Laser-spine Complaints

(Giannoli, 2009) The usefulness

Either way it's done to my face ... M'enfin, what took me to see a film with François Cluzet? I had to have the distance (but tough) recollection of his delivery jealous neurotic Chabrol in Hell, that must be it ... not that I abhor the brave Francis, but we can not say whether the latest actor in the genre-indicative "French film preppy that will leave you a taste of endive cooked you lose 90 minutes of your life. "

I do not bother to get a detailed description of the Beginning (I might end up like Francis, the more tired of life that the most tired of koalas). Let's just to be as faithful as possible in reality it is a fantasy sempiternétunième Authoring comforts of home on the ambiguity of the human, human relationships, this between us and releases us of our faults and our strengths that can sometimes confused lorsqu'alors this absurd and destructive act provided that salvation flowed the purest beauty ... So, "hero or crook"? Here's a question we do not care. The first ten minutes are not yet catastrophic, putting ourselves in the foot bath, the snout of this sad and depressing day without any form of Preamble presentation. But it spoils quickly, and advance unless it believes ...

"I'm tired! I have maaaarre whore! Bweuheuheuh'm fucking ... you know! I'm going through my trip, let me brave worker, let me deeper into the muddy depths of despair and hopelessness ... I must finish that counts ... the last image that humanity will have it with me ... does not matter if WE ALL DIE ... "

"No, do not say that Mr. Francis! it's just the earth, it washes!

-

If the supporting cast are all provided free of excessive gambling typically franchouillard we hope to be feared as much (everyone perfectly embodies his character with credibility and a natural at every moment), it puts forth bold representation before the Social clogs, sort of a bad parody of Ken Loach, in which case the social cons and naive, and wrong clothes smoking shit in front of TF1 (I exaggerate a little, in fact it concerns only a very short scene - but oh task), believe in a miracle and confide wholly in the hands of their messiah angel who will issue a minimum wage no less providential - a messiah who has yet to air early as enthusiastic and spirited farting a suicidal homeless from bereaved to undergo a quadruple ablation scholarships. They have put in place of Francis, the guy who played Ian Curtis in Control, it would have been better not messed up. One of our proles-followers, a little less stupid and naive as the rest of the pack, however, will create a shade, summarizing finely thought highly of the real philosphy: "at least we will have experienced something even if it Giving false "- or something in this style here. The village mayor and mistress of the trickster-hero, however, will fall from the clouds revealing the hoax, blinded by her love without doubt ... I must say that with a man as bright as the brave Francis, also ...

Where repeat the facts as such (because it is a true story, I forgot to mention - as I said at the beginning, I had tried) was well more efficient (the pathological liar in question has just started a half-meter site and not a complete piece of road - with a dozen workers), the Real prefers to dive into this fascinating little delirious and effete, as the site in question is unclear how it looks in the end, and how guys are progressing, too confusing and too vague (ok at the beginning is the earth and after we see bitumen and beautiful lanterns, but it's not at all), unless this is precisely what makes the originality of delirium, this mad rush towards the useless, work towards the nothing ... it's a boring little common in every way. Add to this warm finding a partition completely silky post rock hard in the wind, Depardieu Ugly supposed to symbolize the guilt of our heroes, fantasy or real (as Clare Quilty's poor), arriving and departing as a fart, and you get a very nice little French film disposable, finishing shots in dumper the good feeling the most soluble.

"yes ... and if it was that finally, the ultimate goal ... to follow through even if it means nothing! For the nice gesture! For everything started to ... and everything must end ... ah, I'm exhilarated! for me, glory and posterity! "

-

Emmanuelle Devos, always between natural grace and ragnagna Florentine (not the cake way) depending on the angle, is perhaps the only one to give a semblance of interest, strangeness of this spirited wreck, and I may have discovered something about her charm nauseous, not knowing what. I'll soon be able to put a final word on this "1 quart 1 quart erection repulsion 1 quart 1 quart mercy of indifference" that characterize more than any other actress? One day, who knows - and then I know maybe what is happening behind the ingenious ingratitude and the familiar face of this inexplicable and that voice, reminding me of the kind of feverish fiddling class ninny in a broom closet at the Sorbonne.

What Side Effect Can Dried Apricots Have

sometimes evil (Raven commented yesterday morning that adjective: Raven AIME adjective) of Social Network (3 friends have commented that Raven article title)

me confused I still apologize to those who consider me a close acquaintance or loitaine and punching their daily connections scattered on the global network Satanist? Friends, aunts and cousins love me again reminded at Christmas, I was a asocials infamous pumpkin that connect to their account to "follow" did little more than thirty seconds per day ... What should I respond to his attacks, are they justified? And first of all, what can I therefore invoke as valid reasons?

Laziness? No, this is precisely one of the reasons that pushed me to be logically zoning.

Selfishness? Completely off the plate, the proof is that I'm just asking myself the question why ... I was selfish if I do not even think not! it flows from source! In seeking

well ... ah, there it is, it occurs to me now! It is clear as a mountain lake and it is sharp insight.

1. I hate hospitals. I will do my best until the end of my life, to avoid staying there, not so much because of other patients, or the apprehension of death or pain ... but simply decorated.

