnX_L2pgoU&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are un ceas care ticaie minunat, si un urs care nu vorbeste...&lt;br /&gt;Stelele nu au cer, dar cand e foarte obosita, de nesomn launtric, merge in camera mai tandra, Becky doarme, cu mama ei Isabel, care nu mai e, eu ma asez pe podea, ii iau ursul in brate, are o burta imensa,plina de miere, si eu eram odata Martinica, si ursul e cadou de merry christmas, de la Lora Doralee, si asculta cu drag ticaitul ceasului,e cel mai frumos ceas din lume, ticaie ca in casuta din hartie desenata din camerele cu gem de visine din Crangasi, ticaie calm, ticaie calm,asezat, mangaiat, ca si cand i-ar ticai prin piele, prin suflet,mangaiat, si s-ar face very morning, si ar vedea trandafirii intensi,nedecolorati,cu visine deasupra, plantati de el.E ceasul ei, care nu are timp, doar suflet.&lt;br /&gt;P.S..Love is more than pride... still..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oig8vs10jf0"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oig8vs10jf0&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;beyond the spell and sin, and blind passion and pain is&lt;br /&gt;este ceea ce vor caii de sub pamant&lt;br /&gt;in nefiinta ogorului meu urlator,&lt;br /&gt;si ce daca&lt;br /&gt;par o cioara urlatoare pe ogorul meu insamantat&lt;br /&gt;extravilan, nebun,fara acte pamantene,&lt;br /&gt;ce daca chiar si cu capul aplecat,&lt;br /&gt;cu spatele opintit de boii tai,&lt;br /&gt;mi se intaresc rasariturile de pe sfarcuridor,&lt;br /&gt;mici sau mari,&lt;br /&gt;cu lacrimi dintre doua lumi,&lt;br /&gt;neagra iti sunt, nu lumina,&lt;br /&gt;cand eram copila imi placea sa ud morminte cu apa vie&lt;br /&gt;cu gargarite pe degete,&lt;br /&gt;bunica mea era cu plete negre si ierburi smulse cu grija,&lt;br /&gt;te asteptam cu stofa rosie in carouri&lt;br /&gt;cu stropitoarea in mana,&lt;br /&gt;soarele ranjea,&lt;br /&gt;aveam si pantec,&lt;br /&gt;te zambeam,&lt;br /&gt;gargaritele zburau,&lt;br /&gt;tu sufereai,&lt;br /&gt;ca nu te scaldai cu ele,&lt;br /&gt;erai mare si timid&lt;br /&gt;eu eram mica&lt;br /&gt;si ierboasa..&lt;br /&gt;te rasaream,&lt;br /&gt;printre caii mei neimpliniti,&lt;br /&gt;dar vii.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jAHqMlNmi5s"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jAHqMlNmi5s&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-2440731713570713700?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/2440731713570713700/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/are-un-ceas-vorbitor-si-un-urs-tacut.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/2440731713570713700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/2440731713570713700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/are-un-ceas-vorbitor-si-un-urs-tacut.html' title='Are un ceas , vorbitor, si un urs, tacut'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-7751853940780530020</id><published>2009-07-12T14:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:33:05.990-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Women, on tthe street&lt;br /&gt;Orasul nu e cu salcami, e doar cu red buildings, cu McDonalds or King Burger. &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6PoSYrFnGnk"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6PoSYrFnGnk&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Orasul e descult si beat, oamenii, imprastiati si multi, ies de la Theatre, se joaca inca Marry Poppins, mai jos e Circus, si 235 luxurious casino, si Bellini, lumanari micute, albastre, decolorate, si paste cu vise temporare, nimeni nu mai poarta haine, orasul e cu o fata blonda, cu cozi minunate,chiar daca gambe implinite cat nurii, si-a dezgolit talpile, e high, masinile claxoneaza.’’why don’t u put your shoes, tramps?’’, guys are laughing. Un cersetor negru care canta din tobe enough cat sa il auzi pana in suflet, Manchester Library, highlighted, tot Deansgate palpaie, mai jos Panaceea, the Greek club cu barbatii bogati si singuri si fetele inalte si singure.&lt;br /&gt;Cobori pe Deansgate, tie ti se pare inca frig, Ali incearca sa iti spuna…’’u have such a wonderful smile’’, iti cere numarul, il dai, sa scapi, te simti aproape singura walking on the streets, si totusi parka ar fi pansament, te pierzi, nu te mai stii, o fata cu tocuri, pare a fi Britney, chiar mioapa u can notice her legs, very long, picioare blonde, a cazut pe trotuar in fata clubului, poarta o rochie sparkling, blonde picioare desfacute si bikini minusculi, pulpe tari, si vaginul rozaliu, aproape ca i se desface, nebun, prea drunk, pletele, ating trotuarul si bratele doritorilor.Mai jos,ti se desface si Varsity, the student club, sunt bodyguarzii preferati,u can trust them, especially that one, huge, u feeling attracted by a huge black, intri o secunda, iesi..’’I am coming back’’’…’’We will never stop u, darling’’,desi te-a vazut si cu a Spanish once si cu englezul, pustiul corporatist…Free shot, lumea iese de peste tot ca la metrou si e doar sambata, what ‘’Am I supposed to do, I am going to cook a soup for u, but nothing can change, anything at all’’…&lt;br /&gt;What do u think about a Stella/?&lt;br /&gt;Manastirea Casin, iti place aerul implinit de copacii prietenosi, ar putea sa te mangaie, dar nu o fac, ei sunt cu ale lor, tu esti cu ale tale, te intorci de la terasa de langa Herastru, incerci sa ii numeri, pierzi sirul, ai o rochie albastra, e doar vara, Arcul de Triumf e luminat cat sa iti simti orasul prin piele,mergi pe mijlocul bulevardului, te simti liber, iti descalti papucii josi, negri, e dupa midnight,nu ai decat 25, si un jeep se opreste, iti spune,’’hai la o pizza’’… te mai descalti o data, si ii spui,cu ochii ori incetosati,ori tristi, cine le stie pe toate, ''hai''…&lt;br /&gt;Nu spui nimic mai apoi, in oglinda ii vezi sprancenele, foarte groase, maini puternice ca si sprancenele.taci.Iti intoarce caseta, just another day, King of sorrow, Sade,’’iti place?’’..da..,jeepul inconjoara Herastrul, e Spring time, cu ce sa fie pizza, with anything, sunt scaune negre, inalte, astepti, nu iti dai seama ca astepti,cand se intoarce, intrebi,What do u mis?,Masia, I miss my Masia,Masiuka. Liniste. Intoarce caseta, imparti pizza, tacere…Let me kiss u, ai ketchup pe buze si e un strain…Alright, but I don’t know how to kiss…, iti inchizi sprancenele, nu ochii,il privesti in oglinda cum te saruta..’’Where is MASIA?&lt;br /&gt;In Ukraine, Masia is my daughter..&lt;br /&gt;‘’What do u miss?’’, he asks her//’’ My lover…’’&lt;br /&gt;Let me show u my Masia…&lt;br /&gt;Femeia de langa Masia e blonda, e frumoasa…’’U don’t miss only Masia’’&lt;br /&gt;He didn’t answer, ‘’Can I call u Masia?&lt;br /&gt;‘’Well, I am only a stranger.’’&lt;br /&gt;‘’I like how u smell.’’&lt;br /&gt;I like this pizza . A lot.&lt;br /&gt;I will drive u home.&lt;br /&gt;Nu spuse nimic.&lt;br /&gt;Cobora din jeepul inalt, isi calca rochia albastra in picioare, stia ca o priveste, copacii se infrunzeau din nou.&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow we are having a coffee in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;Se indeparta, Russian music very loud, si ea scartai poarta thinking..Why didn’t he propose me to have sex?&lt;br /&gt;I miss my lover's kiss.So much. As I have never had it.&lt;br /&gt;''Why?''&lt;br /&gt;''Pentru ca e ogorul meu. ''&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=sejoacamarypoppins" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;sejoacamarypoppins&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-170" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=RMhL7dFgLPY-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday 10 May 2009 - 01:22PM (PDT) &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=RMhL7dFgLPY-"&gt;Edit&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?d=RMhL7dFgLPY-&amp;amp;.crumb=iA9abqq.HEU"&gt;Delete&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=170"&gt;Permanent Link&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=170#comments"&gt;0 Comments&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;feelings&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RXfzyc92EuI"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RXfzyc92EuI&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GKtpYNHaFHI"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GKtpYNHaFHI&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=70#comments"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-169" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=ZmC.EmNgLf8-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday 10 May 2009 - 01:20PM (PDT) &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=ZmC.EmNgLf8-"&gt;Edit&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?d=ZmC.EmNgLf8-&amp;amp;.crumb=iA9abqq.HEU"&gt;Delete&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=169"&gt;Permanent Link&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=169#comments"&gt;0 Comments&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erotic mood&lt;br /&gt;Lupta de la miezul noptii&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fJfBCEPMXs"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1fJfBCEPMXs&lt;/a&gt; Minute dupa minute, minute rosii catarandu-se pe ceas si pe sub ceas, ore in care nu vedea altceva cu mintea prin simturi decat cum ea il incolacea ca o serpoaica pe dupa pulpe, pe dupa mijloc, pe dupa piept, pe dupa gat, pana la gura. Si nu putea sa ii strecoare venin printre buze, asa ca o lua de la capat,iarasi si iarasi.Simtea ca i se face rau de atatea incolaciri halucinante; intai simti cum simturile o impungeau in tample, apoi in genunchi, apoi iar in tample si parca i se face rau de atata incapatanare a imaginarului si ii vine sa vomite de chin.Incepu sa se stranga pe ea insasi de pulpe ca si cand de stomac si isi zise pe soptite ca aceasta sufocare in aerul inghetat nu putea fi tamaduita decat prin strangerea propriului trup. .Adormi cu palmele stranse pe pulpe, calduroase, ca o patura de casa buna....in piept, aproape de suflet, pastrase mirosul tricoului de foarte demult. Suvenir. o fi de la period. O fi de la nebunie. O fi de la tacere. O fi de la tacere. o fi de la tacere..... Dor. &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCkLfuokl9E"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RCkLfuokl9E&lt;/a&gt; Dimineata, gandurile timide si fricoase doar sopteau. Impaca-ma sa pot vorbi. Impaca-ma sa mai copilarim ca razgaiatii, ca dracusorii, chiar daca fiecare cu jucariile lui.&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-168" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=UDmPc2RgLf4-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday 10 May 2009 - 01:17PM (PDT) &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=UDmPc2RgLf4-"&gt;Edit&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?d=UDmPc2RgLf4-&amp;amp;.crumb=iA9abqq.HEU"&gt;Delete&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=168"&gt;Permanent Link&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=168#comments"&gt;0 Comments&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;penne for love...or baby u can turn me on...make me explode&lt;br /&gt;Si pentru ca nu avea pe cine mangaia si iarasi e goala casa care oricum era goala si cand era plina, a gatit niste penne cu doua feluri de sos si ierburi si doua tipuri de ham si s-a gandit ca e frumos sa impartaseasca, asa ca s-a dus cu o farfurie aromata la usa la Joan, desi aici nu prea se obisnuieste...Well, Joan e, cred, din Caraibe, si e altfel, calda si cu zambet de metisa. Dupa zece minute a sunat entuziasmata...''Lora, is gorgeous, thank u very much, my son keeps in eating(her Apollo chocolate son).''I have more...''Err...'' '''Please..''..Ok, I bring another plate in a minute, sweetheart....''...ok... Ah, ce bine ma simt.cand ofer, ceva , orice, sa fie primit cu bucurie. Ham la oopsy, adica reduced.50p, hihi...I know, too much salty....No.Lora, is so fresh and so many vegetables...'' I feel fresh for love again. &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lbmw95XRt2M"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lbmw95XRt2M&lt;/a&gt; well, really, pepper, garlic,onion, tomtoes,tomato sauce, parsley, etc...the dance of the penne and vegetables...shiraz ah, sunt plina de dragoste. Dau pe dinafara uuuf, Sam is barking continuosly, who is there??!&lt;br /&gt;so what, u can still turn me on if u have strong personality&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6KUJE2xs-RE"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6KUJE2xs-RE and if u dont care about my blogs&lt;/a&gt; ''organizeaza o viata dansanta'', zice G. ''yeah, good ideea'' mda.a uitat de alarma in cautare de noi penne si..si apoi flashing si flashing..well sorry, a trezit toata strada?? in intimitatea binelui codul nu se vroia a fi dezvaluit. ten minutes of wailling, not too much, come on..&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-7751853940780530020?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/7751853940780530020/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women-on-tthe-street-orasul-nu-e-cu.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/7751853940780530020'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/7751853940780530020'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women-on-tthe-street-orasul-nu-e-cu.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-5114651904346039393</id><published>2009-07-12T14:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:32:15.676-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Descalta-ma</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tsDTxdQyKzc"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tsDTxdQyKzc&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nu trebuie sa incalti nici o papusa.&lt;br /&gt;Ma poti descalta pe mine.&lt;br /&gt;Nu trebuie sa vii sa ma tii in brate.&lt;br /&gt;Poti cat veni cat sa ma surpi si sa ma imprastii prin tine.&lt;br /&gt;Da-ma cu aghiazma sa imi fuga dracii&lt;br /&gt;sau dracuieste-ma pe intuneric&lt;br /&gt;dar fii.&lt;br /&gt;Cat sa imi iei si ultimul scancet al noptii&lt;br /&gt;sa te gust spaghetin,&lt;br /&gt;incrancenat,&lt;br /&gt;dar viu.&lt;br /&gt;Diavole macerat,&lt;br /&gt;inserat printre vene&lt;br /&gt;de ingeri.&lt;br /&gt;petite&lt;br /&gt;Ps.Am vazut-o. Era frumoasa.&lt;br /&gt;Da.&lt;br /&gt;Ce nu avea.?&lt;br /&gt;Avea totul.&lt;br /&gt;Atunci?&lt;br /&gt;Nu ma inspira.&lt;br /&gt;He said..what is that paper? Lora, u dont clean well..&lt;br /&gt;I said, look that is a human being, u can clean it, fucking human being, u can clean it,and he threw the paper,after she chew the paper.Tht's the meaning, do u understand?&lt;br /&gt;daca as fi Felix tu ai fi Otilia si tot tragi la Pascalopol e ciudat cum iti poti aminti totul intr-o clipa....e ciudat cum iti poti aminti totul intr-o clipa&lt;br /&gt;cred ca...nu stiu..dar cred ca te iubesc Si eu.&lt;br /&gt;Se auzea imnul Anglei..Noapte buna shit world.&lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=65#comments"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=descalta-ma" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;descalta-ma&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-166" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=LiGKK5VgLfA-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday 10 May 2009 - 01:16PM (PDT&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-5114651904346039393?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/5114651904346039393/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/descalta-ma.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/5114651904346039393'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/5114651904346039393'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/descalta-ma.html' title='Descalta-ma'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-4945000283174577758</id><published>2009-07-12T14:30:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:31:02.918-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who's that God</title><content type='html'>Urcara anevoios pe panta scortoasa a dealului burtos. Pe deal o intreaga lume de insecte il gadila pe burta, si el zambea intr-una, cu toate ca era batran..da si dealurile au viata si greutati. Undeva, in departare, puteau zari licuricii din coama dealului. Acolo locuiau in vacanta. Sub licurici. Ti-e sete? Mult, mai mu. da mai avem un pic . Simt cum basicile de sub talpi imi iau foc. Ti-am zis sa mergi fara sosoni. Iti trebuie 41 jumate, iti zic , ii spuse ea implicata, in timp ce se palmui zgomotos din pricina de tantar nevrotic nesatul. Nu ma innebuni. Era linistit, desi tantarii il lucrau mai abitir decat pe ea, mai ales pe pulpe. Da el era obisnuit cu piscaturile de cand cu Braila, unde se nascuse. ...isi ridica privirea catre apusul inmiresmat de copacii verzi si iarba subtire si infrigurata ( si-ar fi pus pe ea o haina, dar era iarba doar), gandindu-se ca avea atatea lucruri de facut si, in schimb, vorbea despre marimea sosonilor. Ca sa vezi, vacanta cu mai mu. Se gandi la fata cu sandale maro frumos decorate pe gamba subtire de caprioara si ca tare ar fi vrut sa fie acu la o cantare de jazz si o cafea. Simtea ca se iroseste. Avea atatea de facut. Ar fi putut fi in Cuba, sau macar in Thailanda. Si el era doar la tara. Simti miros de flori de soc? Ah, simt ca imi palpaie narile de placere. Ea se gandea de fapt la trupul lui socat in palma ei. fara brusturi. Mai urcara un pic si aproape de varful dealului, se asezara sa se odihneasca cu fata la cer. Cerul era foarte aproape si greierii cantau in cer la mandolina. El isi ridica privirea cu mustatile zambind catre universul de greieri. Era frumos pe cer. Stelele radeau sifilitice imbrancindu-se cochete unele pe altele ca sa le vada ei. greierii erau, fireste invizibili, si totusi cavaleri. Nu se suparau ei din pricina muierilor . Ei doar cantau. Ea se dadu mai spre el, cu spatele unduind pe umarul lui pistruiat si visator. nu era suficient de aproape de caldura lui, asa ca isi intinse capul pe picioarele lui riverane. El isi aminti despre tarile riverane Norvegiei. Ea avea un singur gand urias de marimea unui asteroid. Il iubea. El se gandea ca era frumos, dar avea de discutat lucruri importante fara sa o lalaie, asa in amurg, cu stele nebune pe cer si mugetul incrancenat al vacii pe pamant. Tare ar mai fi baut insa acum o cana de lapte proaspat. Hai, mai mu.. Ea il privea cu uimire cat era de frumos, asa, in pantaloni scurti si in carouri ierbivore. O clipa nu mai simti ca firul ierbii se incolacea infrigurat pe glezna ei, si ca era, asa, doar o seara, pe deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nI7gzXz1cHo"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nI7gzXz1cHo&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Intai o trase usor de par, apoi,o musca vitreg de gat, se simtea dulceag in gura de la nebunia negreselor,apoi o trase mai tare de par, usa era deschisa, masina de spalat a proprietarilor fulguia,proprietarii veneau sau nu, ea ii despereche universul,incet,atent,ispita cu ispita, el o musca din nou ca un animal de tundra, stapanitor de virgine astre si timide, ea il mangaie ca o raza de luna cu sipotul limbii, el se imblanazi un pic, ea gusta tandru si dulceag mai mult, el o elibera din stransoare, ea il prinse puternic, pagan, el tresari, o stranse din nou, ca un stapan pe plantatie, plantatia de mere coapte si zemoase, ea ii zambi prn piele, el se infipse in pielea de pe spatele ei,ea simti ca se infurie de tandrete si se impleticeste de poeme nerusinate prin trup, el se infipse in ea cu totul, sa fie,bethovian si composer,cu totul, Segoya gigantoya prin tot trupul ei, ea se franse,uita de poeme,se trezi pe nisip, calda, doar pantec , impreunata cu el. Valurile inca bateau, cand ea, zambea, si auzea cum le vorbesc copacii.&lt;br /&gt;Si mai tarziu, el impinse geamul, usor, geamul tot scartaia, sa nu auda vecinii. Vecinii oricum se rasuceau de nesomn.Perdele simpliste, de dragoste simpla, tremurau.Uneori era vara spre toamna, alteori era primavara spre toamna.&lt;br /&gt;Ea il avea inca, peste tot,ca pe un rasarit si apus impreunat, el, se''se straduia sa mearga inainte''.Ea il iubise cu anii picurandu-se prin ea,incetosat sau neobrazat,el, era la criza de 40 ani, cand simtea,''nu am timp, nu am timp sa mai recuperez nimic''. Asa ca isi gasise o fata burgheza, spoiled, care avea aproape totul.Rostul lui era acum, pentru catva timp, in afara de job,chiar numai trupesc, plus palavrageli romantice indispensabile unui inceput.Era indragostit. Adeseori ii spunea,''nu mai imi amintesc nimic''.Si tosusi, fusera ani, ''chiar daca, ca norii lungi pe sesuri''.&lt;br /&gt;Nici ea nu avea sa isi mai aminteasca.&lt;br /&gt;veuve de noire&lt;br /&gt;Antistory, another life&lt;br /&gt;Vocea lui G.Brown invaluia, calm, asezat,toata casa. Vorbeste de credit crunch.Mi-e frica, Nu de criza.&lt;br /&gt;Zilele acestea m-am intrebat mult in legatura cu Dumnezeu. ''Who's that God of yours,Lora?Who's God? I never met him.''