How Women Wearing Pads

As promised (IV)

And last but not least (although this form is only for especially talented and ambitious artists) in the opinion of Enrique Cuervo Cassidy, also will defeat the surviving death to our own demise through art and through the popularity that probably reach through art, whether film, literature, painting ... Because although we can not enjoy life that gives glory immortal being considered, including dead , a grand creator whose work deserves to survive forever, yes we could figure out the sweet flavor if we began to cultivate as we the heart continues to beat, ie behaving as if we were immortal celebrities from now. It would be a sham and enjoy something premature laws prevent us from nature. Crazy, right? Of course, it was the opinion of Henry ...

When we left Deustoarrak was almost ten at night. It was late and the next day we had to get up early for school. Henry and I decided to take a bus which left us almost home. We said goodbye to the workshop with great pity. We stayed until the wee hours talking and talking, but would occasionally see each other again. The agenda of my phone almost inert mobile was overflowing with new numbers. Apparently, he had, then yes, something like friends in Bilbao.

Quarter Pipe Blueprints

As promised (III)

I was curious what the other "false enemies" of the group, but we'll find out over time. Perhaps Herny and I could start a new versus Rimbaud Verlaine, for example ...

was obvious that members of the workshop were great friends outside of this room and shared his spare time. Without going any further, that weekend was a pair of standing plans: go to the Museum of Fine Arts to see an exhibition on surrealism, and a home visit for dinner Mariela and a movie. It sounded tempting, and I thought I was starting to float between sugary pink cotton when I was invited to both events.
My way to thank such a gesture was talking more about me, but I was so flattered and pampered than done, perhaps too emphatically, almost hurriedly. Henry looked at me with eyes wild.

I confessed how much I liked Santa Clara, and even told them of my theatrical experience Ceará. Henry gave me was like before, I did not care what you think. Even I was tempted to watch him from a Machiavellian standpoint, it told me that the end justified the means. Because maybe Henry was only used to meet the wonderful people that I seemed to be interesting and nice, and I did not have to give myself body and soul to a suffocating relationship. I wanted to believe it was free, no longer needed him, he could fly without it. I wanted to believe, but could not.

-Ana, the course is, will you be in England or plan to attend the race in Bilbao? If you want to study a career, going ... - Patricia turned to me.

That caught me by surprise, but I tried out the best possible stop. Everyone looked at me expectantly, especially Henry:
- Stay here next year? I do not know, but still I have a whole year ahead to see if I like both Bilbao ... As for what to study a career, I do not know exactly what I want to study ... I guess something, say, creative, even my parents I insist to study economics.

-Henry always says he'll get in my world, that of the reviled and thankless Philology. I encourage you to follow the example of your friend, join our cause! Charlotte exclaimed jokingly. Henry looked at me with a mixture of hope and fear that made me conclude that my friend would have appreciated that particular time I said yes, that, indeed, wanted my degree in Philology at Deusto. But I did because it was something I had never crossed his mind.

Someone then announced that we had recently. Classroom closed at six o'clock, and was five and a half, so we concluded the meeting with a creative writing exercise: we had to write to all history, each paragraph that had started writing the person on the left, he wrote a sequel, and passed the companion folio to the right.

Esther started and it took very little time to complete. It was a curious thing: it was the story of a robot after overcoming writer a suicide attempt caused by the abandonment of human to discover his girlfriend is a robot, just working as a professor at the university, where he falls in love again, but this time from a student who, though he did not note, is a robot do not think your teacher is too. But in the end, both discover the true nature of the other, and she does not mind, but he does, and leaves. "It's nothing personal, but I have the habit of leaving only human" is how the thing ended. The suicide attempt was mine, the end of Henry.

When the input fellow came to tell us that they were already six in the afternoon and had to lock the classroom, Carlota me explained that the meeting would follow thereafter in a cafe-restaurant district called Deustoarrak Deusto. Thus, the entire troupe of impending writers we went to that place, located just ten minutes from the university. As I was there in front of a steaming coffee, well ensconced in a plush sofa in dark and with a decent Henry planted beside me (she looked so serene and friendly that I was afraid to be with his twin brother), I knew the moment why it was the perfect place to hold meetings of a group. Decorated in medieval armor, carpets and tapestries garnets, and chaired by a beautiful fireplace, in there there was a feeling have gone back centuries in time and be in a meeting of the Round Table of Camelot, although instead of dealing with matters of a Celtic kingdom, bystanders are dedicated to talk endlessly about everything: politics, literature, film, music, as well as various obsessions and banalities, but always with such passion and enthusiasm that seemed to us to be responsible for deciding the course to be followed worldwide.

In this amalgam of stories, memories and opinions, both Henry and I participate, thus moving away from our pattern of self-conscious adolescents and expectant.
When the warmth of confidence that convinced me treading on safe ground, I ventured to make the case for some of the stories he had written (and unfortunately at that moment I had with me), and the simple narrative of which I thought was something depressing and surreal tales, my listeners seemed to fascinate.