2. The aesthetics of FB and MS reminds me more than any one hospital, the most impersonal and that is kubrickien: decorum is smooth, empty, immaculate , corridors and endless white, I cold, I bells, the walls are white if white ... I smell Products antiseptic, antibacterial and antibiotics that corrode my nostrils and seized my soul, a nurse in the face photoshoped outrageously advances towards me, dictating a monotone voice ; slogans frightening and unhealthy secretly happy polymorphic structures as "created Facebook your farm, "" you have a request to add "or" blueberry pie dusted with icing sugar mmmh - LOL, love it raven "

3. My soul evaporates dangerously Wetted cryogenic ultra-modern and ultra-in once I'm back on the canteen wall covered with sticky notes the same size and same color arranged in columns perfect in front of a platoon execution whose gunmen wearing masks pale bearing the broad and kindly smile of the cat Alice, the last remaining crumbs of consciousness on the sheet of waxed my cortex slowly slip away from the grasp of reason and sentiment, in contact icy background of this self-service devastated by nuclear and modernity in contact these gimmicks robotic , slogans and messages droids volatile plaguing the rest of my humanity, passion, life ...

4. I'M MORE HERE.

Everyone understood then, hopefully, how serious this is and how I must forbid, as long as possible, a contact with the building. That said, I sometimes - very rarely but it happens - to discover that secret and malevolent factions also indispensable to have nested, and their designs have sometimes (it happens) some something to do with waiting for a traveler, Destroyer, Gozerien ... Will he return? His shadow has fallen ... Yes, I perceive, far away ... Mick Smiley, the greatest singer in the galaxy and eighty, the Master Ultimate Tube Ultimate New Wave and the most Ultimate Psycho, hiding somewhere in a motel reception off the coast of Hawaii, in the management of an amusement park of Louisiana, a bank in Sacramento, tigers in cages at a zoo in California, in the maintenance crew Facebook Canadian - who knows? It is somewhere on this planet, lurking in the shadows ... and he will be back ... I know. I saw him in a dream.

http://www.myspace.com/micksmiley

http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=43169613346

24hour Fitness Sanantonio

House Of God (King Diamond, 2000)

I has only one disk King Diamond.

It is called House Of God.

I bought it shortly after its release, the radius of the heavy metal record store in the mall Leclerc de Chalon-sur-Saone (a day when the saleswoman who was usually at the counter was absent).

I had a fascination tinged with fear in front of the pouch (proudly enthroned amid a near-full tristouille remasters Kiss, like ham with rind cooked in cloth in the middle of unscrupulous Madrange round of buttock derinded Monique Ranou).

She remains in good place in the pantheon coveted pockets the most bitter and unhealthy soberly never outputs (this is not a subjective, everything is in the teething John Landis, texture, parchment skin, which one could almost feel the grain under the fingers, and installation miséricordieuso-masochistic Jesus dreamless most degenerate of Mel Gibson).

I finally listened after leaving the hard to contemplate the cellophane bag for two or three days.

While listening stunned at first by the riffs (effective) followed by voice (speech), I flipped through the booklet and Tronche and the names of the line-up ("oh, the cousin of Michelle Laroque hidden because of the Dutch heavy-metal", I thought furtively)

I discovered amazed Semoun Elijah was a fan of Alice Cooper Rob Halford and he was recording disks telling his jogging at night cemetery.

After I have a little disillusioned when I listened to his old albums, with the exception of old Mercifioul Day (and especially "not break the oath"): all the same, all the more ugly each other, all filled with more pipistrelles soft plastic and all over full of delusions and crazy staging, with more theatrical and choreographic dripping wheeling free gothic trannies in the catacombs and underground shelters wettest and cancer of the galaxy Pinder ... but without the red eyes and sharp efficiency we have here a kind of chopper ride to the Earl of Eldorado in the headstones through the Phantom Manor, which hardly needs more a dark ambient intro Fulci-Bandai to take you directly into his net.

Black Devil, Catacomb, The Pact, The Trees Have Eyes ... that the tube! Damn ghouls gay right ...

Ex Naval Boats For Sale

Dead Again (Type O Negative, 2007)

Like the pig, in Type O's all good. Here

head cheese ...

And here is the only album on which I was pouting, a disc with balls like watermelons and a prick of nag like superstar gracing their sleeves, with which he reels to ten inches of your face you eyeing an air of both bad and amused. Here is their only album that I have neglected so that (although I have yet a little stubborn indifference to it, by locations) is finally revealed to me, a bit like the smell of one of those outrageous underwear pattern you'd been offered to god knows what family Christmas and you've forgotten at the bottom of the closet for months because you never felt for the bear attack. Nature is small! All this is too fierce and potbellied mutt so I can not bring myself to go further than his unflattering appearance of vessel intended to doom doom redneck fans who have enough disks to create a radius doom doom in their nightclub. I have nothing against rednecks there, but has a TON beaufitude flying so high that all these stories of socks (since this is a story underpants heheh) and fans of NWOBHM born twenty years too late, the totemic beauferie, astral, whose force is so irresistible that even Michael Ambrose (the hidden son of Barack Obama and Hilary Swank who played Rudy in the Most Beautiful life) is a fan without knowing it.

I would not talk about the look, ultra-eminently orgiastic choucroutesque that business that reduce stomach Takeru Kobayashi in a state of flannel, and even less with the acquaintances obvious marcel hardcore, which were well summarized in Pepe Owes Us Money Satan, because deep down I always find it difficult to admit that Peter Steele is another goth thing a pure sugar despite his eighties, just as I struggled to admit that Glenn Danzig is a big transvestite fantasist, but they naturally contribute to the charm of this fat shit. Hallelujaheuh.