&lt;br /&gt;Cine e Dumnezeu? Here nobody believes in God. English don't belive in God. They are baptised, but they forgot where, in what church they were very first time called children of God. They are not interested in that.And they seem to carry on the life very easily. They are not complaining about anything, they are not crying, they are not praying. Irene is almost 70, she drinks three or four glasses of Bacardi plus Coke per day, she looks so good, walking proudly and straight.&lt;br /&gt;Adica cine e Dumnezeu asta?Cand si cum mi s-a aratat?Fantasmagorii....minciuni.&lt;br /&gt;Last night I found they have terrible secrets too.I share some fears with a woman who is not in alive anymore. That Spanish Isabel died young.Her childhood... ''Lora, dont tell anybody,dont tell Becky '', her last days....&lt;br /&gt;They will leave soon.&lt;br /&gt;I forgot those caramels on the shelf, Thornton caramels, they were so nice,they seemed to have the taste of life.Caramels could not dissapoint u.&lt;br /&gt;Cand era copil si venea bunicul, isi chema copiii sa le prezinte acrobatii. Era asa mandra ca poate face fel de fel de acrobatii, exact ca la circ.Copii facea ochii mari si se uitau incantati. Vroiau sa incerce si ei.&lt;br /&gt;''Te imbraci ca la circ''&lt;br /&gt;Lora&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-4945000283174577758?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/4945000283174577758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/whos-that-god.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/4945000283174577758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/4945000283174577758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/whos-that-god.html' title='Who&apos;s that God'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-8818193291166306906</id><published>2009-07-12T14:30:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:30:21.269-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nu ma stiai</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUYCx80LJ6c"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUYCx80LJ6c&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;intre doi bulgari de nea te-am zarit, pe o campie cu maci. semanai cu mainile si eu te culegeam cu ochii. hai, mai stai, ti-am strigat cand tu nici nu ma stiai. incepuse sa te manance talpa piciorului si nu stiai de la ce. apoi te-am zarit pe trecerea de pietoni cu doua paini uriase de secara. mi-ai placut. si mi se asternea iarna cu vara pe suflet. apoi te-am zarit cu cativa ani in urma. Munceai la fabrica si topeai otel. Aveai o salopeta unsuroasa si era frig. se facuse vara cand erai fericit si iti spalasei salopeta. iti crescuse floarea soarelui pe umeri si eu ti-am zambit. cu picioarele leganate pe divan ti-am scuturat semintele. hai, mai stai, ti-am soptit. hai sa mancam semintele. iti dau apoi margaritar si serbet. tu nu ma stiai si totusi te-ai lins pe mustati si ai gustat. apoi te-ai facut mare si lucrai in cladiri de sticla. eu nu mai stiam ce-ti da. si nici macar nu ma stiai.&lt;br /&gt;petite&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-8818193291166306906?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/8818193291166306906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/nu-ma-stiai.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/8818193291166306906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/8818193291166306906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/nu-ma-stiai.html' title='Nu ma stiai'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-7482629608104578550</id><published>2009-07-12T14:29:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:29:37.890-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>the winners take it all....sau despre oameni uniti in dragoste prin proiecte comune&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_KL8jwDxyY"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_KL8jwDxyY&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;or how can u miss a kiss&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZHSvNw5yxXI"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZHSvNw5yxXI&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THE SAME, NEW YEAR'S EVE&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-163" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=VyEIWwlgLfU-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday 10 May 2009 - 01:10PM (PDT&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-7482629608104578550?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/7482629608104578550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/winners-take-it-all.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/7482629608104578550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/7482629608104578550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/winners-take-it-all.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-9144214467293859290</id><published>2009-07-12T14:28:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:29:06.973-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Petite in loved my Moonriver</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_caPSe-8Wc"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_caPSe-8Wc&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Caii ii nechezau in suflet,&lt;br /&gt;era mijlocul noptii&lt;br /&gt;si tot nu auzea trenurile,&lt;br /&gt;isi numara degetele de la o mana.&lt;br /&gt;Isi saruta umerii parguiti,diafani,&lt;br /&gt;eleganti prin insasi duiosia lor.&lt;br /&gt;Chema caii si se duse&lt;br /&gt;Se departa de trupul tembel&lt;br /&gt;si se duse catre casa cu iarba-n ferestre,&lt;br /&gt;si maci peste buze.&lt;br /&gt;E vara.&lt;br /&gt;Nu tine mult, cat sa adorm,&lt;br /&gt;un pic,&lt;br /&gt;plapanzilor.&lt;br /&gt;lume de plapanzi flamanzi.&lt;br /&gt;petite&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-9144214467293859290?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/9144214467293859290/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/petite-in-loved-my-moonriver.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/9144214467293859290'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/9144214467293859290'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/petite-in-loved-my-moonriver.html' title='Petite in loved my Moonriver'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-4704058912892957942</id><published>2009-07-12T14:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:28:16.813-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>returning to a dead world&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5zSztXwgr7Y"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5zSztXwgr7Y&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't play around with the souls, especially with those ones with no roots....&lt;br /&gt;Locuia la marginea unui oras mort. Uneori i se parea ca mirosea a munte, alteori a sobolani morti de pe langa puburile infecte.Odata treceau si trenuri pe bridge-ul de langa supermarchetul Asda, acum era tacere. Nici o zbatere de de avion, nici de pasare pasare. Acum stia cu siguranta ca bufnitele nu sunt ceea ce par a fi. Vedea din ce in ce mai putin. Trupul ii era din ce in ce mai putin, spiritul fara Dumnezeu.Cand il intalnise pe Henry avuse o vana de energie, isi umpluse bratul de scriitori japonezi si englezi, si cauta un om. Henry era la bufetul Manchester Library, cu parul neingrijit, acoperindu-i toata fata, cu raglanul lung, de irlandez incetosat. Isi bea cafeaua si se uita la oameni. Arunca priviri rautacioase, ironice, peste studentii studiosi, majoritatea asiatici.&lt;br /&gt;Do u know any arab courses?intrebase ea, crezandu-l familiar locului?&lt;br /&gt;Timpul se rupse. De cand sosise, se baza mult pe biscuiti inmuiati in brandy.&lt;br /&gt;Hey, Shaw, u haven’t been to the office for one month.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, Lora,I know u would call me eventually. But why.?&lt;br /&gt;Shaw...&lt;br /&gt;U are drunk.&lt;br /&gt;Yes, Shaw, like u, I called u to ask u about God. Do u believe in God?&lt;br /&gt;Do u Know something about Mae?&lt;br /&gt;Shaw, I’ve just arrived. Shaw, nobody here believes in God, neither Irene, nor Bill nor Less. Shaw, I left here with God in my soul, but now I know Shaw, there’s no God.&lt;br /&gt;U are sick.&lt;br /&gt;I met Henry.I was weak and I talked too much with him. English cant talk about anything than money or Manchester football team. He is Irish. There is a big difference.&lt;br /&gt;Lora, what about Mae?&lt;br /&gt;Shaw, I wanted to talk to you about Mae. I dont know where she lives.Shaw, I feel tired. I havent slept and eaten for two days. But there’sno worries. There’s nothing about my physical or mental deseases. I can wear them. But yesterday Shaw, yesterday in the morning I felt myself dying.&lt;br /&gt;Avea o greutate pe suflet, rememora totul,in fiecare clipa, auzea totul din nou, auzea totul din nou, dadea cu cuvintele de pereti, plangea,isi zdrelea genunchii cu unghiile,simtea toate cuvintele lui apasand-o pe stomac, dar mai ales pe suflet. Si sufletul nu mai putea respira.Cuvintele lui ii strangeau sufletul de gat ca si cand a-i stoarce o carpa veche, care nu-ti mai e buna si trebuie sa o arunci in sfarsit. Era o lume noua, trebuia sa inghita o lume noua..Lumea noua era moarta si lipicioasa de atata mizerie.’’Nu EXISTA Dumnezeu, isi spunea chiar si prin somn, Nu Exista Dumnezeu.’’’In dimineata aceea se trezi si parca nu se trezi,vroi sa se dea jos din pat, deschise ochii si vazu plapuma cum se comprima in ea, incerca sa se ridice, si o aratare fara chip, fara trup, un suflet greu, urat,intunecat, o apasa, si ea incerca sa isi miste mainile, picioarele, ele amortisera, o impunsatura in moalele capului, incerca sa isi deschida ochii nu mai putu, parca cineva o lua si o prinse ca intr-un cleste si, simti ca se sufoca disperata incerca sa strige, parca se batea cu cineva impotriva caruia oricum nu avea nici o putere. Se franse sub stransoarea de cosmar.&lt;br /&gt;Apoi peste zi inima ii devenise slaba, cand respira, parca respira prin ceata orasului, trenurile nu mai treceau, ar fi plans, ar fi cerut ajutor, dar nu mai avea sens. Toate o apasau continuu, animale cu copite, nu cai salbatici. Si pentru Shaw,caii salbatici alunecau pe cer, cerul nu il mai vedea decat intr-o sticla de brandy sau vodca.&lt;br /&gt;''Lora, and Shaw laughed, I think u have slept with Henry and u didnt know.’’&lt;br /&gt;Shaw, ei vor sa imi ia copilul din burta dinainte de a se fi nascut vreodata, se trezi vorbind in limba ei cu cineva, dar nu era Shaw.&lt;br /&gt;But Lora, you would have never been born anyway. What about Graham?&lt;br /&gt;He bought for me again a lot of ...today. A polish Lubelska and three bottles of wine..I will a survive a few hours... u know, he doesnt like me crying..&lt;br /&gt;That's nice, I love Graham.But Lora, I need to see Mae.Just for a fish and chips.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCV_kTjuguQ"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zCV_kTjuguQ&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;petite&lt;br /&gt;You dont understand, first he behaved like a nice father, the most wonderful in the world, the first one,and then...he wanted to get rid of her as u do with nighthmares&lt;br /&gt;I don't like violence, but I ve been teaching to be violent. Te-am imblnazit,eu sunt neimblanzita.Imblanzeste-ma si rasare-ma,inainte de ceasul 12. E aproapa tarziu, stiu.&lt;br /&gt;Her father, one morning, when her mother was away,came into her room and started to touch her where she just started to feel as a woman. She came into the bathroom, locking herself, and she was trembling waiting for the real morning.&lt;br /&gt;Do u dare to reveal all your frightenings and to show yourself naked, beautiful and seductive, with all the dark secrets of your own?&lt;br /&gt;I have no choice and not too much time.&lt;br /&gt;Doralee&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=shawandmae" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;shawandmae&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-4704058912892957942?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/4704058912892957942/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/returning-to-dead-world-httpwww.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/4704058912892957942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/4704058912892957942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/returning-to-dead-world-httpwww.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-190651284515707093</id><published>2009-07-12T14:26:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:26:56.144-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Mon amour&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEp3qqeCJR4"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEp3qqeCJR4&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNNZ24D-cSE"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNNZ24D-cSE&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-160" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=52o.ArdgLfY-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday 10 May 2009 - 01:00PM (PDT)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-190651284515707093?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/190651284515707093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/mon-amour-httpwww.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/190651284515707093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/190651284515707093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/mon-amour-httpwww.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-3375038479492939564</id><published>2009-07-12T14:26:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:26:30.445-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Moon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxRMDE1RToc"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxRMDE1RToc&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHElLai6YlE"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DHElLai6YlE&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Live&lt;br /&gt;Se trezise ca de obicei a doua, dupa Becky, Becky fireste, facea vocalize, ea se duse in baie, in baia neterminata cu peretii inca crapati, un gandac mare o intampina in cada, un gandac negru si scarbos. Welcome back to life. Unde era mai bine? In vis sau in realitate? Era la fel. Coackroaches, spiders, rats, everywhere. Desi stia despre coackroaches ca erau rosii, nu mai conta, erau de toate culorile si in Anglia. Se trezise devreme cu gandul sa isi inghete afara, in jogging, visele urate de peste noapte ce lasasera tristeti si premonitii. Era bine asta, macar in Romania nu ar fi putut alerga fara o sleahta de caini dupa ea sau fara gura casca si replici taioase. Yulla isi facuse bagajul toata noaptea, trantise si o tinuse tot intr-un fuck off.O vedea cu ochii deschisi pe Yulla, pentru ca Yulla avea doar vreo trei fuste scurte, niste blugi elasteci si bluze din materiale agasante. In schimb Yulla, venita dintr-o tara comunista, investea, ca si east-europeans, in aur. Avea multe chestii aurite si la gat si pe degete, de asta uneori i se parea ca, de exemplu, gambele ei subtiri contrastau rusinos cu niste degete groase, umflate de constrangeri materiale de valoare. Toata lumea stia in casa aia ca Yulla il iubea de fapt pe Ramos, intrusa pe un altul, la Bucuresti, iar Becky pe baiatul din scoala primara pe care il lasase in urma acu juma de an, ca sa urmeze cea mai buna scoala de fete din Longhsight. Pe Martin nu-l iubea nimeni, decat Sammy, poate. Martin statea toata ziua in garaj, in frig, doar cu o salopeta subtire pe el si repara, iar Sammy il mai lingea fierbinte din cand in cand, si chiar se ridica in doua picioare sa il plescaie aburind pe obraji.Chiar si cand nu mai avea ce sa repare si toate taxiurile erau line pe traseu, el tot mai gasea ceva de reparat. Era credit crunch si trebuia sa nu stea.Joan, alaturi, dupa ce venea de la serviciu, era asistent social, Joan se apuca si ea de reparat. Fiul ei, Apollo, isi petrecea noptile pe ici pe colo si deci era obosit in timpul zilei. Desi era tanar casatorit cu o negresa grasa, fireste, el se vedea cu vecina blonda de peste drum, careia ii placea berea si avea si copil mic. Intrusa ii urmarise intr-o zi in camera de luat vederi cum el isi intorcea gatul intr-o parte si in alta, ba barbia, ba isi umfla narile,era ba ca un taur, ba ca un cocos, iar ea, ca o gaina disperata, ii tot cauta gura dar ii nimerea ba urechile, ba ceafa, ba nasul, si plangea continuu. Scotea sunete onomatopeeice in disperarea ei, si intrusa nu putu sa inteleaga nimic din nebuloasa lor.El nu o invita niciodata in casa, desi Afrodita lui atipica, grasunica, era si ea mereu plecata. Apollo disparea in schimb pe la 2 noaptea pe cate undeva. Copilul Irish era in grija cuiva, erau multi oameni si in casa blondei, si un barbat always drunk, banuit de conspiratie in spargerea de la no. 20. In uk oamenii stau mult pe acasa si se leaga de cei 400 de lire, ajutor social, si, daca au copii, si de cate o casa. De asta copiii de 16, 17 ani fac copii. Intrusa se intalnise cu....si uitase cum il cheama, si chiar ca il placuse, hard working, si profesor de arta dramatica si politist in timpul liber, si tatal a trei copii la 25 ani. Se cam mirase ea atunci, dar apoi constatase ca nu era nimic neobisnuit sa ai copii de foarte tanar.Se despartisera insa prea devreme pentru ca avea gandire de corporatist, probabil din pricina de asalt al responsabilitatilor. A doua zi dupa ce proaspata mireasa cubaneza pasise in Anglia, in familia 29 aparusera problemele. Yulla fuse prinsa in DABENHAMS cu un parfum Armani in geanta si o luasera la politie. Isi petrecuse Martin toata noaptea la sectie ca sa o scoata. Yulla nu isi imaginase ca erau camere de luat vederi chiar peste tot. Cand si intrusa devenise de-a casei, Yulla o avertizase ca in toate magazinele sunt camere de luat vederi si, deci, sa fie cu bagare de seama.&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=intrusa" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;intrusa&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-159" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=RFm086FgLv8-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday 10 May 2009 - 12:59PM (PDT)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-3375038479492939564?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/3375038479492939564/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/moon-httpwww.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3375038479492939564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3375038479492939564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/moon-httpwww.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-6320968383103591152</id><published>2009-07-12T14:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:25:48.556-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Women..love hurts</title><content type='html'>Era o zi de vara frumoasa, fierbinte, cu 40 de grade pe suflet,cu autobuze senine, cu oamenii calzi, cu copacii din fata blocului tipand ca niste copii neastamparati. Isi alese de data asta o palarie crem, larga, de mexicanca, palaria ei preferata, pantaloni din in albi si peste sutienul fin, de culoarea pielii o rochita crosetata, un pic transparenta. Trebuia sa se intalneasca cu el, sa ii dea ceva. Nu il vazuse de mult si inima ii batea de emotie, puternica ca parca uneori i se oprea respiratia, speriata de atat tropait. Pana sa ajunga acolo isi aranja palaria in geamurile autobuzelor sau in parbrize, si isi mai asternu o dara de glos. Zambea. Crispata ca poate nu are sa-i placa, fericita ca il revedea. La Kogalniceanu simti ca lesina,minutele tipau si el intarzia. Cand il vazu, vroi sa o rupa la sanatoasa, dar isi prinse sufletul intr-un ac de gamalie si il primi. El era in pantaloni scurti, colorati.&lt;br /&gt;In acelasi punct el, isi intalni un coleg. Uitase sa o prezinte, acela insa nu putu sa se abtina sa nu se uite in decolteu. El paru jenat si chiar rusinat. Cand strainul pleca, ii zise, aspru:&lt;br /&gt;Iar te-ai impopotonat. Ce, te crezi pe scena, ca de obicei, sau in vreun show?&lt;br /&gt;Pamantul rase de ea, picioarele o zgaltaira, oglinzile se sparsera, ochii i se impaienjenira in lacrimi.&lt;br /&gt;''Credeam ca o sa iti placa.Tie nu iti place niciodata nimic, oricat m-as schimba .Uite, un alt autobuz....pa''&lt;br /&gt;In autobuz, se prinse de un scaun si lacrima, ca un copil timid, respins in locul de joaca.&lt;br /&gt;Acasa, ajunse cumva,nu stiu cum, nu mai vazu nici autobuzele,nici oamenii, nici copacii. Isi afunda capul in perna, si planse, acum, ca o femeie ce se simtea urata, cu sufletul tarat prin mocirla cuvintelor hapsane.&lt;br /&gt;Cand ea il intalni,se indragosti si ii placu totul la el. Nu conta ca avea barba prea multa si neingrijita, la fel si parul, strans, nu i se potrivea cel mai bine.Nu mai avea 20 si nici nu canta la chitara. Haina ponosita si mersul aplecat de tristete ii mai asezau cativa ani in plus pe chip.Nu o scotea la ceai.Nici la film. Da isi spuse in sinea ei ca asa e el, face parte din natura si universul lui. Poate el nu era perfect, dar ea asa il privea.Era sarac. Erau saraci. Chiar si atunci, cand ea nu avea cum sa isi aleaga hainele, el tot o critica. Se urcase cocotata pe scaun si zambi strengar.''Ce zici de asta?''