- The next day brings something, Anne, I have wanted to read that story of yours writer who writes books "and issued" by mysterious voices, sounds tempting! - Exclaimed Emilia.

Henry also seemed interested in my creations, and he was encouraged to read us all the last verses he had written the night before (he himself had brought your notebook). And their success was resounding. I never thought that Henry wrote so well, because those poems, despite being a work clearly inspired by the devotion to the Symbolists, picked his mark, something we could only see those who knew him, because those lines transmitting pain and tenderness at a time, despair and darkness, but also some subtle rebellion.

- Stunning, as always, Henry, but you know that I think of dark freckles, I suppose it's old! - Charlotte laughed. And Henry got his praises with shyness and a grateful smile. But not content just to recite his poems, was much more to it than that. He was apparently interested in other things ...

At first I was strange to hear Henry engage in a passionate conversation with James on postmodernity and globalization. But then I could not help but admire. Using strong arguments to defend its position and expressed in a coherent way, maintaining the temple at all times. The child of the Monster was, apparently, a citizen of the world, and all an existentialist, but I already knew. But only there, between the medieval atmosphere of Deustoarrak , I met the amazing theory about how we Enrique Cuervo escape death. Everyone listened stunned as she explained.

As explained Henry, there are three ways to laugh at the lady with the scythe because it is impossible to conquer: the first is to forget that there is not having it in mind for anything, never mentions, as far as possible, of course. The second is to try not to risk their lives for nothing, absolutely nothing to depend on the will of one, or participating in a risky sport, or taking a means of transport other than the legs of one, or taking to the streets a windy day ... (the quality of this kind of life is a separate issue, of course).

Just

Still Have Fever From Pancreatitis

As promised (II) As promised

know, those who showed me kindness and selfless instant, I was invited to sit with them and came to me with such delicacy that almost everybody excited. If Henry, who moved around as if he were at home, had become friends with them, was indeed a very lucky guy.

On the table were the remains of sandwiches, fruit and refreshments. Apparently they had also eaten. I had done during the break, after passing briefly to greet Silvia, had given a good account of a couple of apples and a salad of canned tuna in the empty classroom, he was forbidden to eat in class, but no one had discovered. And if Henry had eaten anything was a mystery, maybe some synthetic and sticky chocolate palm of those that had been nibbling on occasions between cigarette and cigar, accompanied by his friends in the courtyard.

In the center of the table was a large box lined with a paper bag filled with sheets, papers and booklets that protruded everywhere threatening to burst it.

- Pandora's box, "he said Carlota -, here we put our stuff. What we write in the studio, poetry books with our performances, brochures and photos interesting ... Anyway, it's a catch that will bring order to one day But here we are all a mess!

Gradually, as we listened to report on what Charlotte had covered an interesting kind of theology that he had received that morning, was getting the rest of the workshop. Although at times could be up to twenty-five people, as I explained, the core group was made up of a dozen. And one day, perhaps due to my presence, that figure was exceeded.

Within minutes, the room was filled. The door kept opening and closing and occupying the chairs immediately. So that day, I was lucky to know the essence of the literary workshop, the "base workshop, as they called it. In addition to Charlotte, Emily, Patricia, José Luis and Henry, was Pedro, a student who chose Barcelona Bilbao to complete his degree in Business, Mariela, who was a student of Tourism and whose smile was contagious, Esther and Andrew, both of law , and also were in the theater workshop, Jesus and James, of History and Philology, respectively, and writing in the journal of the university, and Sara, a girl very long hair dyed with henna and enchanted fairy aspect of studying history .

asked me to submit it aloud, but it made me as uncomfortable as I had done in Santa Clara or Ceará .
I told them my name, where he came from and with what intentions. It seemed extremely interesting that my mother was English, although the workshop had already spent several youth of Erasmus of almost all European nations (and not be forgotten that they had a half-Irish invaluable among the faithful guests).
I spoke of my favorite authors (that worshiped damned poets Rimbaud and others made me automatically garner the sympathy of Emily and Andrew) and my favorite novels.

-Go, Ana, since you're in luck, today we will talk about Truman Capote and one of the novels to be analyzed is the you love Breakfast at Tiffany's!
- It certainly has nothing to do with the movie, "someone said.
- but the film is also fantastic - said another.
- Yeah, of course I do, but tells another story. Is that the character of Holly Golightly was intended for Marilyn Monroe, Audrey Hepburn did not, and that explains everything! - He said.
Thus began the workshop meeting. All, one by one, and respecting the right to speak, were giving opinions and facts about Capote and his work. Apparently, nobody there knew the author's work.
But then they began to jump from one topic to another, and not just talk about literature. Could refer to personal issues, complain about the proximity of the tests for example, then go on to talk of magic realism or hilarious dream that they had been tortured last night.