&lt;br /&gt;''Nu, in nici un caz''....Si paru ca se oglindeste in ochii lui imaginea celeilalte si sufletul i se chirci, trist, in cutia toracica.&lt;br /&gt;Nu fusese indragostit niciodata de ea.Si mai ales pentru ca, pentru el, contau cel mai mult aparentele, si nici frumosul ei trup cand il iubea, si nici asteptarea si loialitatea simpla, si nici zambetul ei larg, de fericire, cand il vedea.&lt;br /&gt;''De ce esti plouata?''&lt;br /&gt;''De teama si tristete. Si pentru ca in ochii tai vad cum iti straluceste imaginea alteia, si sufletul meu se chirceste, trist, in cutia toracica, asta i-ar fi spus.''&lt;br /&gt;Pleaca, sa nu te mai vad, niciodata.Pleaca.&lt;br /&gt;Dimineata primise vesti urate,la care se asteptase si deci spre seara, hotarase sa iasa. Se imbraca cu haine de-ale ei, de-acasa. Primise complimente neasteptate in seara aceea, si de la Bill, si de la Irene, Less, de la toti britanicii din incapere...NoraI u look so smart..Then she remembered about Jorleif,how he hold her in his arms in the morning, Take a picture with me in the miror...''You are perfect. I need u to dine with my clients.''&lt;br /&gt;Ajunse acasa, si dintr-o data simti aceeasi durere si naduf de atunci. Planse.&lt;br /&gt;Tags:  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-157" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=PB2rgFxgLvE-"&gt;Add Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday 10 May 2009 - 12:57PM (PDT&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-6320968383103591152?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/6320968383103591152/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womenlove-hurts.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6320968383103591152'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6320968383103591152'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womenlove-hurts.html' title='Women..love hurts'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-5912329355986931667</id><published>2009-07-12T14:24:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:24:59.863-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Nora si Joan</title><content type='html'>Uneori isi imagina ca s-ar fI dus la usa lui Joan si i-ar fi spus:&lt;br /&gt;Joan, hai sa bem o cafea minunata, cu frisca sau lapte. Si sa vorbim, despre orice. Sau mai frumos sa imi spui despre Jamaica, despre tatal tau nascut in Germania sau mama ta din India. Despre copii tai, despre slujba ta, despre florile care iti plac, daca mai iubesti sau nu.&lt;br /&gt;Imi plac povestile adevarate. Traiesc prin povestile altora.&lt;br /&gt;Si i-ar mai fi spus, tarziu.&lt;br /&gt;Joan, sunt obosita. Cum sa fac sa ma mangai?''&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=joan" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;joan&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-156" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=TMwdj.hgLvA-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday 10 May 2009 - 12:56PM (PDT&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-5912329355986931667?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/5912329355986931667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/nora-si-joan.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/5912329355986931667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/5912329355986931667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/nora-si-joan.html' title='Nora si Joan'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-3792789463247163151</id><published>2009-07-12T14:20:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:21:27.901-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Snow</title><content type='html'>sarutul cu caii, ma involbureaza,&lt;br /&gt;nu am iubit,nici nu am avut,&lt;br /&gt;decat minunate fantezii vata de zahar si gargarite,&lt;br /&gt;eclere mincinoase, vinuri inzapezie,&lt;br /&gt;o suna sa-i spuna... te-ai inzapezit..&lt;br /&gt;asa, si?&lt;br /&gt;ce iti pasa, amorezatule&lt;br /&gt;eu am caii mei&lt;br /&gt;tu ai iapa ta&lt;br /&gt;zapada ni se topeste&lt;br /&gt;de atata nechezat.&lt;br /&gt;Breakfast....eggs, milk with cereals...She is just a mechanism, a robot, the world is snowing cruelty, without her grandpa, and without anything else.Her eyebrows are like empty branches in a winter tree.&lt;br /&gt;''Lora,u smile too much,'' and they burst into laughing...&lt;br /&gt;Bastards, she thought to herself,everybody is laughing to my life..&lt;br /&gt;''Well,u are such a nice company, guys...''&lt;br /&gt;In the night,he came to her bedroom,she left on purpose the bedroom opened.It was very cold and she was very depressed. She didnt have any pills, and nothing else. The world is like tramp, ''I got to give..''Anytime, whatever, a meal, a caress ,a touch,a poem, a tear, an angry thought, a hand, a teach for a child, a biscuit,a teddy bear', or a punishment'.Tomorrow is starting a new life, and not here anymore.&lt;br /&gt;''da mi se rupe poola ca esti depresiva si idioata si razbunatoare si stupida shi perdanta si penibila si stridenta si luzaritza si... la naiba.' as putea sa te iubesc o zi sau o luna sau toata viata. Tu insa nu potzi nimic din toate astea. Atunci as fi vrut sa simt femeia din tine. Si vroiam sa dorm linga tine, sa vad cum se face dimineata.''&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=fZDyJyNop_A"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daca as avea timp si bani si liniste, as veni citeva zile acolo, in Anglia aia rece, sa ma plimb cu tine pe Norman Road ...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=b0pOAVGvePQ"&gt;http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=b0pOAVGvePQ&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Daca ar fi fost sa spuna adevarul gol glout, mai gol decat ea, ar fi recunoscut, ca da, in camera aceea insipida, cand el ii gesticula despre nesomn, ar fi facut dragoste cu el si i-ar fi pus cu tandrete si rasarit si apus pe sub piele,exact deasupra oaselor lui minunate, si oasele ii erau ca cerul pentru ea, si fara sa vrea il simtise tare, simtise,si ce daca simtise,ei simt pt orice curva asa, ea l-ar fi luat de omoplati,i-ar fi pus sarutul ascuns printre ei, sa doarma mai bine,mai cu ingeri,si-ar fi sprijinit duios barbia de umeri sau de sold sau de sex,dar el ce, ar fi vrut sa stie despre astea, era plictisit de nebunia simturilor haotice...traia o noua dragoste, dar peste ani, cand a lui se va fi stins, ea nu ar avea sa il ierte, caci il iubise un deceniu, cu tot cu mojicii si neajunsuri,de cand parea ca ii place sa cumpere paine calda de la Basarab, sau de pe Grivita, odata treceau pe ninsoare magica pe Atena si Washington si pe langa casele luxos luminate si asezate, si se gandi ea atunci ca vreodata, isi va strecura si pentru ea bratul spre lumi,....el avea comunicari mai bune cu o noua, Noua nu il stia prea bine acum...ea insa stia cu amaraciune, cu adevarat, cine e el, de fapt. She will never ever forgive his behave, neither under the graves...&lt;br /&gt;Well, but where should I go tomorrow?&lt;br /&gt;Tags:  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-155" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=ei83vbZgLvM-"&gt;Add Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday 10 May 2009 - 12:55PM (PDT&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-3792789463247163151?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/3792789463247163151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/snow.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3792789463247163151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3792789463247163151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/snow.html' title='Snow'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-6605972911265982920</id><published>2009-07-12T14:20:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:20:44.716-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Women..red lipstick and the sea</title><content type='html'>After she discovered Isla Negra, sometimes she would have said…Please, make love with me, bring me to life, feed me with blue raindrops, with green grass,caress my hips, even for a night, let your sheep to feed on my hips,let them to be, bah bah.I am mounting on u, I lay my breast over your lips, velvet,u pull caressly my hair, u read on my lips at midnight, welisten Nocturne, and even right now u high up a sunrise,red reddish on my lips.&lt;br /&gt;I liked your bed...big, mandru, fara cute, tu, la celalt capat, tacut.&lt;br /&gt;In metroul londonez am admirat pretiozitatea sobra of a typical English woman. Cu bluza neagra inchisa pana la barbie, citind cartile de la oferta. Two for 14 pounds. Mai toate englezoaicele purtau hainele stranse pe corp si negre, pantofii lacuiti, obrajii trandafirii, cu privirile afundate in carti. Doar o pata senzuala de culoare- chinezoaica, foarte frumoasa in bluza ei rosie cu volanase pe sub trenciul maro, cu cizmele inalte infasurand, impreuna cu dresul negru picioarele-i lungi. Motaia, cu buzele rosii aprinse. In vis. Din cand in cand se lovea cu capul de bara de sustinere, caci statea adormita la capatul randului de scaune. si cand se lovea, se trezea. Cu buzele. si ele tremurau zambind. Cu ochii in continuare inchisi. Ma gandeam ca ar putea fi o prostituata fericita. sunt sigura ca exista.&lt;br /&gt;Ajunse acasa cu frigul in oase,ningea,ningea taios, cu fulgi urati,imensi si ei strapungeau pamantul ca niste fulgere, ca niste comete bezmetice.&lt;br /&gt;Fuck off, ce ipocrizie....&lt;br /&gt;Trisase, de data asta, cumpara de la pachi, desi, i se interzisese. We dont feed the pachi,ok Lora?&lt;br /&gt;Intra in camera,peretii de vinilin, reci,lunguieti,nimic intim acolo,nici un lucrusor intim, nici o farama de acasa.Doar sub plapuma era locul ei intim,uneori se afunda sub o plapuma veche, se incalzea si isi imagina ca e cu adevarat cald. Acum venise cu ganduri taioase, intrigante, reci, era toata infasurata in ganduri de tinichea,o strangeau, ii sangera sufletul si nu vroia sa planga.&lt;br /&gt;Cineva o sunase..Tresari...''Come...''&lt;br /&gt;''Where?I cant hear u...''&lt;br /&gt;''Come''' ,simti un fior rece cald pe sira spinarii.Parcaera intr-un vis. ''Come...Come to me if u want....U can come''&lt;br /&gt;''U want me to come....Where?''&lt;br /&gt;''In Bucharest or to the Red Sea''&lt;br /&gt;Aarrr...What u doing?....U can speak to me on the Internet...Se gandi whY should I come? Why should u pay for two days...too much&lt;br /&gt;I need to hear your voice, sometimes...&lt;br /&gt;I sometimes feel U get bored when u see me... What shall I give to u? Nothing. Even in bed I am so poor.U still have two. I have seen her gorgeous gloves.What kind of game is that one? Nobody needed u so much till now, right?Or because I smiled so deeply once. I leaned my head over my shoulder and I laughed.&lt;br /&gt;I liked that bed. I am tired.I am kissed under the snow and I dont feel nothing.&lt;br /&gt;Se ridica incet din pat, montruozitatea pietrelor cresteau nervos in ea si se rostogolea peste tot in interior, ca intr-un Moonriver si se indrepta spre baie.Aprinse lumina stiind parca …Isi lasa capul pe spate, odihnindu-se, tandru, inchise ochii, dupa care se uita adanc, in timp ce isi prinse parul la spate, gingas. Asta trebuia sa fie. Avea buze pline,voluptoase, si sprancene bine arcuite,chiar in sinea lor.Cam atat.Sufletul nu-l mai vedea, si el obisnuia sa fie arcuit, tipator.&lt;br /&gt;‘’Esti ca taica-tau’’, si ii prinse intre sprancene privirea albastra, rece, de gheata, de dispret.&lt;br /&gt;Dupa ce descoperise Isla Negra, uneori ar fi spus…Te rog, fa dragoste cu mine, invie-ma,oblojeste-ma,hraneste-ma cu apa vie cand imi mangai mijlocul…chiar si pentru o noapte, pune-mi oi peste solduri, lasa-le sa behaie. Ma ridic dreapta deasupra ta, iti aplec sanii pe buze,matasosi, ma tragi de par duios,imi citesti pe buze pe intuneric, ascultam chiar si Nocturne, chiar acum cand iti scriu mi-ai inaltat un rasarit parguind pe buze de pe buze in ape dulci.&lt;br /&gt;After she discovered Isla Negra, sometimes she would have said…Please, make love with me, bring me to life, feed me with blue raindrops, with green grass,caress my hips, even for a night, let your sheep to feed on my hips,let them to be, bah bah.I am mounting on u, I lay my breast over your lips, velvet,u pull caressly my hair, u read on my lips at midnight, we listen Nocturne, and even right now u high up a sunrise,red reddish on my lips,from your lips,moistered.&lt;br /&gt;PS.Alice e frumoasa&lt;br /&gt;petite&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-153" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=47U.CbNgLvU-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 03:11PM (PDT)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-6605972911265982920?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/6605972911265982920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womenred-lipstick-and-sea_12.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6605972911265982920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6605972911265982920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womenred-lipstick-and-sea_12.html' title='Women..red lipstick and the sea'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-3454365122024732878</id><published>2009-07-12T14:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:20:44.005-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Women..red lipstick and the sea</title><content type='html'>After she discovered Isla Negra, sometimes she would have said…Please, make love with me, bring me to life, feed me with blue raindrops, with green grass,caress my hips, even for a night, let your sheep to feed on my hips,let them to be, bah bah.I am mounting on u, I lay my breast over your lips, velvet,u pull caressly my hair, u read on my lips at midnight, welisten Nocturne, and even right now u high up a sunrise,red reddish on my lips.&lt;br /&gt;I liked your bed...big, mandru, fara cute, tu, la celalt capat, tacut.&lt;br /&gt;In metroul londonez am admirat pretiozitatea sobra of a typical English woman. Cu bluza neagra inchisa pana la barbie, citind cartile de la oferta. Two for 14 pounds. Mai toate englezoaicele purtau hainele stranse pe corp si negre, pantofii lacuiti, obrajii trandafirii, cu privirile afundate in carti. Doar o pata senzuala de culoare- chinezoaica, foarte frumoasa in bluza ei rosie cu volanase pe sub trenciul maro, cu cizmele inalte infasurand, impreuna cu dresul negru picioarele-i lungi. Motaia, cu buzele rosii aprinse. In vis. Din cand in cand se lovea cu capul de bara de sustinere, caci statea adormita la capatul randului de scaune. si cand se lovea, se trezea. Cu buzele. si ele tremurau zambind. Cu ochii in continuare inchisi. Ma gandeam ca ar putea fi o prostituata fericita. sunt sigura ca exista.&lt;br /&gt;Ajunse acasa cu frigul in oase,ningea,ningea taios, cu fulgi urati,imensi si ei strapungeau pamantul ca niste fulgere, ca niste comete bezmetice.&lt;br /&gt;Fuck off, ce ipocrizie....&lt;br /&gt;Trisase, de data asta, cumpara de la pachi, desi, i se interzisese. We dont feed the pachi,ok Lora?&lt;br /&gt;Intra in camera,peretii de vinilin, reci,lunguieti,nimic intim acolo,nici un lucrusor intim, nici o farama de acasa.Doar sub plapuma era locul ei intim,uneori se afunda sub o plapuma veche, se incalzea si isi imagina ca e cu adevarat cald. Acum venise cu ganduri taioase, intrigante, reci, era toata infasurata in ganduri de tinichea,o strangeau, ii sangera sufletul si nu vroia sa planga.&lt;br /&gt;Cineva o sunase..Tresari...''Come...''&lt;br /&gt;''Where?I cant hear u...''&lt;br /&gt;''Come''' ,simti un fior rece cald pe sira spinarii.Parcaera intr-un vis. ''Come...Come to me if u want....U can come''&lt;br /&gt;''U want me to come....Where?''&lt;br /&gt;''In Bucharest or to the Red Sea''&lt;br /&gt;Aarrr...What u doing?....U can speak to me on the Internet...Se gandi whY should I come? Why should u pay for two days...too much&lt;br /&gt;I need to hear your voice, sometimes...&lt;br /&gt;I sometimes feel U get bored when u see me... What shall I give to u? Nothing. Even in bed I am so poor.U still have two. I have seen her gorgeous gloves.What kind of game is that one? Nobody needed u so much till now, right?Or because I smiled so deeply once. I leaned my head over my shoulder and I laughed.&lt;br /&gt;I liked that bed. I am tired.I am kissed under the snow and I dont feel nothing.&lt;br /&gt;Se ridica incet din pat, montruozitatea pietrelor cresteau nervos in ea si se rostogolea peste tot in interior, ca intr-un Moonriver si se indrepta spre baie.Aprinse lumina stiind parca …Isi lasa capul pe spate, odihnindu-se, tandru, inchise ochii, dupa care se uita adanc, in timp ce isi prinse parul la spate, gingas. Asta trebuia sa fie. Avea buze pline,voluptoase, si sprancene bine arcuite,chiar in sinea lor.Cam atat.Sufletul nu-l mai vedea, si el obisnuia sa fie arcuit, tipator.&lt;br /&gt;‘’Esti ca taica-tau’’, si ii prinse intre sprancene privirea albastra, rece, de gheata, de dispret.&lt;br /&gt;Dupa ce descoperise Isla Negra, uneori ar fi spus…Te rog, fa dragoste cu mine, invie-ma,oblojeste-ma,hraneste-ma cu apa vie cand imi mangai mijlocul…chiar si pentru o noapte, pune-mi oi peste solduri, lasa-le sa behaie. Ma ridic dreapta deasupra ta, iti aplec sanii pe buze,matasosi, ma tragi de par duios,imi citesti pe buze pe intuneric, ascultam chiar si Nocturne, chiar acum cand iti scriu mi-ai inaltat un rasarit parguind pe buze de pe buze in ape dulci.&lt;br /&gt;After she discovered Isla Negra, sometimes she would have said…Please, make love with me, bring me to life, feed me with blue raindrops, with green grass,caress my hips, even for a night, let your sheep to feed on my hips,let them to be, bah bah.I am mounting on u, I lay my breast over your lips, velvet,u pull caressly my hair, u read on my lips at midnight, we listen Nocturne, and even right now u high up a sunrise,red reddish on my lips,from your lips,moistered.&lt;br /&gt;PS.Alice e frumoasa&lt;br /&gt;petite&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-153" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=47U.CbNgLvU-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 03:11PM (PDT)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-3454365122024732878?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/3454365122024732878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womenred-lipstick-and-sea.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3454365122024732878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3454365122024732878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womenred-lipstick-and-sea.html' title='Women..red lipstick and the sea'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-4396462305484324854</id><published>2009-07-12T14:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:19:40.139-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>who knows&lt;br /&gt;tu vii dintr-un strop de apa de izvor&lt;br /&gt;sau&lt;br /&gt;dintr-o lacrima de ochi adanc.&lt;br /&gt;tu vii dintr-o primavara cu nisip fierbinte&lt;br /&gt;si pietre reci pe suflet.&lt;br /&gt;tu ai alunecat aici&lt;br /&gt;ca o poveste cu taramuri nemaiumblate.&lt;br /&gt;numai eu stiu a te umbla.&lt;br /&gt;tu vii dintr-un strop de nea - nu te topesti in palmele mele.&lt;br /&gt;degetele mele sunt argintii cu tine.&lt;br /&gt;tu esti pat de frunze incrancenat.&lt;br /&gt;tu vii dintr-o frunza desprinsa din cer&lt;br /&gt;ce nu atinge pamantul trupului meu&lt;br /&gt;decat&lt;br /&gt;pe dinauntru.&lt;br /&gt;esti zapada de la radacina copacilor&lt;br /&gt;ce se prelinge in bratelor mele,&lt;br /&gt;cand visez.&lt;br /&gt;tu esti un oras de cuvinte scrise pe iarba.&lt;br /&gt;tu esti citadin&lt;br /&gt;si braduit cu mustati ascutite.&lt;br /&gt;mi-ai ascutit simturile cu ele.&lt;br /&gt;tu esti Prima mea iarna cu zapada&lt;br /&gt;in asternut de primavara.&lt;br /&gt;Tu esti&lt;br /&gt;Neincetat.&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-152" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=Z_GUQnxgLvQ-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 03:09PM (PDT&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-4396462305484324854?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/4396462305484324854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/who-knows-tu-vii-dintr-un-strop-de-apa.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/4396462305484324854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/4396462305484324854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/who-knows-tu-vii-dintr-un-strop-de-apa.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-1973582573682008694</id><published>2009-07-12T14:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:17:00.943-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Men&lt;br /&gt;Dimineata dezactiva alarma, isi facu cafeaua intr-o cratita ciobita, isi fierse un ou,niciodata nu-i placu ouale.Acum hardly mai putea manca ceva, dar un ou moale era cremos, era o imagine de tara, senina. Cand intra in dus, facu exercitiul ei preferat tinand mainile caus, isi deschidea si inchidea palmele si apa curge suvoi. O linisteau formele care se deschid si se inchid.&lt;br /&gt;Relua in minte sub aburi...Nu,nu iti amintesti nimic,nu trebuie, redeseneaza-ti viziunile.&lt;br /&gt;Isi aminti cat de teama ii era lui P sa atinga un sex de femeie. El,la 30 ani inca nu intelegea de ce un barbat poate fi atras de sexul unei femei.Si zambi atunci, gandindu-se ca ar putea fi gay, dar ii era frica sa isi recunoasca. Stateau amandoi in pat si discutau despre sex. ''Defineste-l''....E un hau, nu stiu..un hau....’’ ''Am sa iti arat'', ii spuse ea in gand, nu tare, sa nu il alunge. apoi el ii trase patura protector pana la barbie si adormira.&lt;br /&gt;Nu era geloasa pe noptile de futut salbatic intr-un singur way cu aceea, stia ca altfel nu putea sa i-o traga unei femei.Stia si ca avea sa o mai satisfaca pe Ea, o femeie cu functie top management, doar vreo cateva luni si in curand vor experimenta o letargie blegoasa, un parteneriat bun de iesit cateodata cu colegii si de intelegere reciproca in ceea ce priveste orarul incarcat al amandurora.Era geloasa pe bratul lui cald sub capul alteia. Atat.&lt;br /&gt;Avea multa treaba si era vraiste peste tot, dar nu se abtinu sa nu mai citeasca cateva pasaje dintr-o carte, asa, cu prosopul pe corp, pasajul acela dintre straina, si el, unemployed,si dintr-o data simti niste furnicaturi pe sub coapse si brusc o izbi imaginea pielii subcutanate a unui amant minunat, cat sa se mai involbureze o data in interior pe sub suflet si sa bea cafeaua in profunda stare de liniste.’’Nu suport barbatii, ‚’isi zise. ‚’Nu sunt buni decat la asta’’&lt;br /&gt;Si mai ajunsese la o concluzie,barbatii sunt gelosi pe aventurile erotice imaginare ale unei femei, da, si ce daca ale femeii lor, pentru ca sunt nesiguri pe propria lor sexualitate.&lt;br /&gt;''Of course you're there. Aren't you?''&lt;br /&gt;O sunase Henry. Henry era un barbat cu barba fanoasa, acoperindu-i neglijent aproape toata fata si ochii mici, tacuti. Cam atat isi amintea din imaginea lui.Il intalnise la Manchester Library cu cateva zile in urma.&lt;br /&gt;''I have to work.’’, she answered shortly.&lt;br /&gt;''Don't stray from the path you have intended to follow. Small or great, you're going to be a star.You are on a path of enlightenment. Follow the light. Even when it's not there.''&lt;br /&gt;Henry was born in Belfast from Russian immigrants, and he spoke with an Irish accent. He graduated from Cambridge with a degree in Old Literature and then he moved to Romania. There he met that strange guy.&lt;br /&gt;''He told me about you, he said to her her in rough whispers. I am his counselor. Maybe I can help you if you need any help. Just ask.''&lt;br /&gt;''Tell me about him. She was interested about Him as she thought could be like him.&lt;br /&gt;'' I can tell you why he's different’’.&lt;br /&gt;''He's a liar that believes his own lies.That makes him strangely attractive and utterly useless to this world. He works as a goon and he pretends to be studying engineering. He's just a dumb fuck if you ask me.’’&lt;br /&gt;''And now he believes in his image as an managing editor of this world, she laughed sharply....&lt;br /&gt;He's the best. He likes to put the blame on someone else.’’&lt;br /&gt;''I'm off to assist someone in hanging himself.Cheers''&lt;br /&gt;...Beep...beep&lt;br /&gt;She knew that man fell in loved deeply by a hooker of a suburb highschool.He suffered a lot when she talked about her fun, a sexual game under the shower with a bascketball highschool team boy.&lt;br /&gt;Se intoarse la lucru, iar spre seara, cand iesi cu familia la social club o intalni pe Mae,insotindu-l pe Alan, the judge, cel cu the stinking leg.Mae nu o privi deloc.&lt;br /&gt;petite&lt;br /&gt;Tags:  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-150" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=LqDYZvlgLvY-"&gt;Add Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 02:05PM (PDT) &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=LqDYZvlgLvY-"&gt;Edit&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-1973582573682008694?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/1973582573682008694/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/men-dimineata-dezactiva-alarma-isi-facu.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/1973582573682008694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/1973582573682008694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/men-dimineata-dezactiva-alarma-isi-facu.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-3248250762245275331</id><published>2009-07-12T14:09:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:10:04.906-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Isla Negra</title><content type='html'>Visez sa merg pe Isla Negra sa ma joc cu caii,&lt;br /&gt;Sa ma innamolesc, mozolesc,&lt;br /&gt;Sa ma dau cu pamant proaspat pe ochi&lt;br /&gt;sa tip, sa il iau de guler pe Dumnezeu&lt;br /&gt;Sa ii dau o Isla pe gat&lt;br /&gt;Sa ma sarute caii pe gat&lt;br /&gt;Sa ma joc de-a v-ati ascunselea cu caii pana ii innebunesc&lt;br /&gt;sa ne vanturam, legam dezlegam de copite&lt;br /&gt;Ce coapte sunt zarile.&lt;br /&gt;Tamaduitoare sunt Aripile pamantesti ale Islei.&lt;br /&gt;Amin.&lt;br /&gt;I dream of a long journey to the Black Island, horses playing, Covering myself in mud, powdering my face with fine sand Screaming out the top of my lungs as I keep falling Down to earth I get a hold of God's white collar, Forcing a handful of sand down his gullet Horses gently kissing my tender neck, I’m biting on a bullet Playing hide and seek until they loose any trace of sanity We loose ourselves to the gentle breeze, shackling and unshackling our dreams As dawn ripens, waves of blue hitting the blue sky Seagulls tenderly flying by Island of Healing Wings, In the distance shouting we hear: Amen!&lt;br /&gt;Thanks to Mr.M&lt;br /&gt;Today&lt;br /&gt;Today I’m a nose less, mouth less, eye lacking face A rough sketch just for, today I’ll let you draw ships instead of a mouth Ships slowly floating over sun rise I’ll let you pin stars where my eyes once where My cheeks you cover in a layer of soft snow Make water springs emerge instead of hair Where my nose once was A spring apple tree grows On my forehead silent clouds Instead of ears, two birds bathing in fresh water A layer of grass on my back to stop it aching, I’ll let you paint me today as a masterpiece, more beautiful than ever Instead of hands, strange stories to tell, Place in my arms a thousand Suns. You can paint me ugly today I’ll let you fill the contour of the drawing I am with crayons Like all children do.&lt;br /&gt;Today it’s you birthday, With me if you will.&lt;br /&gt;Thanks to Mr.M.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-3248250762245275331?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/3248250762245275331/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/isla-negra.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3248250762245275331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3248250762245275331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/isla-negra.html' title='Isla Negra'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-6029950117586076659</id><published>2009-07-12T14:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:09:23.784-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Suflet&lt;br /&gt;Parca as fi o mare seaca,&lt;br /&gt;fara alge,&lt;br /&gt;fara pesti,&lt;br /&gt;fara culoare.&lt;br /&gt;Nu mi s-a scaldat.&lt;br /&gt;Nu mi s-a batut de stanci.&lt;br /&gt;Printre valuri cu cioturi de copaci,&lt;br /&gt;a luat-o si sufletul la goana.&lt;br /&gt;umbla bezmetic si&lt;br /&gt;cauta adancul.&lt;br /&gt;Si negasindu-l,&lt;br /&gt;si nici mal,&lt;br /&gt;parca ar vrea sa planga,&lt;br /&gt;ca nu mai poate plange,&lt;br /&gt;fara adancul de mare.&lt;br /&gt;Se uita la cer,&lt;br /&gt;Cerul se incrunta si il palmuieste bezmetic.&lt;br /&gt;Sufletul rade,&lt;br /&gt;dupa care se scufunda,&lt;br /&gt;linisit,&lt;br /&gt;in Nimic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-6029950117586076659?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/6029950117586076659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/suflet-parca-as-fi-o-mare-seaca-fara.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6029950117586076659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6029950117586076659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/suflet-parca-as-fi-o-mare-seaca-fara.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-775908978348857380</id><published>2009-07-12T14:08:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:08:52.951-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Acum un an, cand cerurile imi pareau deschise</title><content type='html'>''Am invatat sa spun anul nou cu noroc in chineza. Azi in cartierul chinez m-am bucurat de parada dragonilor si de suvenirurile traditionale chinezesti. Dintre toti, englezi sau chinezi, cred ca eram cea mai zgomotoasa. Cu o mica toba decorata in simboluri de gung hat choi, zdranganeam cu zambetul pe buze, la intrecere cu chinezoaicele cu codite. Sa sparg anul nou european petrecut in sunetul picaturilor triste de apa din dus, asteptandu-l pe El. Imi doresc sa fie un an nou in care sa am incredere in oameni si sa iubesc la fel de mult ca pana acum. Sa fiu puternica si sa intorc iubire . Am mancat noodles si am platit un chinez sa imi scrie numele iubitului meu in chineza. Am cumparat o piatra de rau sa am din nou piatra magica, Petricica mea draga si nestemata. Wei mi-a daruit o felicitare cu simbloul calului, care ma reprezinta pe cer. Am colindat cu dragonii fiecare locatie chinezeasca din cartier. Am mirosit cu pofta mancarurile variate pregatite chiar in fata noastra si m-am obtinut sa nu cumpar si eu frigarui. Am admirat evantaiurile uriase si umbrelele in miniatura, cu maiestrie pictate. Mi-a parut rau ca nu am avut bani sa cumpar si o piatra de jad. Mi-am adus aminte ca nu mai imi pot tine de mana iubitul si m-am intristat . Am uitat un pic cand au venit Wei si cu Peter si m-au invitat la restaurantul italienesc SAN CARLO. Uf ce portii uriase cu fructe de mare si pesti comandasera ei. Eu am vrut doar putin dulce sa imi indulceasca sufletul. Erau mai mult de 20 de ospatari in restaurant. Si un roman. M-am bucurat. Fat choi, sa va fie sufletul cald si honest...asta va doresc. ''&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://adevarul.ro/blogs/petre_munteanu/"&gt;http://adevarul.ro/blogs/petre_munteanu/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;woman&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=fatchoi" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;fatchoi&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-147" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=3QhI5V1gL_E-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-775908978348857380?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/775908978348857380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/acum-un-cand-cerurile-imi-pareau.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/775908978348857380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/775908978348857380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/acum-un-cand-cerurile-imi-pareau.html' title='Acum un an, cand cerurile imi pareau deschise'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-2906294724003027994</id><published>2009-07-12T14:06:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:08:00.892-07:00</updated><title type='text'>If u poke the fire, u don't have to keep your hands warm</title><content type='html'>If u poke the fire, u don't have to keep your hands warm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=XTX6dUWx7cg"&gt;http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=XTX6dUWx7cg&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tell me Allan, that girl with those perfect features, was the girl of Donalee…she was so beautiful,as a princess, small nose,elegant chin, black eyes sparkling, red perfect lips, as a flower, flowerish long black hair..&lt;br /&gt;Well, Nora,the man goes on well with the top one women class.&lt;br /&gt;Come on, she was his girlfriend, but she seemed to me that she didn’t know what the smile is.Even the breast, revealed, no bra, dropped kindly through the cutting dress..&lt;br /&gt;She cost 1000 euros, Nora, 1000..&lt;br /&gt;Come on , Peter told me that he gets women with 50.&lt;br /&gt;Yes, in the cold, back of the car,for a short one.That one was for a night, father and son.&lt;br /&gt;The son is gay,seemed to me.&lt;br /&gt;Not at all.He likes girls. Father pays, son enjoys.They share the hotel room and the girl.&lt;br /&gt;Oh...Yes Allan,I agreed with u,she is a Cinderella,but not having extremely long legs or big breast.U say aout 1000.&lt;br /&gt;Well, she has a big mouth..If u poke the fire,u don’t have to keep the hands off..&lt;br /&gt;Oh, I understand.&lt;br /&gt;And the man,u know,Donalee is certificated in reading the thights,is one of the ninth,as a reader of a woman thights. U read the thights,and u tell her the fortune.&lt;br /&gt;Come on,and does he get money from the girls?&lt;br /&gt;Of course,what do u think?&lt;br /&gt;Let me tell u about Steve… He lives upper to a masage saloon.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, so that’s why he never has a woman.&lt;br /&gt;Yes , he can manage with the hands&lt;br /&gt;Right.&lt;br /&gt;Then they were getting in the car,the night was running as a bitch, and a red fox was crossing in front of their car.&lt;br /&gt;Manchester is full of foxes,cause there are too many rats.&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=topclassgirl" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;topclassgirl&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-146" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=9bbcqENgL_A-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 02:01PM (PDT&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-2906294724003027994?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/2906294724003027994/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/if-u-poke-fire-u-dont-have-to-keep-your.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/2906294724003027994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/2906294724003027994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/if-u-poke-fire-u-dont-have-to-keep-your.html' title='If u poke the fire, u don&apos;t have to keep your hands warm'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-8764074911243396520</id><published>2009-07-12T14:06:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:06:44.377-07:00</updated><title type='text'>More than in the army</title><content type='html'>In ultimele doua zile se indragostise de Murakami . Daca mai putea iubi ceva, era in acest fel. Statea in camera vernil, cu muschii zbatandu-se intre plamani si rinichi, si apoi isi amintea si amortea.&lt;br /&gt;‘’I sat up in bed, switched the receiver from my left hand to my right.’’Let me get this right-you’re calling me because you want to find out the difference between a sign and a symbol? On Sunday morning, just before down.Um…&lt;br /&gt;‘’At 4. 15, to be precise’’, she said. It was bothering me. What could be the difference between a sign and a symbol?&lt;br /&gt;Somebody asked me that a couple of weeks ago and I can’t get it out of my mind. I was getting undressed for bed, and I suddenly remembered. I can’t sleep until I found out. Can u explain it? The difference between a sign and a symbol?’’&lt;br /&gt;Ce fusese el, un sign sau un simbol?&lt;br /&gt;Astepta ca familia sa plece. Auzea rasetele de copii si simtea ca nu mai avea nici o atractie fata de ele. Nu mai simtea rasetele simple,adevarate.O scoteau din minti. Altfel nu vroia decat sa ajunga la frigider sa isi ia o Foster.’’Auzi, ce idiotenie, sa faci copii..’’’Si avu un sentiment ciudat. Dupa cel de neliniste, acesta, ciudat,ca ar fi putut acum sa fie acela al unui alcoholic.&lt;br /&gt;Si el ii spuse atunci, cu raceala, ca unui strain urat, in camera cu canapeaua noua, de indragostit.&lt;br /&gt;‘’U are like your father.’’&lt;br /&gt;‘’Yes, I am.’’&lt;br /&gt;Cu adevarat, nu mai stia exact cine mai era.&lt;br /&gt;Seara cand venise S in camera ei, si ii aratase mandru pistolul, dar ii scosese prevazator gloantele, ei ii straluci ochii.&lt;br /&gt;‘’Da-mi-l .Vreau sa-l simt.’’Ii placu ca era greu, de tinut, demanuit, rece, era ciudat.&lt;br /&gt;Se gandi sa il faca sa doarma la ea,eventual sa se culce cu el si in timpul asta, sa ii povesteasca despre toate femeile lui de la ZF, sa isi aminteasca cum sunt barbatii.Dupa aceea sa ii sterpeleasca gunul, sa ia un taxi, si sa ajunga acolo, sa ii mai spuna odata ce nu fusese in stare cand trebuia,si sa apese pe tragaci. Sau sa nu spuna nimic. Si el sa se mai uite o data glaciar, ca un animal, dar un animal din acela mic, si las, un iepure imbecil. Si sa faca boom cu tot universul.&lt;br /&gt;S. ar fi lucrat si pentru SRI or something.Ce o interesa pe ea. El, era mandru.Ea spuse..’’Grozav.’’Hai sa bem bere.&lt;br /&gt;Dimineata, at four, se trezi ca dintr-un cosmar sa fie intr-un vis, parca cineva ar fi mangaiat-o pe suflet. Tresari, apoi asculta sunetul telefonului, apoi se crispa, apoi ramase stucked, suna o data, de doua ori.Si avuse timp sa se gandeasca ca el nu ar fi sunat-o niciodata la ore din astea matinale, si mai ales pentru ca nu era indragostit. Era un strain.&lt;br /&gt;Se prelinse din pat cu capul greu si intelese cu adevarat cine era.&lt;br /&gt;Ar fi sunat back, dar nu mai avea credit si se aseza cu inima indoita pe podea ,ca cel care ii facuse patul in diminetile acelea, cel care o prinse de mijloc cand se evapora in muzici,ar fi meritat un raspuns.Omul acela, cu miscarile calculate, calme, rationale, scria rapoartele,si mai cauta cuvinte in dictionar la sase dimineata pentru ca nu avea somn, ii facuse cafea in zori, o potrivise in doua cani la fel, ii desfacuse cutia de humus, si asculta concentrat stirile despre razboiul lor, fiica lui era in armata.Parea ca o aude. Avea un baiat cu parul negru carliontat, si zambetul irezistibil, ochii imensi, ca taciunele. Si o fiica asemenea, mandra, pe un deal, sprijinindu-se de arma, in Facebook. La ei era razboi. Apoi puse o masina de spalat, sterse cu mopul in tot apartamentul, iarasi verifica mesaje, isi scrise ceva in agenda, ea tot vorbea, nu despre ce i se intamplase, ci despre ce ar vrea sa I se intample. Trecusera doua ceasuri, ii mai facu o cafea, ea isi intinse picioarele relaxate, se simtea vivace, isi potrivi ochelarii,acum descoperira ca amandoi purtau ochelari.&lt;br /&gt;‘’U should love her, your wife is wonderful.&lt;br /&gt;‘’I love her. I really do. But we rarely see each other.’’&lt;br /&gt;Il iertase atunci pentru violenta simturilor si a trupului. Il iertase si il indragise. Adica intelegea.&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=shoothim" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;shoothim&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-145" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=e3IJD3FgL_M-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:58PM (PDT&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-8764074911243396520?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/8764074911243396520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/more-than-in-army.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/8764074911243396520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/8764074911243396520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/more-than-in-army.html' title='More than in the army'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-2094988795978699129</id><published>2009-07-12T14:05:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:05:37.013-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Man</title><content type='html'>''Exista o credinta in mitologia norsa referitoare la nume ce mai tarziu a fost incorporata de Mr. Tolkien in 'cultura elfa"si anume conceptul de nume adevarat..este numele ce ni se da de moasa la nastere, doar ea il stie. Vikingii era mositi de niste naluci care luau cu ele numele acesta si era bine. Daca stii numele adevarat al unei persoane ai control absolut asupra acelei persoane. Ii poti intra printre ganduri, si o poti face sa credea orice vrei.Mai am cinci minute de pauza,Freja sau Svass. Trebuie sa stii ca eu nu stiu nimic.Vreau sa te cunosc.Uneori gresim si trecem dincolo de limita, distrugand ceva frumos, din motive pe care nici noi nu le intelegem.Si cand treci dincolo iti dai seama ca tot ceea ce ai vrut a fost mereu in mana ta, in clipa in care ai trecut bariera se transforma in cenusa.O sa aiba parte de multa fericire si o sa vada intr-o clipa cum mirajul se destrama.''&lt;br /&gt;Man&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=mr.m" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;mr.m&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-144" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=Wl8VHj9gL_I-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-2094988795978699129?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/2094988795978699129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/man.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/2094988795978699129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/2094988795978699129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/man.html' title='Man'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-8956362122281021318</id><published>2009-07-12T14:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:05:03.281-07:00</updated><title type='text'>fara identitate</title><content type='html'>''Tu inca mai crezi ca ai avut vreun drept sa ma legi de pat, pentru ca asa ai dorit tu, iar eu nu am nici acum dreptul sa ma car. Si asta nu e nici egoism, nici nebunie, nici nesimtire.'' ''Ramai cu dreptul tau, ia-ti-l, si Cara-te''. Ceru un pahar de vin in ideea ca alcoolul ar putea sa ii mai netezeasca durerea. Sanul stang se facuse urias, rinichii ii plesneau si cuvintele lui se spargeau in ceata alcoolului. Isi amintea acum de cuvintele singurei prietene..''Tu esti interesata iar el este un om bun, responsabil. O sa il strici.'' Apoi uita care era proiectul ei, uita toti pasii. Se ridica de la masa orezului, si puse banii in masina diavolului. In cateva minute pierdu tot. Se ridica ametita de tot sa plece. Peter veni si cu ochii mici scrutatori sub ochelarii rotunzi, o prinse cu mainile lui micute de umeri.'' I really want to know what are your feelings.'' Deodata sentimentele de ura impotriva tuturor cresteau tot mai adanc in interiorul ei haotic. Nu ii venea sa creada cum oamenii pun asa intrebari nepotrivite in locuri nepotrivite. ''Shit. I don't feel nothing for nobody. What do u want from me?'' Ametit si el si facu calea intoarsa, undeva in multime. Mai privi o data scamatoria si ochiul dracului se intoarse catre ea. They were back to her.&lt;br /&gt;petite And then il privi cu mila pe Peter si spera ca se va intoarce. Era si el un om. cu interese. Si iarasi durerea o pocnea prin piele si isi aminti ca demult nu mai fusese imbratisata fara sa ceara. Poate de mai bine de un an. Oamenii toti pe care i-a iubit au avut grija de bagajele ei. Sa fie impachetate strans, sa nu piarda vreun obiect. Le era cumva recunoscatoare. Inghiti doua limonade acide si se mai arunca o data in joc. Odata cu venirea lui Peter care o privea acum apatic, cu teama. ''Do u want me to go home to bring u some painkillers?'' ''Are u crazy? U are living in the outskirts.'' Fara nici un motiv anume. Nebunia. Nebunia mutilarii fizice. Pierdu. tot. Funny. like always. ''Please, I want to go home. I just want to lie on the bed.'' I am tired. Spre dimineata, in pat, isi aminti ca ea nu vru decat un hug. De fapt. Era totusi fericita ca nu mai auzea deprimantul tramvai de la ora 5 dimineata din Romania. Din epoca despartirilor premeditate, in care o ultima sceana de tavaleala de adio cuprindea un zgomot scrijelitor si sarcastic de monstru pe sine. Si un rasarit nerusinat si sarcastic. Si trupul ei erotic si iubit striga in pain. Cu genunchii imbratisati vroia sa planga. Toti oamenii pe care ii sarutase ii plangea in ea. Ea nu mai putea sa ploua. Tacea pe un gand de rasarit sarcastic. fara identitate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=35#comments"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=theaccountant" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;theaccountant&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-143" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=wGo0uCtgL_U-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-8956362122281021318?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/8956362122281021318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/fara-identitate.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/8956362122281021318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/8956362122281021318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/fara-identitate.html' title='fara identitate'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-4273424911613440491</id><published>2009-07-12T14:03:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:04:16.791-07:00</updated><title type='text'>nisip</title><content type='html'>Isi purta sanii ca si cand era cea mai frumoasa, el ii cumpara multe perechi de cercei. Era pentru prima data la VAMA,pentru prima data cu Iubitul in vacanta, soarele i se agatase in par, era mandra,…caci el era mandru, tiganii cantau la Shoni, ea incepuse sa isi miste soldurile, se simtea adolescenta. Toti o priveau, fireste ca dansa cu cel mai mult patos, fireste ca dansa ca si cand ar fi facut dragoste, apoi venise vartejul si il luase pentru un ceas. Se razbuna si se ascunse in multime. Un student o lua la dans si o saruta puternic, adanc pe gura, apoi si pe Dru. Credea ca il iubeste pe cel de la birou,nu stia niciodata prea bine de ce, nu o iubise niciodata. De asta isi prostitua sufletul printre pescarusi.&lt;br /&gt;Isi aminti cum MAT ii cumparase si vin ros si si primise de la primar un apartament la fantani, cu salteaua cumparata din banii lui Vantu, si casetofonul de la fosta. Elalegea muzica de dansat pe jaratec, ea dansa, el o privea cu barbia in palme. Stii,puiule cum o sa fii la 30?’’&lt;br /&gt;Doar ca trebuie sa te mai ingrasi. Fesele tale imi incap intr-o palma..Fesele tale trebuie sa fie roditoare parguite, soldurile mai puternice, si tu la fel...’’ Si ea izbucnea in ras. ‚’Da esti oachesa si a dracului, te simt. O femeie trebuie sa fie a dracului.’’&lt;br /&gt;Imi place vaginul tau e stramt, e minunat, si gura ta rosie, si cum dansezi ca o nebuna. Nu am intalnit femeie sa danseze mai bine ca tine, esti tiganca. Trebuie sa mai suferi ca sa mai cresti.&lt;br /&gt;Cand o parasise ii spuse, ''Stiai ca si eu sunt al dracului.''&lt;br /&gt;Apoi se intoarse la barbatul cald, in camaruta cu copaci linistiti, el o astepta, ii spuse, ‚’Te asteptam,il invalui cu totul,il iubi in nestire, il infuleca, il mesteca il stranse de solduri si grumaz, parca batea un vanticel.&lt;br /&gt;El era fericit.&lt;br /&gt;Auzi,Mihai, cum te poate rani o fata cel mai tare?Futandu-se cu altu in patul meu de la camin. Asta e maxim....E frumos sa ai 20. Ai timp sa suferi.&lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=34#comments"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=tiganca" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;tiganca&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-142" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=.Ox4_yBgL_Q-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-4273424911613440491?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/4273424911613440491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/nisip.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/4273424911613440491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/4273424911613440491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/nisip.html' title='nisip'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-183411514932899977</id><published>2009-07-12T14:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:03:39.574-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Women...Mi-e dor sa il ling&lt;br /&gt;De fapt, draga Mina, nu mai mi-e dor de sufletul lui deloc. Nu are suflet. Dar mi-e dor sa il ling. Atat.&lt;br /&gt;Pai suna-l.&lt;br /&gt;Sa-i spun ce ?&lt;br /&gt;Ca ti-e dor sa il lingi.&lt;br /&gt;Da, adevarat ,mi-e dor tare sa il ling.&lt;br /&gt;Pai si ce o sa lingi de acum?&lt;br /&gt;Vad eu,umerii mei, lichiorul de visine, inghetata cu brandy,lacrimi, rujul cu esenta de fructe amare...&lt;br /&gt;De ce sa imi fie rusine de cuvantul a linge? E un cuvant frumoS.&lt;br /&gt;Da,foarte frumos. Si sufletul i l-as fi lins, si totusi gustul trupului e tot ce mi-a mai ramas, cand noaptea ma strange puternic.&lt;br /&gt;Apoi isi amintit cand ii spuse ca nu era her bussiness, de acum putea sa mearga si la manastire, si la casa de nebuni,si chiar to the hell. Dar putea sa ii dea niste bani sa isi repare acoperisul.&lt;br /&gt;Si nu mai simti ca putea sa il linga vreodata, si nici macar sa isi imagineze. Dar se simtea dintr-o data slabita, fara magne b6, fara vitamina A si fara calciu. Mergea pe strada si i se facea rau.Se imbolnavi.&lt;br /&gt;Isi misca duios limba prin gura, pe buze,si simtea ca nu mai avea gust. Orice ar fi mancat nu mai avea gust.&lt;br /&gt;petite&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-141" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=X35oTu9gL_c-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:53PM (PDT)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-183411514932899977?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/183411514932899977/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women_12.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/183411514932899977'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/183411514932899977'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women_12.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-8841211642133001080</id><published>2009-07-12T14:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:03:09.655-07:00</updated><title type='text'>women and men...who's real in loved&gt;</title><content type='html'>Women and men...who's real in loved?&lt;br /&gt;Curva, cand nu erai nimic eram minunea lui Dumnezeu&lt;br /&gt;Si acum esti minunata., said the other one.&lt;br /&gt;Nu, acum’’sunt’’.&lt;br /&gt;I was on the beach in Santa Monica, where I saw the sun set. It was beautiful. I was with you. The sky was orange, and the waves were crashing onto the sand. There was just me and you there. You had a big woolly jumper on for some reason - not sure why, but you looked amazing. As the sun set, you had your arms wrapped around me, and I took your head in my hands, I brushed away your hair gently, and we kissed and it was perfect. We stopped, looked at each other, I stroked your cheek and we kissed some more. It was our first kiss in the dream, though you were already there which didn't make sense, but dreams rarely do.&lt;br /&gt;And.. ?&lt;br /&gt;There was more, but perhaps I should wait to tell you the rest.&lt;br /&gt;You are afraid&lt;br /&gt;I am afraid i'll be too honest and scare you off.&lt;br /&gt;Now I feel my skin…&lt;br /&gt;Mah, nu puteam atunci, nu puteam asa repede, te-a asteptat prea mult timp, vroiam sa ma innec in tine, sa imi treaca frica si sa ma ascund in tine, intelegi?&lt;br /&gt;Si imi si pare rau pentru ce s-a intimplat.As fi vrut sa raman inca cu imaginea ta nevazuta.&lt;br /&gt;Problema era ca nu aveam bani, si am vorbit cu cineva sa-mi imprumute niste bani si aveam intalnire in oras.&lt;br /&gt;Nora, I know that it is expensive, I pay u better this time.I need u for Becky. I go with Manchester tonight.&lt;br /&gt;I don’t need money. Just some drinks.&lt;br /&gt;I know it is expensive. And money makes world goes around. And keeps u health.&lt;br /&gt;Ha..&lt;br /&gt;Mae,give me a kiss…&lt;br /&gt;Why ??&lt;br /&gt;I know u don’t love me..Just give me.. I know u love that one.&lt;br /&gt;I love my daughter,that’s all. U don’t love me either.&lt;br /&gt;I am worried. I have been looking for Shaw.Shaw’s been missing from the office for seven weeks.&lt;br /&gt;He had already killed me, before I would have imagined that I could do it myself. He'S done that by words, with cruelty. He just took my right of hoping. only one year ago I was again the wonder of him. Then he said I am only a stranger for him. He just took the words and used them as a knife, only because he wanted to escape, to run away in another story.On that story he is already only a shadow,even if he imagine himself being free There are shadows everywhere.We are shadows doing shopping, reading, riding, pretending that we are alive.&lt;br /&gt;Masina noua aluneca pe wet streets, the red roofs that she couldn’t see, and neither her soul again, she could guess, ramase agatata de un secret pe care nu il va intelege niciodata,secretul lor, this one se uita la ea, altfel decat la o au pair, she pretended that she wouldn’t notice, where’s Yulla, Becky venise sa o sarute pe parul blond, ‘’Lora, did u meet your boyfriend ?’’, never,she said, let me kiss u, masina aluneca prin cartierul musulman, si prin cele evreiesc, prin campusul universitar.’’Do u like this song ?’’Yeah,but is too romantic, who’s from here in loved…Well…Neither of us.’’&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=who%27sinloved" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;who'sinloved&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-140" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=Q9NK1KFgL_Y-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-8841211642133001080?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/8841211642133001080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women-and-menwhos-real-in-loved.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/8841211642133001080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/8841211642133001080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women-and-menwhos-real-in-loved.html' title='women and men...who&apos;s real in loved&gt;'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-1221645297866700317</id><published>2009-07-12T14:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:01:20.569-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>''Something to tell u''&lt;br /&gt;''Secrets are my currency: I deal in them for a living. The secrets of desire,of what people really want, and of what they fear the most. The secrets of why love is difficult, sex complicated,living painful and death so close and yet placed far away. Why are pleasure and punishment closely related? How do our bodies speak? Why do we make ourselves ill? Why do u want to fail? Why is pleasure so hard to bear?.&lt;br /&gt;Giving sorrow other words, I hear of how people’s desire and guilt upsets and terrorises them, the mysteries that burn a hole in the self and distort and even cripple the body, the wounds of experience, re-opened for the good of the soul as it made over.&lt;br /&gt;At the deepest level people are madder than they want to believe. You will find that they fear being eaten,and are alarmed by their desire to devour others.''&lt;br /&gt;I don’t want to be loved. I want to be desired.Love is safety,but desire is foul.Give me excess of it..The awful thing is, the less one is capableof sex,the more one is capable of love, the pure thing. Nobody but u understands me.&lt;br /&gt;I like every day with a murder.A real one.Killer,me.&lt;br /&gt;Hanif Kureishi&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=secrets" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;secrets&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-139" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=sFt9oRxgKP8-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:46PM (PDT&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-1221645297866700317?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/1221645297866700317/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/something-to-tell-u-secrets-are-my.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/1221645297866700317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/1221645297866700317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/something-to-tell-u-secrets-are-my.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-7476241181262813364</id><published>2009-07-12T14:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T14:00:49.603-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Women---Love in 20's</title><content type='html'>Women....Love in 20's&lt;br /&gt;Asta. Asta Dragomirescu si ii intinse degetele ca o pictorita desavarsita , cu unghiile pe jumatate demachiate.&lt;br /&gt;‘’Dar mi-e foame, pe langa berile alea ai putea cumpara niste sandwich-uri, domle Gusti si apoi fugi la Eveniment.’’&lt;br /&gt;''Sigur, niste sandwich-uri'', se uita in pamant, apoi barbatul se indrepta timid catre usa.&lt;br /&gt;''Gusti, sa nu pierzi vremea pe la Jurnalul pe la stim noi cine, da?''&lt;br /&gt;Mat se apropie de fereastra, isi trecu mana prin par zgomotos si izbucni in ras.’’O sa facem bani, puiule,vine campania.Iesim din cacat.&lt;br /&gt;Ne mutam la fantani si o sa avem gresie si faianta si o saltea minunata. Il facem pe Lis.''&lt;br /&gt;Ea nu intelegea prea multe decat ca era bine, asa, in dimineata asta de vara spumoasa.&lt;br /&gt;Suna-l….&lt;br /&gt;Vrei tu?&lt;br /&gt;Da…&lt;br /&gt;Bine...&lt;br /&gt;Cu respect, sunt Matei.&lt;br /&gt;Am fost la Congres, la Brasov..&lt;br /&gt;Se uita la el, asa, ce scursura…cand venise prima data val vartej in birou se uita la ea scurt, inca o data,inca o data, ea isi afunda ochii in hartie, el o intreba ..De unde aveti dom’soara muscatura aceea minunata de pe gat..Ea nu raspunse, rosi, el se infipse si mai mult pe retina ei, si il simti deodata lipit de buzele ei, ale ei erau parka.&lt;br /&gt;''Ce nerusinat, porcule..Unde te crezi?''&lt;br /&gt;Peste cateva zile o suna la nebunii ei.''Domsoara v-am sunat ca trebuie sa fugim in Autralia.''&lt;br /&gt;''De ce?Stati putin, de unde aveti numarul acesta de telefon? ''&lt;br /&gt;''Dom'soara, m-am gandit sa fugim in Australia..''&lt;br /&gt;''Poftim?''&lt;br /&gt;''Sa facem bani si copii.''&lt;br /&gt;Interesanta propunere.&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-138" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=UWud6xJgKP4-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:44PM (PDT&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-7476241181262813364?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/7476241181262813364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women-love-in-20s.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/7476241181262813364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/7476241181262813364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women-love-in-20s.html' title='Women---Love in 20&apos;s'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-257428970850336111</id><published>2009-07-12T13:59:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T13:59:53.201-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Men in loved</title><content type='html'>Îl obseda, mărunt, continuu. Avea impresia că toţi bărbaţii o pot atinge, mai puţin el. Erau zile cînd respira doar pentru ea, cînd orice detaliu al trupului ei îi anula raţiunea, şi atunci umbla bezmetic prin oraş, indiferent la viaţa din jur. Odată, într-un grup de prieteni, cineva a spus despre un lucru oarecare ca este impersonal ca un genunchi şi atunci şi-a plătit grăbit berea, şi a pelcat să se plimbe singur şi să-i dezmierde în gînd genunchiul.&lt;br /&gt;Altădată, în lift, s-a apropiat de el, şi i-a zis, rîzînd: frumuşelule. În urmă mirosul ei l-a paralizat. Apoi n-a mai văzut-o cîteva luni. A suferit în timpul ăsta, cumplit. Nu dormea şi nu mînca şi umbla nebun pe străzi, prin ploaie, sperînd s-o zărească măcar.&lt;br /&gt;Cînd s-au întîlnit iar, era vară. Rămăseseră singuri, în biroul de la ultimul etaj, cu ferestrele larg deschise spre oraş, cu perdelele umflate de briză. I-a dat să muşte din sandwich-ul ei, şi el i-a iubit urma dinţilor, şi saliva. Apoi a sorbit-o de pe gura sticlei de Coca~Cola... Şi lumea a-nceput să se învîrtă ameţitor. L-a încolăcit cu picioarele şi l-a tras în ea, în lăuntrul ei înnebunitor, ca într-un vis în care cazi de la înalţime, iar el s-a scurs în ea fluid, complet, pînă la ultimul licăr. Cu o clipă înaintea ultimului val i-a spus sugrumat te iubesc şi ea a răspuns zvîcnind nu trebuie... A căzut apoi între pulpele ei bronzate fierbinţi netede şi a rămas acolo buimac, ruşinat, o veşnicie, cu faţa îngropată în petalele ei întredeschise, carnivore. Într-un tîrziu, l-a trezit la realitate, trecîndu-i delicat mîna prin păr. Afară, vîntul se înteţise.&lt;br /&gt;După o săptămînă, colegii i-au spus că a plecat în Anglia.&lt;br /&gt;Man on the sofa&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=passion" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;passion&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-137" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=ad4aYvpgKPE-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:41PM (PDT)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-257428970850336111?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/257428970850336111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/men-in-loved.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/257428970850336111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/257428970850336111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/men-in-loved.html' title='Men in loved'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-8396500641031470437</id><published>2009-07-12T13:58:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T13:58:53.687-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Women...landing in Holland</title><content type='html'>Anne...?Unde esti?La birou?Am nevoie de tine...&lt;br /&gt;Sunt in pat.&lt;br /&gt;E pranz,Anne.&lt;br /&gt;Sunt in Olanda.&lt;br /&gt;A, inca in hotel, sa inteleg.&lt;br /&gt;Imi place casa asta. Si isi intinse trupul subtiratec sub dara de cafea fierbinte.&lt;br /&gt;Vorbim, si...un pranz cu dragoste pe paine,untoasa.&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=suntinpat" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;suntinpat&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-136" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=EvY8EoFgKPA-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:40PM (PDT)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-8396500641031470437?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/8396500641031470437/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womenlanding-in-holland.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/8396500641031470437'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/8396500641031470437'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womenlanding-in-holland.html' title='Women...landing in Holland'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-6260594750271483860</id><published>2009-07-12T13:56:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T13:58:06.850-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Men in loved, in their forties</title><content type='html'>Cadru:&lt;br /&gt;Casa presei Libere, etajul 7. Alaturi, se auzeau gandacii si ziaristii typing or screaming. Nu erau in delegatii, deci nu si-o trageau.&lt;br /&gt;Ei isi asezasera fotoliul si respectiv canapeaua ingusta si jerpelita langa fereastra uriasa. Isi intinsera picioarele relaxati si priveau cerul albastru, trepadusii care veneau spre birouri crispati si autobuzele care treceau spumos,331, 131, 330, etc.Gol, el isi tinea intre degete tigara fara filtru, ea isi trase patura pana sub sani. Sfarcurile I se cocotasera baieteste pe pervaz. Porumbeii erau fericiti,parka ii rontaiau.&lt;br /&gt;petite&lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=24"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-135" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=L0s_BBlgKPM-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:37PM (PDT)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-6260594750271483860?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/6260594750271483860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/men-in-loved-in-their-forties.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6260594750271483860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6260594750271483860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/men-in-loved-in-their-forties.html' title='Men in loved, in their forties'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-3792333589738434420</id><published>2009-07-12T13:56:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T13:56:45.849-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Men in loved...in their 40's...vieti paralele</title><content type='html'>Era o camera laptoasa, cu obiecte putine, un sifonier scurt, un fotoliu, o masuta cu televizor,un pat mare, frumos asternut, si , cam atat. Oricum, mult prea mare pentru un om. Dar se simtea pentru prima data spatios, confortabil. Deschise ferestrele larg si incerca sa scruteze cu privirea desisul. Era multa natura in jur, care ii strecura un sentiment de melancolie in suflet, un dor de dor. Greierii mai cantau cu o ultima mandolina stricata, inca frumos. Vantul batea lin si crengile copacilor se leganau usor, in acord cu alte unduiri nevazute. Era cam racoare insa, asa ca impaturi ferestrele ca pe niste coperti, in jurul unui semn de carte. Facu cativa pasi de-a lungul odaii, deschise celalalt telefon sa verifice in graba ce ineptii i-a mai scris nebuna . Era un fel de obisnuinta. Mesageria era un fel de hau care ar fi putut sa-i inghita si putinele stari de consistenta sufleteasca pozitiva, pasnica. Nimic. Si rasufla usurat, dupa care il inchise. ''Macar daca ar primi banii aia, as fi mai linistit''. Dupa ce mai arunca o privire peste natura, se lungi puternic in pat. Oasele plesnira tacut. pareau crispate desi avusese o zi faina, relaxanta,vorbise si chiar bause niste vin cu oameni faini. Era a doua vacanta dupa lungi ani de tortura interioara si profesionala. Astazi, se simtea, cumva fericit. Lumea e frumoasa si verde.. In timp ce-si contorsiona degetele de la picioare incerca sa inchida ochii.Ii deschise insa la loc. Era mai frumos asa. Ca isi amintea de dor. Cu ochii pe tavanul luminat de unduirile crengilor, mintea ii fugi la ceafa gingasa a Laurei, admirata discret intr-o sala de cinema. Dar Laura se pierduse, undeva, in sirul unor ani agonici. Apoi, zambi larg cand isi aminti de osisoarele elegante, desenate frumos pe gamba-i subtire. Ii placuse cum se asterneau pe ele pantofii ei strengari, rosii. In seara asta vroia sa uite de munci si sarcini. Isi trecu mana prin par oftand, ca si cand ar fi vrut sa scape de osteneala si nopti nedormite. Desigur, simtea nevoia sa ii trimita un mesaj Gabrielei. O sunase dimineata cu o bucurie adolescentina, dar acum, ar fi fost prea mult. I-ar fi lasat impresia ca era disperat dupa ea, ceea ce l-ar fi pus intr-o lumina penibila. Sa fii penibil e groaznic. Dar si mai groaznic e sa fii agasant.Stia asta de la ea, cea care suna tam nesam sa spuna nimic. Gabriela era insa o existenta bine conturata, cuminte, detasata, cu pasiuni frumoase. Ii placea cum se purta ea cu ea. Se simtea liber sa se exprime, sa se expuna. Ii dadea nenumarate imbolduri sa spuna cuvinte frumoase, destepte sau amuzante. Uneori isi spunea ca ar putea sa incerce din nou. Cand se strecura in viata lui nebuna aia, se naruia totul. Cuvintele ei il vaduveau de toate energiile frumoase, creatoare, si il faceau sa o ia la fuga de toti si de toate. Ar fi putut lupta crunt emotional, sau legal, pasnic, dar il durea sufletul sa fie crud. El nu putea fi crud. Ii placea dansul lunii si al funzelor de pe peretii odaii. Demult nu mai vorbise cu el asa, prieteneste, pe indelete. Adulmeca de departe mirosul tare al frunzelor. Trebuia sa faca ce simte, asa ca se gandi la o melodie frumoasa. Se ridica brusc din pat si deschise laptopul. Da. De acum o sa faca ce simte. Gabita rasarea frumos ca un clar de luna in universul lui.&lt;br /&gt;petite&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=menin40%27" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;menin40'&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-134" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=UgT3sVNgKPI-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:35PM (PDT&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-3792333589738434420?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/3792333589738434420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/men-in-lovedin-their-40svieti-paralele.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3792333589738434420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3792333589738434420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/men-in-lovedin-their-40svieti-paralele.html' title='Men in loved...in their 40&apos;s...vieti paralele'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-6545174823119117740</id><published>2009-07-12T13:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T13:54:37.129-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Women...Spanish Isabel, a year ago, before dying</title><content type='html'>Si Obama, stapanind,falnic,toata casa. Altfel, I hate Bucowski&lt;br /&gt;The dog is barking.. There are some men fighting out there. The black one, who came riding on the bike, in front of the house and telling to the owner.’’Hey, man, there’s smelling of cannabis around. The other one, the white one, was standing on a corner and laughing. Those two boys were fighting now. It seems they were living over the road. James has found the woman with the bottle near tha shoulder laughing, too.You are going to be robbed, James,haha.&lt;br /&gt;Where’s Yulla?&lt;br /&gt;The girl was feeling so down that a vein longing somewhere in her head was pushing her, deep down in the brain.&lt;br /&gt;You feel mercy for me, I've seen your eyes.You don't impress me. I know a lot of people feeling mercy of me. The last was the next.You're not so original. But where's your Yulla?&lt;br /&gt;Tramp.&lt;br /&gt;Oh, by the way, I need another Cubanese name. That's you can help me.&lt;br /&gt;I don't cope with any cubanese , not anymore.&lt;br /&gt;She will come back.&lt;br /&gt;I hope not.&lt;br /&gt;My brain hurts me. Too much drinking,. Be a man and just pour another one.&lt;br /&gt;She was looking at Kureishi book, her veins, and the cup,inscripted ''Big bruvva.''What the fucking means that?&lt;br /&gt;I don't know. Do u like that wine, Lenka?&lt;br /&gt;Too much.It's the best drug in the world. So you've found the cannabis over the roof.&lt;br /&gt;That's right.&lt;br /&gt;And what have u done with that stuff?&lt;br /&gt;I gave some to the dog, and then I threw the rest into the bin.&lt;br /&gt;You are crazy. You should have kept some for me.&lt;br /&gt;You have wine.&lt;br /&gt;Thanks, u are so generous.She was smiling...to herself.&lt;br /&gt;You know that wonderful Jew. In the first night we fucked a lot and hard. No feelings at all.The next day I was afraid to meet him again, even if I like how strong he step into the land. But I accepted, still., thinking that I will be harmed. I went out with him again.There was a place with fine music with lots of geese.The music was starting to gamble with my head and won,eventually. It made me play again with myself. I felt so happy that I smiled as a Namaqua palmtree, full of spring flowers from South Africa. I touched him and he felt shy, standing in front of my naughty happiness. In the car, he told me:''I will marry u with a nice rich man. You'll see.'' ''Well, I said, diamonds are forever, but I don't think I need that.And u should love better your gorgeous Italian wife.''' 'I do that,he said''&lt;br /&gt;''Right''.&lt;br /&gt;''Let's have some humus.'', I told him then,and was lovely.&lt;br /&gt;Dear James, he felt sorrow about me cause the first time he felt me frigide, but with a large wonderful desperate smile on my face, he understood that I am lost.&lt;br /&gt;Wll, do u need some more wine?&lt;br /&gt;Yes, please.I love Kureishi. He's a fucking devil man.&lt;br /&gt;He was looking at her as she was a real lady.&lt;br /&gt;So he put the music...U were, once, twice, a lady for me..So she burst into laughing.&lt;br /&gt;I really want to die,but I am so puzzled by some people. Pour Namaqua, please. I am a little bit unhappy. Where's Yulla?I hate Bucowski right now.&lt;br /&gt;Ii auzea testiculele lui Obama. Parea mai barbat, acum,in ziua investiturii.Toti se simt mai barbati being successful in any...Se visa uneori tiganca..The only happy moments, even thay burglared her in Manchester.&lt;br /&gt;Ii era dor de dragoste. Manca pui from the market, expirat. Se auzeau impunsaturile furculitelor in farfurie si Obama,stapanind, patriotic,cu discursul lui,toata casa. Cineva venise sa ii apuce sanii in gluma, ea zise Just go...Obama,Namaqua and gypsy love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Zso6tFTL2aM"&gt;http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=Zso6tFTL2aM&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Desigur Obama ma excita la culme, e singurul negru pe care l-as linge...cred, ca pe o negresa cremoasa inteligenta...hmm... si celuilalt i-au placut avocatele...I can believe that&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=obamabucowskyandkureishi"&gt;obamabucowskyandkureishi&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=yKfqklVjKw--"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tuesday 20 January 2009 - 02:43PM (PST) &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=yKfqklVjKw--"&gt;Edit&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?d=yKfqklVjKw--&amp;amp;.crumb=V8m66fNu9h."&gt;Delete&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=20"&gt;Permanent Link&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=20#comments"&gt;0 Comments&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Etite&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=obamabucovskikureishi" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;obamabucovskikureishi&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-133" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=z5UKj19gKPU-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:32PM&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-6545174823119117740?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/6545174823119117740/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womenspanish-isabel-year-ago-before.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6545174823119117740'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6545174823119117740'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womenspanish-isabel-year-ago-before.html' title='Women...Spanish Isabel, a year ago, before dying'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-3669799171905947211</id><published>2009-07-12T13:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T13:51:49.462-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Women....Diana...Steak</title><content type='html'>The dog is barking. As he wouldn't have something else to do. Her lips were red as they would have caught a bit of life. She had reached home furious and unsatisfied. She threw the blouse over the bed but she kept on her the violet silk bra. ''I taste u wherever u want'', she had written to that one. Though she has just come over him and she's innered his throat with her legs . Tenderness and warm, as only the very good tramps could brouht for a blond guy. ''Let me fuck u please''. It is sweet.Taste it. Bite it. Suddenly but she felt herself hungry, no matter she had already eaten a steak in blood in the best restaurant.The red wine fed her with unforbidden thoughts Cu capul lui intre picioarele ei aproape ca il sufoca. Se aseza confortabil in his hood, prinse cu degetele marginea patului si incepu sa se legene, intr-o alta lume, cu multi copaci si el alaturi pe poteca fluierand inauntrul ei, prea suddenly.Picura in ea ca o ploaie de vara vartoasa. Scurta ''No, sorry, Diana''. It's ok, good fucker that u are. It is good to encourage people for anything useful. Macar cu o noapte inainte fusese inspirat and caught her ass over the sofa, in vreme ce isi aranja hainele . Ii smulse atunci pantalonii. Ea fugi pe scari, el o prinse, cu tatele imblanzite ii dadu si chilotii jos, ea mai pasi putin deja excitata si o navali ostaseste in pat. Cu picioarele in jartierul negru il primi intre ele ca o prietena buna ce era. Isi aminti zambind, replicile romanilor cu muschi veniti la munci. In seara asta, before of the fucking moment, ea, alaturi de un alt englez bucalat.''L-a facut si pe asta''. Ii traduse insa lui Jim: ''They said that u are a very good man even the weather is not so nice''. In fata casei ii sopti la ureche:'' I dreamt about u last night''. ''Really''?''WHAT?'', o intreba el cu mana grasuta tremurand in palma ei. Asta o sa ii fie greu sa se obisnuiasca: mana grasuta in palmele ei. Ale lui Jack erau barbatesti. Oarecum. Si avu un flash cu chipul lui rosit, in fata romanilor care il luasera peste picior.'' L-a facut si pe asta. '' Dupa toate petrecute in trupul si pe langa trupul ei se arunca in dus, ca intr-o apa de izvor. Se simtea ca o sirena fara sex, dar cu fesele din ce in ce mai diafane si mai rotunde in apa binefacatoare. Se duse apoi la computer pentru un chat erotic cu Mihai. ''Io am facut laba.Am avut chat cu o bucuresteanca. Mi-a dat poze de-ale ei. Dezbracata. Intr-una se si fute.Vrei sa le vezi? Are pula inauntru. LOL! Vrei logul chatului? Cei mai multi dintre cei preocupati de spiritual vad sexul ca pe o performanta. Asta mi-a zis Ella Cine ma? Si ce ti-a mai zis fata asta? Vrei logul chatului? Nu am timp. Zi-mi tu. Ce ti-a zis? Vrea bani? Ii place sa o suga. Nu s-a pomenit de bani. Cum adica nu ai timp? Mi-e somn si sunt drunk. E profesionista tipa. Wow, e super misto, cu tatele astea roz aplecate matasos peste piele si buzele rozalii intredeschise. Anyway, mi-as dori sa fiu si eu sa fiu profesionista . Hehehe, rase el. You are and I know u. Inchise instantaneu computerul si se lungi si ea, matasos in pat, intr-un somn lipicios.&lt;br /&gt;petite&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=14"&gt;Permanent Link&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=14#comments"&gt;4 Comments&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=sex" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;sex&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-132" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=NYgIr0hgKPQ-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:27PM (PDT) &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=NYgIr0hgKPQ-"&gt;Edit&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?d=NYgIr0hgKPQ-&amp;amp;.crumb=iA9abqq.HEU"&gt;Delete&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=132"&gt;Permanent Link&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=132#comments"&gt;0 Comments&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Men and women&lt;br /&gt;Men and women&lt;br /&gt;Cersetorul fara picioare zambea satisfacut la incheierea unei zile de munca toride din centrul Bucurestiului. Cand Aneta trecu pe langa el, una din prostituatele preferate, ii intinse cateva hartii de zece mii de lei: “Un pachet si o sticla de coca cola la un litru jumate..” Aceasta ii zambi prieteneste si se indeparta grabita. Era intr-o pauza de o tigara. Alaturi, o femeie cu o rochie inflorata se lasa imbratisata pasional de un barbat obisnuit, imbracat la costum, cumsecade, cu slujba de birou. Erau, pare-se la o a doua intalnire.M-am uitat la frunze si a inceput sa ploua mai tare. Pamantul cerea ploaie sa-I stinga supararea. In mine totul simteam subrezit. Zaceam de durere. Bucati din trupul meu se imbranceau haotic unele intr-altele, maselele in falci, oasele se infigeau barbar in pulpe, in interiorul pantecului se adapostisera sexul, coapsele. Ma invelisem ca si cum as fi vrut sa-mi bandajez tot trupul si sa imi fac cald. O muzica de pian rascolit se auzea iarasi din cladirea de alaturi, Apoi cratite si oale si dorinta mea de a sta dreapta. Intr-un sfarsit, cerul ploua atat de tare de para ar fi vrut sa rupa pamantul in doua.“Asa sunteti toti,de nemultumit. De ce ? Nu Inteleg.” “Cred ca asa m-a facut mama.” Uneori are pofta. Alteori nu. E infioratoare. Zice ca o gadil cu mustata, ca am prea multa saliva. Nu stiu. Doar sa intru si atat e… aiurea.Mi-e gura plina de un gust strain. Nu o simt ca altadata, apa de izvor, gura. Probabil ca am baut prea multa Fanta. Si el se arunca cu toata goliciunea peste ea, in ea. “Stii cat de bine e aici, pe pantecul asta, in cuib. Atat de moale. Mai bine n-ai sti. E bine sa nu stii. Pentru ca altfel o sa-ti para rau ca nu stai tu, aici, cu fata afundata in minune. Ce bine e!” Si el isi afunda ochiii, buzele, in pantecul ei. Era o atingere atat de calda ca si cum ai manca paine calda, ca si cum ai privi soarele afundat in iarba, alaturi de o vaca. “Asta e? Ce frumos e! exclama el, aproape miscat. Vreau sa-l sarut.” Se simtea bine fara iubit. Doar cu Iubitul in ea.Nimeni nu-I mai sarutase buricul asa, cu atata entuziasm. Nimeni nu-I mai acordase atata importanta, decat ea, atunci, cand dansa. Acum era toropita de placere. Buzele astea straine si reci care de-abia ii atinse buzele, erau acum atat de calde pe pantecul ei. Si se aseza cu capul pe el ca pe un camp. Apoi incepu sa o rascoleasca, sa o sarute furtunos, asa, cum ea n-ar fi vrut.. Mai jos, un pic mai jos, acolo unde capul unui barbat se pleaca cel mai frumos. De-abia acum facea o plecaciune adevarata elegantei ei. Nu-l lasa. Se trase de sub el cu repeziciune. Telefonul acesta nu-l suporta. Era ca si and cineva ar fi calcat-o pe suflet, pe trup, si apoi ar fi sugrumat-o. Nu mai putea respire. Mesajul se rostogolea asa, nedrept, sec, rece: ”Ce ai?”Spune-mi ce-ai facut astazi. Ba nu. Scrii. Incerca sa-I miroasa pieptul. Mirosea a ceai de musetel. Se cuibari la pieptul lui si vru sa se odihneasca. Era atat de obosita. Cand il vazu alergand spre ea, ii paru rau totusi ca veni. I se facu cumplit de dor de el. Ca de o biserica. Da. El era ca o pajiste pentru ea. Trebuia sa fuga sa se ascunda. De ce sa-l oboseasca si pe el? Nu raspunse la telefon. “Te iubeste?” “Da. Adica asa simt, asa vad, asa este. Cu siguranta.”&lt;br /&gt;Petite&lt;br /&gt;Tags:  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-131" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=SqzpPY1gKPc-"&gt;Add Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:24PM (PDT&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-3669799171905947211?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/3669799171905947211/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womendianasteak.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3669799171905947211'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3669799171905947211'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womendianasteak.html' title='Women....Diana...Steak'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-3815958902941104322</id><published>2009-07-12T13:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T13:50:33.111-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Men....Nichita</title><content type='html'>''Habar nu ai.Stau intr-un conac la Micesti sunt impresurat de padure...la Pitesti aici fac campanie..un liliac imi da tarcoale...stau printre sticle goale si maine am sa merg din nou la comedie....nu e ziua mea, dar iti multumesc ca imi raspunzi la ceva.''&lt;br /&gt;''Povesteste-mi…''&lt;br /&gt;''Sunt intr-o casa veche, ciudata, o liniste asurzitoare. Stau pe veranda si nu e nimeni si... tu. Mai aud trenul din cand in cand si masini de la strada de departe. Stau si iti spun si un caine puternic schelaie in spatele unei femele oarecum indiferente. Acum vad ca pe coloanele chicioase de la veranda e inscriptionat un M de la acovatul micescu care a avut conacul.''&lt;br /&gt;''Se aud greierii si lautarii. Imi infloreste zambetul in urechi.''&lt;br /&gt;''Mda,si tu nu imi mai raspunzi. Mda si Sf Dumitru era acum ceva timp si era pentru prenume.''&lt;br /&gt;''Eu iti zic ca iti trebuie o ciorba de peste,o femeie sa iti toarne vinul in pahar, sa se descalte si sa-ti danseze pe masa.Imi vine sa urlu. Nu e vara aici, nu o stiu acum,dar o simt.''&lt;br /&gt;''Doamne. Ce vesela esti...ceva mai din interiorul tau nu din expasivitatea ta pe care o indragesc ce-i drept foarte mult.''&lt;br /&gt;''Unde imi mai esti ?''&lt;br /&gt;''Well, prin martini''&lt;br /&gt;''Crezi ca daca nu ai insemna pentru mine, asa neinsemnat cum ma aflu, te-as mai cauta?Nu vezi ca uneori te caut prin cearsafurile vremii si daca nu esti acolo ma panichez?Daca n-as mai sti ca esti acolo cand intorc mana in patul asta mare....hic desi ani de zile am dormit pe canpea...m-as simti cu adevarat pierdut. Poti sa faci tu cat vrei pe indiferenta, sa simti ce vrei, sa nici nu iti pese de un idiot departe de tine care nu-ti da ce asteptai tu de la el.Inca ma mai ajuta memoria si mai pot sa fac din femeia care m-a botezat Nichita o alinare...o bucurie de departe. Te mai astept in colt vorba cantecului''&lt;br /&gt;''Well..''&lt;br /&gt;''Mda, bine, sarcastica Great Britan, ok.''&lt;br /&gt;''Nu -s sarcastica niciodata.''&lt;br /&gt;''Sarcasmul nu face parte din fiinta mea.''&lt;br /&gt;''Eu am sentimente la conserva, daca ale tale se altereaza e treaba ta...nu trebuie sa dovedesc nimanui nimic pe mine gandul cu Nikita ma mai incalzeste inca si chiar amintirea aia "daca nu tipa atat...daca mi-ar fi spus ca ma iubeste...." e pentru mine life ...o bogatie de sentimente corpuri si viata''&lt;br /&gt;''Imi pasa unde esti..imi pasa ca traiesti restul.....good luck''&lt;br /&gt;''Good luck''&lt;br /&gt;''Si tu nu esti sarcastica niciodata.''&lt;br /&gt;Stateau amandoi senini, ca pe un camp, intr-o seara, cu mainile sub cap&lt;br /&gt;si se intrebau cat de frumos ar fi fost.&lt;br /&gt;Dar ea se simtea frumoasa acum, iar el o ruga: “mai spune-mi Nichita…”. Il mangaie usor pe cap, ii spuse “Nichita cel drag”, iar el ii sorbi cu nesat mangaierea.Si ea se simtea frumoasa.&lt;br /&gt;Uneori Stefan e pretutindeni.&lt;br /&gt;“Trebuie sa pleci..” Mai lasa-ma, o secunda, mai lasa-ma, un minut…”ii fredona amuzat. De fapt pana maine. Mainile lui groase si calde ii acopereau tot trupul gol.&lt;br /&gt;‘Nu vreau sa nu mai imi amintesc. De noi si de ea”.&lt;br /&gt;Dimineata navali cu rece in demisol si ei scriau cu vorbe ceea ce nu incepusera pentru ei din cauza lor. Apoi proiecte. Proiectele lui. Si el avea proiecte. Si deseori tristeti. Si era frig si nu se mai puteau lua in brate.&lt;br /&gt;Nichita avea ceva din tataitul. Liniste.Vorbele lui erau in dialectul ei. Primenite de viata de afara. Pentru ea.&lt;br /&gt;Ziaristului oricum nu-i pasa. Nici daca o mananca tantarii intr-o vara trista. Macar atat . Iar ei nu-i mai pasa ca nu o iubeste. Era pentru el ca un cuier intr-o camera straina.&lt;br /&gt;''Cum o sa fai cu darurile nespuse ma intreb sau neintelese?!''&lt;br /&gt;''De alea nu vreau sa mai stiu o vreme.''&lt;br /&gt;''Norocul meu era resemnarea ca ai hotarat sa fii rea sau rece sau sa ma anulezi sau sa nu mai exist pentru tine doar pentru ca nu am inteles ca trebuie sa fac lucruri de complezenta pentru tine, adica sa vorbim constant...urat ar fi fost daca ai fi fost intr-o problema si eu as fi fost indiferent..Da asa, ca eu nu te-am mai cautat si nici tu, e supararea vacarului pe sat. Mie nu mi se schimba asa simtirile pentru oameni.''&lt;br /&gt;Isi trase peste ea rochia albastra, lunga, o fasie de panza cu flori, se opri la cofetaria de peste drum si ii cumpara prajituri. Alerga spre tramvai si prinse scarile aproape din mers.Adeseori parea inocenta, si firava, si plouata, dar stia sa se descurce in orice circumstante. Stia asta. Stia si ca intr-o zi o sa ajunga in Thailanda.&lt;br /&gt;Ii placeau mijloacele de transport in comun pentru ca musteau a nebunie si viata.Oameni care se imbranceau, mancau seminte,vorbeau tare sau se sarutau. Stresul controlorilor care trebuiau sa vina si ea oricum nu avea bilet niciodata. Era fascinata de spectacolul lumii simple. CelalaLt, care avea sa vina,era fascinat de spectacolul lumii organizate si implinite in forma succesului.Ei, ii venea sa faca dragoste cu toata lumea.&lt;br /&gt;''Foarte bine.Si totusi sunt femeie, am 30 si altfel nimic.Imi doresc pe nimeni sa ma ia de nevasta, doar un barbat care sa mangaie adevarat cu tot sufletul de cateva ori pe ani.'' ''Hei, 30 am eu, pe barbatul ala nu-l mai cauta asa asiduu, ca poate daca te opresti vine el, dar pe restul nu-i anula ca ei te iubesc mai mult decat el.''&lt;br /&gt;''Am 30, spuse ea, parca convingandu-se de vreme.&lt;br /&gt;''Te rog, spune-mi ca macar tu, cu profunzimea ta, nu treci prin crize de varsta, astept mai mult de la tine.''&lt;br /&gt;''Cu adevarat pt mine ca sunt''&lt;br /&gt;''Tu nu esti asa''&lt;br /&gt;''Nu cumva dam vina pe acest neajuns al timpului ca sa fugim de noi ? Te rog, nu tu...tu esti mai rasarita de atat, tu doar voiai iubire, nu-mi spune si tu ca varsta trasforma oamenii.Nu mai vreau sa aud de oameni care din cauza unui cacat de rid isi transforma iubirea, nu e asa..''&lt;br /&gt;''Ei, sigur ca ma transforma si ne transforma.Si nu o sa iti fac pe plac spunand ca nu mi-e frica..Dar nici nu o sa fac copil ca disperata, nici nu o sa fac compromisuri de acest gen.''&lt;br /&gt;''Ete na, nu e de frica, da nu mai suport asta. Toti din jurul meu sufera de varsta in loc sa sufere de omenie, de iubire, de stare de lume.''&lt;br /&gt;Erau strazi cu multe alei infrunzite. Ar fi putut sa isi imagineze ca se duce spre casa,dar nu era asa. Prajiturile isi scurgeau dulcele printre degetele ei. Si le linse cu placere.Acolo erau geamurile larg deschise.Peste cateva minute simtea aerul bezmetic de vara printre faldurile rochiei . Soarele desenat pe rochia albastra cu frunze verzi o ardea pe suflet pana intre coapse..Auzea pasii lor,linistiti,de vara cuminte prin Bucuresti, si mai stia sa isi lase capul pe spate sa priveasca copacii.Oamenii treceau zgomotosi la amiaza pe strada cu ei, pe trup,cand ea tipa ca bezmetica pe nepusa masa.Desi masa aceea, pe care toti prietenii lui jucau sah sau isi scriau nebuniile, sau isi sprijineau chitara, era ca un fel de covor al lui Aladin. Te ducea intr-o lume a simfoniilor lejere si nebune. Era de acum masa ei.&lt;br /&gt;''Stai cu mine cat fac dus? Mi-e frica de gandacii astia,oribili...''&lt;br /&gt;''Am sa iti aduc un prosop urias si bezmetic, ca tine.''&lt;br /&gt;Era pitica, deci o infasura usor cu totul,o lua in brate si o ridica in zbor pana pe divan.&lt;br /&gt;''Haide sa mancam prajiturile''&lt;br /&gt;''Haide.''&lt;br /&gt;Uitase si ramase cu gandurile agatate de copaci.&lt;br /&gt;''Dau un ban pentru gandurile tale.''&lt;br /&gt;''Ah, ce,am uitat.Chiar am uitat .''&lt;br /&gt;''Nu cred''&lt;br /&gt;Uita-te la stiri, ca doar esti sef.&lt;br /&gt;''Tu nu vrei orice om....crezi ca daca azi eu iti spun hai acasa, eu am sa fiu omul ala, gata, tu chiar ai sa simti ca eu sunt omul.Stiu ce ceri si poate chiar as putea sa iti ofer asta, dar iti garantez ca tu nu de a doua zi, dar din al doilea an tot l-ai cauta macar putin, lucru pe care eu nu la-as accepta niciodata.crezi ca nu am simti nevoia sa te chem sa vii... dar am stiut tot timpul ca daca n-o sa fie el, o sa fie cineva..''&lt;br /&gt;''Nu e adevarat, desi, mi-e dor, si de el, gandi ea.Dar smuceste-te, strange-ma de incheietura mainii, orice,din filme...''&lt;br /&gt;''Era mai simplu sa te aburesc sa iti spun ce o femeie vrea sa auda,dar nu te-am mintit niciodata, nici macar in pat cu tine''&lt;br /&gt;''Oamenii se transforma unii in preajma celorlalti.Se transforma pentru ca vor sa adanceasca ceva cu ceilalti.''&lt;br /&gt;''Eu nu am vrut sa te transform. Pentru ca tu esti ceva care daca s-ar transforma si-ar pierde exact valoarea aia pe care o stiu la tine.Tu nu ai sa fii banala niciodata.Tu nu ai sa fii niciodata femeia de casa, desi asta iti doresti, nu ai sa fii niciodata banala sotie nu ai sa fii niodata cu mintea fara forma, pentru ca tu esti o personalitate care doar isi doreste prea mult sa fie banala si normala, dar nu ai sa fii, de aici si chinul tau.''&lt;br /&gt;''Oh God, tanjesc sa fiu banala si cu o slujba normala.''&lt;br /&gt;Ningea ca pentru Fanus,cu sanii.&lt;br /&gt;''Auzi, te superi daca doar ma imbratisezi?''&lt;br /&gt;''Vine taxiul acum si te salvez hihih. Sunt in taxi, nu imi vine sa cred ca esti.Stii ca e prima oara cand ninge, cu adevarat? Ninge. In oceanul asta de tristete, era cineva care o vroia inapoi.Macar pentru o noapte si tot se simtea dintr-o data mai vie. Ii era putin foame.&lt;br /&gt;''Haide sa mancam''. ''Ai putea sa ma iei vreodata in vacanta?''&lt;br /&gt;''Da.''&lt;br /&gt;Parea simplu.&lt;br /&gt;''Ma bucur.''&lt;br /&gt;''Apoi facem dragoste''.&lt;br /&gt;''Bine,ai pipa?''&lt;br /&gt;''Da,dar nu am patul facut.Si scartaie.''&lt;br /&gt;Tags:  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-130" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=y9DEv25gKPY-"&gt;Add Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-3815958902941104322?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/3815958902941104322/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/mennichita.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3815958902941104322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/3815958902941104322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/mennichita.html' title='Men....Nichita'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-4346310360230822668</id><published>2009-07-12T11:37:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T11:38:09.047-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cubanese feeling</title><content type='html'>tarziu, cobori jos si mai gasi un sfert de JP Chenet bottle..Se intinse si ea, placut, pe canapeaua pe care ei tocmai facuserad ragoste. Turna in pahar cu o religiozitate de tantra mantra Zambea. Vinul o domesticise, ii imblanzise sufletul. Yulla se intoarse la Sid dupa doua nopti petrecute cu Giussepe, bucatarul sef de la San Carlo. El o astepta citind ziarul Daily Mail cand ea sosi cu rujul intins peste buze pana pe nasucul ei de cubaneza obraznica.Sid ii deschise rece, se facu ca nu o vede si se afunda in canapeaua de piele. Ea pasi incrucisat cu fusta neagra scurta, incurcata de fesele-i rumenite de pasiune. ''Do u have some wine?'' El o privi o secunda si fu ametit de privirile ei de primara, care ii jucau prin cap. ''In the shelf'', veni raspunsul lui mandru, necrutator peste fesele ei jucause. Ea se duse, in bucataria uriasa, culese sticla buna de baut, o desfacu baieteste.. si o mangaie triumfator. Isi arunca pletele pe spate copilaros si nevinovat, si ii zambi cu gura larga, buze desenate pana unde vor barbatii, un pic mai jos de urechi, da nu foarte mult ''Are they sleeping?'' ''Oh....Lora...u know her, down... '' ''Why dont u get an optimistic older one?'' ''U know, its not your bussiness..better tell me,where have u been?..'' ''Well, u threw me out.'' ''No more shoutings in my house, I ve told u''. Sid isi afunda ochii mici inapoi in ziar. Ca si cand nu recepta mesajul, ea ii sopti usor, pe langa sfarcul urechii...Sid, I miss u..really.. U are such a riding horse... Si vinul se transforma in rasarit si apoi in apus....casele rosiatice, se imbratisau si ele, in calmul britanic jinduind dupa pasiunea cubaneza. doar vis-a vis, o muzica plapanda, serpuitoare, faceau un alt englez sa se iubeasca cu o indianca posesoare de mini cooper. Chenet asta, J.P, e grozav,si canapeaua miroase a ceva , sigur, a Chenet red wine.&lt;br /&gt;PETITE&lt;br /&gt;Tags:  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-129" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=gaJMPnBgKf8-"&gt;Add Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-4346310360230822668?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/4346310360230822668/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/cubanese-feeling.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/4346310360230822668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/4346310360230822668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/cubanese-feeling.html' title='Cubanese feeling'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-4508595471980453973</id><published>2009-07-12T11:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T11:37:23.522-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Women...Nicole</title><content type='html'>Women....Nicole&lt;br /&gt;''I know that every woman liked me inside of them. For sure.'' ''Bullshits''. U don't know what pain is.'' ''U have to join yourself and to overcome the pain. I always do.'' Simtea ca avea un bolovan in interior, chiar deasupra sexului ei, care o atarna violent in jos. O durea si mai tare cand auzea sunetul ploii tari peste acoperisul subrezit al casei. Cobora din pat si se uita pe intuneric la ceas. 'Te doare, ma?'' ''Da, ma doare'', spuse ea scrasnind din dinti. Da imi trece. E doar un junghi.'' ''Hai la spital.'' Se oprise din urlat si ridurile furiei se destinsera usor usor ca o incrancenare de ploaie de vara. Ochii i se aplecara calzi asupra ei. ''Mi-a trecut. '' spuse repede. ''Ouch''. Durerea o luase pe nepregatite iarasi. ''Stii, daca pui tu palma aici sigur imi trece.'' ''Unde?'' Zi-mi unde'', imblanzit. Ea ii lua mana si i-o duse acolo, in partea stanga, pe durere, sa mangaie. Zambi. ''Poate imi trece''. ''Vezi ce se intampla daca urli la mine?'' Nicole era prietena ei. Frumoasa ca Winnona, cu fata rotunda si ochii mari, negri, ca taciunele. Isi purta sanii si mai mari, pietrosi si rotunzi, in sutien negru cu dantela. Usor inca i se puteau ghici si sfarcurile printre nasturii bluzei. Vroia sa i-o prezinte doctorului. ''Haide, mai, ca o sa-ti placa. Citeste Esenin'' Doctorul opri violent la cateva sute de metri de hotel. Cristi scoase o tigara dintre acelea lungi si fine, si mentolate, si aprinse. In mainile lui tigara era ca o femeie cu fitze. Bricheta ii lumina fata Norei. ''Are fundul cam mare, dar cred ca o sa iti placa, doctore.'' Si rase nerusinat si zgomotos, impreuna cu Cristi. ''Bine, bine, da sa vina odata. Incredibil, e prima data cand fac asta. Crezi ca a avut parte de full service?'' ''Come on, uite-o ca iese.'' ''Ea e ma? Nu ma impresioneaza'' Mintea. Vocea ii era ragusita de emotie pentru ca Nicole era o aparitie..cu miscari blonde pe tocurile frumos cizelate pe piciorul subtire. Purta o rochie simpla neagra, care o dezgolea cu totul. Era ca o noapte terifiant de senzuala. In seara in care ploaia macina geamurile isi aminti ca o tradase pe Nicole. Pentru o stire. Si Nicole o iubea, pentru ca era altfel decat ea. ''Cum ai putut?'', ii spuse deznadajduita, printre lacrimi, la telefon. Era chiar in biroul rectorului. ''Or sa ma exmatriculeze'', ii sopti pentru ultima data Nicole. Nicole nu a mai fost de atunci. O suna si Rita la cateva minute. Era la munte cu un alt politician. Ii spuse aprig.'' O sa vedem cine o sa aiba de suferit mai tare''. Nora isi bea cafeaua acum si isi privea articolul de o pagina din cotidian. Nu avea nici o remuscare. Era mandra de ea. Mai derula o data caseta sa auda daca numele se auzeau destul puternic. In caz de proces. Minski o suna pe telefonul mobil dar ea ii reteza dialogul.''Nu am timp..te rog, suna-ma mai tarziu. '' Era primul ei reportaj si CTP-ul urma sa ii stranga mana.Nu dormise toata noaptea de emotie. Dincolo de ambitie nu mai vedea nimic.Nici macar inocenta trunchiata prea de vreme a Frumoasei Nicole. ''Mihai, cand vii?'' ''Iar ma controlezi, ma?, ii urla el in telefon. Esti securista sau ce?'' '''Dar e 11'' ''Luam-ar dracu'', ii infipse telefonul in pantec.'' Beep, beep..... Privi patul ..aproape gol.Mai era cineva....o fiinta umana cu ranjet de animal. Nani, nani. Haide Nora, sa dormim. Fiinta se legana ranjind. O cuprinse un frig. Vroia sa faca sex. salbatic. Ea zambi. Se uita la ceasul rotund, made in China, pe intuneric. Ghici cat arata limba. O limba mica si neinteleasa.&lt;br /&gt;''Why did I do that?Wrong,wrong,wrong. ...It's too late to change the things. Besemoth,u laugh....The youth is on your taste .&lt;br /&gt;Petite&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=DE4pg_s323c"&gt;http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=DE4pg_s323c&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=malaambition" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;malaambition&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-4508595471980453973?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/4508595471980453973/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womennicole.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/4508595471980453973'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/4508595471980453973'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womennicole.html' title='Women...Nicole'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-6731337034230376923</id><published>2009-07-12T11:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T11:36:22.817-07:00</updated><title type='text'>women,,,,the Cubanese and the Spanish one</title><content type='html'>Women...Yulla,the Cubanese and the Spanish one&lt;br /&gt;Longsight&lt;br /&gt;travelling in the truck,cu pantalonii suflecati,si genunchii inghetati de frig,cu ploaia atarnand dupa urechi si geamurile intepate de vant, candy girl incepu sa planga in nestire, asa, ca in blueberry nights. Descoperi asa,in bataia vitezei cu cerul leganat prin par,ca ii iesise un fir din bluza noua,si se uita indelung la el,daca poate fi tras sau taiat...sau...copacii erau cam goi saracii,adica dincolo de zahar pudra, erau .''I want to kiss your smile and feel the pain''.&lt;br /&gt;Venea 1 decembrie si se simtea bine asa, ca vine ziua nationala a Romaniei, under 43 degrees, simtea ca trebuie sa traiasca orisicum, ce dus imbunat, ce dus cald,de binete, ce trup cuminte, romanesc, de cozonac.In fine. puteau navali acum ca nu-i pasa. Yulla si Sid erau la Oxford, de unde sa stiu eu,la Oxford,intr-o excursie...&lt;br /&gt;''Lora,stop looking at that fish''&lt;br /&gt;Becky..''I think Lora likes that fish.&lt;br /&gt;Yulla...''We have to get rid of that fish''&lt;br /&gt;''Why? ''&lt;br /&gt;''Why?Because that fish is is a non sens.'' .&lt;br /&gt;''The accountant nu obtinuse ce vroia, da cine obtinea?''&lt;br /&gt;Ce vroiau barbatii astia sa futa si sa fuga,cam asa vor toti,nu-i asa? Toti barbatii astia, cu mintea mai scurta sau mai lunga, ar fi preferat sa o faca si apoi sa o ia la fuga si sa isi reia normalitatea.Mai incolo nu stiau ce sa faca.Lasi.I dont want men in my life.&lt;br /&gt;In fine.&lt;br /&gt;Se face limpede si stelele isi reiau locul in univers.&lt;br /&gt;''Why didnt u like Becky's mother and u like this cubanese brainless girl?''&lt;br /&gt;''Well, I have enough from that one...''&lt;br /&gt;''What does it mean?''&lt;br /&gt;''I mean she liked to dictate me and finally she died not only from cancer, but also from broken heart.''&lt;br /&gt;''She loved u. ''&lt;br /&gt;''Of course she loved me.''&lt;br /&gt;''But she chose another man even when she was on dying. She wasvery sick and still having a boyfriend. She liked fucking a lot.&lt;br /&gt;Of course she was gorgeous. Spanish, big black eyes, so alive, she had style and personality.''&lt;br /&gt;''But she didnt like to be on her own. She liked company all te time. Even if she didnt love them..''&lt;br /&gt;''Hmm,Yulla, doesn't dictate u, but she has been fucking a lot with others..''&lt;br /&gt;''Yes, yes, but she doesn't dictate me, that's the point,and sometimes we fuck each other very nicely.''&lt;br /&gt;''Lora, stop looking at that fish.''&lt;br /&gt;''Yes, but thats's a golden fish. I can make a wish.''&lt;br /&gt;''Lora, u believe in God, in fish,and in a lot fantasies. It's very bad for your mind.''&lt;br /&gt;Isi infasura prosopul alb, imens, in jurul trupului si se gandi ca se afla nu numai singura, dar si stapana peste Longsight.Cosea zorile cu ata alba in pielea rasfatata. Din cand in cand, si o ceasca de bergamota si brandy. Ce mai conta? Se simtea si altfel decat musulmana.&lt;br /&gt;But there was a moment in his life that he was married with both. Neah. that marriage was in Las Vegas, is not legal.&lt;br /&gt;Petite&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-6731337034230376923?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/6731337034230376923/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womenthe-cubanese-and-spanish-one.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6731337034230376923'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6731337034230376923'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/womenthe-cubanese-and-spanish-one.html' title='women,,,,the Cubanese and the Spanish one'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-6281470937863775776</id><published>2009-07-12T11:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T11:34:44.269-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Men....Shaw from Florida</title><content type='html'>Ploua cu picaturi aburite de frig, ploua taios si neincetat..iesi din cladirea chinezeasca si merse cativa pasi pana la poarta dragonului,o inconjura ametit de cateva ori pana ce vazu banca si se aseza pe ea, asa, in ploaie. Aprinse o tigara si trase din ea vartos, dar amarat.&lt;br /&gt;''De ce? Why did I do it? Why am I so stupid?''&lt;br /&gt;Mai avea cativa pounds in buzunar cat de o Foster si un tren pana in Withington, localitatea unde locuia. Astazi venise cu taxi,platise 12 pounds , pentru ca piciorul il supara tot mai mult de cand cazuse beat,in seara aia de pomina,chiar pe scarile inguste ale vilei unde isi avea inchiriata camera.O camera saracacioasa,fara carpets si fara alte detalii inutile pentru un barbat singur si always in trouble with the bussines.&lt;br /&gt;''I should go back to Florida,to Panama city, my lovely Panama,where the sun is hot and much more women . Women, da, women...De cand nu mai futuse... si fututul e super, te tine in viata cand esti down.&lt;br /&gt;Nici nu i se mai scula de atata bautura. Fusese cu Karen, o scosese de cateva ori la cina, si reusise cu greu sa o aduca in dormitorul lui. Englezoica, de culoare, fata buna,insa a doua zi impanzise tot oraselul cu povestea neputintei lui.&lt;br /&gt;Afacerea nu mergea deloc, chiar si cand isi incepea ziua cu cate un whisky in Brittania hotel, stins cu bere, continua cu chicken wings de la fast foodul din apropiere, si se intorcea in Portland street,la birou. Lucra ca un nebun pana la 14, telefoane, contracte, pana cand nu mai rezista si il suna pe Jack sa mearga for a pint si uneori a pie.Avea nevoie de Jack pentru computer, dar si ca o companie placuta de baut si de vazut lucrurile mai limpede, asa ca ii facea intotdeauna cinste.Sa ramana si fara Jack ar fi fost ingrozitor.&lt;br /&gt;O placea si pe thailandeza aceea firava,cat de slaba era si ce gene stufoase avea. Nu avea forme dar, cand o intalnea, era hipnotizat.I-ar fi tras-o, sigur, bine, si nu stia exact de ce.Nu stia, pentru ca nici sani nu avea.Si mai era si poloneza aia roscata,bine facuta,cu un mers, si ce mers, funny,chiar funny,dar azi, cand venise la birou si batuse apropo-ul cu masajul fata ii zambi languros si ii spuse pe sleau..Is your bussiness any better?''&lt;br /&gt;''Nothing is for free,of course, mai ales daca esti aproape negru, chiar daca specifici ca nu esti musulman si nici din Pachistan...Femeile toate erau scumpe si mai ales englezoaicele. O cina la San Carlo l-ar fi costat cel putin 50 pounds. Se gandea acum daca nu cumva o placea pe Mae tocmai pentru ca nu era English, si tocmai pentru ca parca, parca,era mai accesibila si ii dadea un fel de incredere. Ar fi putut sa i-o traga. Dar Mae avea fite si Mae asta.&lt;br /&gt;''Of, ce dobitoc sunt, Mae is a good girl, si are o fetita grozava, si probleme mari si ea..Mae ii imprumutase in seara aia bani de tren inapoi si chiar si de o Foster.Insa ultima oara ii propuse,dupa aproape un an de prietenie si de ocolisuri.I can give u 100 pounds, nice meal,nice food and flowers. Mae ii zambi intelegator, si paru ca intelege povestea cu psihologul, dar de stunci nu mai aparu.Tot incerca sa ia legatura cu ea pe telefon,dar era mort. Adevarul e ca isi facea griji,isi facea griji cu adevarat,se deschise si Christmas marketul si ar fi dus-o la un boiled wine. Desi, azi facuse cea mai mare prostie din viata lui,si nu mai avea nimic.&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=shawfromflorida" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;shawfromflorida&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-126" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=VsaELZtgKfA-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:10PM (PDT)&lt;br /&gt;Men..Shaw&lt;br /&gt;Ploua cu picaturi aburite de frig, ploua taios si neincetat..iesi din cladirea chinezeasca si merse cativa pasi pana la poarta dragonului,o inconjura ametit de cateva ori pana ce vazu banca si se aseza pe ea, asa, in ploaie. Aprinse o tigara si trase din ea vartos, dar amarat.&lt;br /&gt;''De ce? Why did I do it? Why am I so stupid?''&lt;br /&gt;Mai avea cativa pounds in buzunar cat de o Foster si un tren pana in Withington, localitatea unde locuia. Astazi venise cu taxi,platise 12 pounds , pentru ca piciorul il supara tot mai mult de cand cazuse beat,in seara aia de pomina,chiar pe scarile inguste ale vilei unde isi avea inchiriata camera.O camera saracacioasa,fara carpets si fara alte detalii inutile pentru un barbat singur si always in trouble with the bussines.&lt;br /&gt;''I should go back to Florida,to Panama city, my lovely Panama,where the sun is hot and much more women . Women, da, women...De cand nu mai futuse... si fututul e super, te tine in viata cand esti down.&lt;br /&gt;Nici nu i se mai scula de atata bautura. Fusese cu Karen, o scosese de cateva ori la cina, si reusise cu greu sa o aduca in dormitorul lui. Englezoica, de culoare, fata buna,insa a doua zi impanzise tot oraselul cu povestea neputintei lui.&lt;br /&gt;Afacerea nu mergea deloc, chiar si cand isi incepea ziua cu cate un whisky in Brittania hotel, stins cu bere, continua cu chicken wings de la fast foodul din apropiere, si se intorcea in Portland street,la birou. Lucra ca un nebun pana la 14, telefoane, contracte, pana cand nu mai rezista si il suna pe Jack sa mearga for a pint si uneori a pie.Avea nevoie de Jack pentru computer, dar si ca o companie placuta de baut si de vazut lucrurile mai limpede, asa ca ii facea intotdeauna cinste.Sa ramana si fara Jack ar fi fost ingrozitor.&lt;br /&gt;O placea si pe thailandeza aceea firava,cat de slaba era si ce gene stufoase avea. Nu avea forme dar, cand o intalnea, era hipnotizat.I-ar fi tras-o, sigur, bine, si nu stia exact de ce.Nu stia, pentru ca nici sani nu avea.Si mai era si poloneza aia roscata,bine facuta,cu un mers, si ce mers, funny,chiar funny,dar azi, cand venise la birou si batuse apropo-ul cu masajul fata ii zambi languros si ii spuse pe sleau..Is your bussiness any better?''&lt;br /&gt;''Nothing is for free,of course, mai ales daca esti aproape negru, chiar daca specifici ca nu esti musulman si nici din Pachistan...Femeile toate erau scumpe si mai ales englezoaicele. O cina la San Carlo l-ar fi costat cel putin 50 pounds. Se gandea acum daca nu cumva o placea pe Mae tocmai pentru ca nu era English, si tocmai pentru ca parca, parca,era mai accesibila si ii dadea un fel de incredere. Ar fi putut sa i-o traga. Dar Mae avea fite si Mae asta.&lt;br /&gt;''Of, ce dobitoc sunt, Mae is a good girl, si are o fetita grozava, si probleme mari si ea..Mae ii imprumutase in seara aia bani de tren inapoi si chiar si de o Foster.Insa ultima oara ii propuse,dupa aproape un an de prietenie si de ocolisuri.I can give u 100 pounds, nice meal,nice food and flowers. Mae ii zambi intelegator, si paru ca intelege povestea cu psihologul, dar de stunci nu mai aparu.Tot incerca sa ia legatura cu ea pe telefon,dar era mort. Adevarul e ca isi facea griji,isi facea griji cu adevarat,se deschise si Christmas marketul si ar fi dus-o la un boiled wine. Desi, azi facuse cea mai mare prostie din viata lui,si nu mai avea nimic.&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=shawfromflorida" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;shawfromflorida&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-126" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=VsaELZtgKfA-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:10PM (PDT)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-6281470937863775776?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/6281470937863775776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/menshaw-from-florida.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6281470937863775776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6281470937863775776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/menshaw-from-florida.html' title='Men....Shaw from Florida'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-5839334201973485915</id><published>2009-07-12T11:23:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T11:23:40.788-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Women...Mae&lt;br /&gt;Ploaia cadea puternic, sacadat, dar armonios si Mae parca simtea picurii grosi, mladiosi ,asternandu-se ca o lana pe talpile goale. Se stranse ghemotoc sub patura in vreme ce englezul isi lipise buzele de omoplatii ei si ii respira adanc, ca si cand toata fiinta ei se netezea acolo.Ea ii simtea trupul greu pe oase, dar ii placea senzatia ca cineva o adulmeca asa.La urma urmei,nu avea forme, era numai oase, da avea gust. Stia asta si de la alti iubiti, intamplator alesi. Englezul ii luase in mana si un san, sanul ei mic si moale ca un pui de porumbel, ea isi prinse respiratia in san, se rusina pe intuneric, gandindu-se ca nu era totusi mai plina,iar el isi retrase buzele la cativa milimetri de omoplati. Din cand in cand, cand isi amintea, isi mai lingea vanatul cu un lipait plescaitor, ca apoi iarasi sa se retraga indeaproape.In cateva clipe strainul adormise si ea putu respira usurata, ascultand ploaia mai inceata si mai inteleapta. Apoi ii dadu mana la o parte aceluia si iesi usor din asternut. In camera de alaturi Li dormea cu iepurasul in brate,cu fata senina spre tavanul nezugravit de mult timp. Asa era Li, senina tot timpul,mofturoasa doar cand era vorba de scoala. In ultima vreme exagerase in fata head-teacherei cu povestea ca nu se simte bine, ca sa scape si sa ajunga mai repede acasa,la tv.Ii era draga si nu o certa prea des. Avea de altfel si ea, ca mama, nebuloasele ei. Luni de zile cheltuise banii de intretinere in chinese casino si apoi trebui sa se culce cu unul sau cu altul ca sa aiba Li macar de un pranz la scoala. Pana cand il intalni pe acesta, mai mare cu mult decat ea, dar foarte cumsecade, asa le spunea tuturor, ca era cumsecade. Ii lasa lui Li intotdeauna 10 lire sau uneori chiar 20.Cum ar fi putut supravietui altfel cu cei 400 de lire de la council?&lt;br /&gt;Altfel se culcase odata si cu prietenul surorii ei,un negru frumusel si mult mai tanar decat ele amandoua. Negrul o placea,dar sora ei avea job. Sora ei era grasa si cu un ochi un pic cazut, asa se nascuse, cu defectul asta, dar ce, ea nu avea defecte?&lt;br /&gt;Dupa ce o inveli pe Li se intoarse in pat, langa strain. Strainul ii apuca din nou sanul foarte mic in pumn si ea simti din nou ploaia in geam, mai artagoasa. Isi aminti de poloneza aia rotunda, ce n-ar fi dat sa fie si ea la fel sau mai inalta.&lt;br /&gt;Mae avea parul negru si simplu purtat pe spate,lins,o palma mai jos de umeri.Locuia in Cheetam, intr-o casa plina ochi de rudele ei Thai.&lt;br /&gt;petite&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=asianwomen" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;asianwomen&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-125" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=bbnF0KxgKfM-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday 9 May 2009 - 01:05PM (PDT)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-5839334201973485915?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/5839334201973485915/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/5839334201973485915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/5839334201973485915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/women.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-6581862658017414757</id><published>2009-07-12T11:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T11:06:18.181-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Entry for 03 May 2009&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBZsj8FPSbo"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PBZsj8FPSbo&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am strangulat . Stowells, sice 1878..not too sweet, but definitely not to dry, this lively rose teases the nose with red summer fruits and tastes of juicy crisp fruit.&lt;br /&gt;Rose wines are graded&lt;br /&gt;1. (very dry) to&lt;br /&gt;9 (very sweetd)&lt;br /&gt;best enjoy chilled.5.&lt;br /&gt;Batuse vantul foarte puternic in ultima zi: duminica, bing, bang, o biserica .... cineva din copilarie o striga incruntat. Parea a fi.&lt;br /&gt;Se incrunta si cerul de vant si nedumerire. Iti lua sufletul si ti-l tara prin fata pe la Yates. Sticle, rasete, promotoare in bikini, ''arati bine'&lt;br /&gt;''fuck''&lt;br /&gt;''I told u to not do it''.Why bank holliday? Nobody knows, it's just holliday.&lt;br /&gt;Bing, bang, Clopotul bisericii se lovea de trotuar. E duminica.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LfLnqoL-lRs"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LfLnqoL-lRs&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-CA0RfdeM8A"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E doar o zi, din lume.&lt;br /&gt;un cer, un pamant, oameni.&lt;br /&gt;Atat.&lt;br /&gt;Totul venea de la Dumnezeu, dar uneori nici Dumnezeu nu intelegea ce oranduia. Se incurca in pulsiunile oamenilor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-Vz1sdJdiM"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-Vz1sdJdiM&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-123" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=cHpk.NhgKfU-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday 3 May 2009 - 05:23PM (PDT) &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=cHpk.NhgKfU-"&gt;Edit&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?d=cHpk.NhgKfU-&amp;amp;.crumb=LLtXECbLPIw"&gt;Delete&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=123"&gt;Permanent Link&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=123#comments"&gt;0 Comments&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-6581862658017414757?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/6581862658017414757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/entry-for-03-may-2009-httpwww.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6581862658017414757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6581862658017414757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/entry-for-03-may-2009-httpwww.html' title=''/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-2578275632730667492</id><published>2009-07-12T10:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T11:04:54.208-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dot</title><content type='html'>The blueberry driver se apropie de ea si o intreba zambind:&lt;br /&gt;Are u on your own?&lt;br /&gt;Yes, Sir.I am always on my own.&lt;br /&gt;Isi trecu mana prin parul ud si isi alese un scaun aproape de fereastra.Ploaia cadea greu. Era frig. Alaturi,o fata negricioasa, dar frumoasa, slaba, de prin vreo Indie exotica,isi completa un contract.Din cand in cand isi strangea parul negru,lucios,indreptat cu placa.Avuse,fireste,umbrela, ca orice englezoaica adoptata.Ramanea si ea,uneori,cu gandul departe, si penita stioului muta. Alteori, punea stiloul deoparte, isi scotea un tub cu crema si isi inmuia degetele subtiri, diafane, de printesa.Fara sa vrea, o putea urmari ca prin ceata, standing opposite cu doua scaune mai in fata.Parea mai vie decat scheletele copacilor sau oile nemiscate de pe colinele ascutite.Cand o vazuse initial in gara murdara Victoria station, i se paru urata asa, cu nasul coroiat de britanica corporatista.Acum s-ar fi asezat langa ea.&lt;br /&gt;Peisajul mort si inghetat curgea lin pe langa autobuz ca pe langa un strain agitat.Ii placea acum Anglia. Anglia parea ca nu are suflet, ci doar instinct de supravietuire.&lt;br /&gt;Straina isi stranse geaca maronie pe langa corp si adormi obosit.Se trezea din cand in cand ca dupa cosmar,si realiza ca e intr-un autobuz. Nu isi amintea visele,nu avea vise...ci doar un trecut sarac, mincinos si ipocrit,asta probabil o chinuia in somn.Cand isi ridica privirea de pe ceas, realiza ca nu erau decat niste minute incetosate intr-un inconstient dureros.Inca cinci ore.Parasise Londra, din nou, in fuga, si cu ciuda.Incerca sa se concentreze pe Esquire, dar somnul o strivea. Nu dormise de doua zile.&lt;br /&gt;No one is to be trustful. Si totusi,nu avea ce sa isi aminteasca.&lt;br /&gt;Petite&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ozV3ixfRF10"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ozV3ixfRF10&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqYU9iv7rxQ"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zqYU9iv7rxQ&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a class="edit-tags" id="edit-tag-122" href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=8PZdblpgKfQ-"&gt;Edit Tags&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday 3 May 2009 - 05:15PM (PDT) &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog/compose.html?msgid=8PZdblpgKfQ-"&gt;Edit&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?d=8PZdblpgKfQ-&amp;amp;.crumb=LLtXECbLPIw"&gt;Delete&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=122"&gt;Permanent Link&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;p=122#comments"&gt;0 Comments&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-2578275632730667492?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/2578275632730667492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/dot.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/2578275632730667492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/2578275632730667492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/dot.html' title='Dot'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883138727822293436.post-6822480632849848118</id><published>2009-07-12T10:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T10:51:53.137-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Men</title><content type='html'>''O aşteptare şi ultimile zile ale unui decembrie. - Vino să împodobim bradul împreună. A ţinut să-şi despoaie splendoarea din prima clipă, precipitat şi formal. Cu funcţie de salut. Fără dizolvare de fiinţă, fără zbor. Curiozitatea mea însă a exultat. E perfectă. Şi e palpabilă. Stăm o vreme lipiţi şi bem vin. A doua zi am sărutat-o pe gît, în timp ce vorbea cu mă-sa la telefon. Apoi pe şold, de mai multe ori, în timp ce spăla vasele în bucătarie. Am coborît spre pubis. Poartă jeans cu talie foarte joasă. - Faci un copil cu mine? zic. La atingere, sînii ei electrocutează la propriu. - Ai putea fi un amant perfect, dar eşti prea tandru. Un bărbat adevarat nu trebuie să se poarte atît de frumos. La plecare, mi-a dat un album cu fotografii de-ale ei mai vechi şi Incest de Anaïs Nin. Încă o zi, încă un vin. Apoi încă o zi. Azi vrea să moară din cauza unui iubit semireal, jumătate om - jumătate vis. Ascultă Funeral March de Chopin şi plînge continuu. Incerc s-o salvez în ultima clipă, ca-n filme: - Nu vrei să mîncăm pui à la rôtissoire, să bem vin roş şi să ne futem? S-a baricadat şi insistă să moară. Mîine seară e revelionul... ''&lt;br /&gt;Man on a sofa&lt;br /&gt;Tags: &lt;a href="http://uk.blog.360.yahoo.com/blog-aGP4HCwwaLLic7pHWh2AExepvgSLwLdDqrDk2SI-?cq=1&amp;amp;tag=manonthesofa" rel="nofollow tag"&gt;manonthesofa&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monday 19 January 2009 - 09:15AM (PST)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4883138727822293436-6822480632849848118?l=leedoralee.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/feeds/6822480632849848118/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/men.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6822480632849848118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4883138727822293436/posts/default/6822480632849848118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://leedoralee.blogspot.com/2009/07/men.html' title='Men'/><author><name>Leedoralee</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17838052260656350438</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