I kept silent, amazed, and Henry did the same. I wondered if it would be so in all sessions, or if it was because I was ahead and gave manifest modesty in public.
What was clear was that each of the people I found there was a delicious and unique universe that was worth investigating. Marveled at the meeting attended by a group of people outside that small class would be considered, possibly as "rare" or "eccentric." And if Charles I had read her mind, said
- Do not worry, Anne will probably think we're loquísimos.
- Yes, thank goodness it did not come at the time that the workshop was about the museum of horrors - convinced Patricia said.
- What do you mean? I asked curiously.
"Then there was a time in which we see each character ... Well, here was really nutty people. "As the theologian
him that told him about the exorcisms of Vatican ...
- And you remember Cleopatra? She was a girl who had the same haircut that Cleopatra, and had frightened face of the clock as well - and several of the workshop began to imitate this as "Cleopatra", opening the eyes of a disproportionate as a silent film actors.

also touched deeper issues, without going any further, religious faith or the need to believe in a God, which led to a friendly discussion in which participants expressed themselves with an enviable wealth of vocabulary and referring to authors and theories of diverse cultures. It seemed incredible that this young group about twenty years was in possession of much knowledge. Luckily, I knew most of these authors and the conversation I was perfectly understandable, there may even be involved, but I preferred to keep listening, at least for now.

Then, after this deep conversation, suddenly, Andrew with his lighter lit two candles that were inside the Pandora's box, and turned off the light.
-over of Halloween. Is that on the eve of All Saints write horror stories and read to candlelight ... From the best I've lived here in ... - Emilia said with an evil smile.
"As you will see it here we have a lot macabre, Ana Although that, Emily takes the cake - said Sara. And Emilia smiled (strangely) flattered.
"And there the odd esoteric stunned, like you, Pharaoh," he said with a grin José Luis.
- Are you talking to me, Greek Disgusting? - Sara asked his friend with mock indignation.
With resignation, Charlotte told me that this peculiar exchange of insults was the source of one of the "false enemies" of the workshop, inspired by the stormy relationship that keep some writers (for example put Gongora and Quevedo), but based on love and the desire to bite the friend in question, not in the rivalry. The Sara versus José Luis was because while the former defended at all costs cultures and civilizations of the East (from the Arab countries until the Empire of the Rising Sun), José Luis was a champion of Greco-Roman culture. But ever faced in a jocular and friendly.

Sidekick Prepaid Sim Card Hack

do not believe in my novel, that's the truth. I say no hint of victimization, masochism or vile hope that the audience care to make me think otherwise. I say this because I think, really think about it, but the express wish of two good friends of mine, blog publish the chapter in which the player becomes part of the now defunct literary workshop hosted not too long ago that the great University of Deusto in Bilbao. There you go read it for himself. Is that I always try to fulfill my word ...

When school ended and it was time to leave Santa Clara to go with Henry there, did not fit into joy, I was blissfully guilty, as if it was not good enough to deserve such a privilege. The Raven I waited in the classroom door (again, he picked up his junk before me) staring at his shoes, and when I got to him, as if about to climb in wagon of darkness, he asked, arching an eyebrow
- Are you ready?

I can not describe the tingling sensation caused me to walk beside Henry on a Thursday (a Thursday with Henry!), Heading to the University of Deusto. He would be hoping that I will ask for the workshop, which will show some nervousness, doubt, before my imminent entry into that group, according to the brochure that Silvia had given me, was to "awaken the wealth that is carried inside through the pen. "
But I was not afraid, if Henry could be there, me too.

- You know how the thing will go? - Finally Henry had to be the question posed to me because my mouth was sealed.
- For what I sense, more or less. Talk about books and authors, right?
- Claro, Ana, that's obvious, when she addressed me by my name was that he wanted to emphasize something or because I scolded with almost paternal instinct, which made him seem very funny. But surely you do not know that today we will talk about Truman Capote.
This was too much, how could I be so lucky?
- Well, one of my favorites - I said as if everything he knew about Capote, which I had read the literature complete, I knew about many authors. I think I will enjoy much of today's meeting ...

impostada And thanks to my arrogance got what I had not even dreamed without me being asked, Henry I was doing a profile of each member of the workshop before reaching University of Deusto, so that when I was there, facing the glorious building, housing its enviable academic and adult lives, I knew better what to expect. University of Deusto
stood under the mountain Artxanda in the neighborhood that gave its name, and was directly opposite the Guggenheim Museum. It was brutal striking contrast between the two structures, University and the museum, each bearer of an architectural style opposite to that of other witnesses both times and two different meanings. The past and future, classicism and modernism more rabid, the imposing sobriety and titanic masterpiece of a genius of universal architecture.

Among those universities with which we passed, who walked with resolute attitude, confident and well armed with lots of notes and folders overflowing, Henry and I could not avoid the note with our green uniforms. How could he have been so careless?, I thought. There should be carried in a separate bag clothing "undercover" to change the school before out. But my companion's attitude was reassuring. Henry seemed so serene, carefree look for those parts as the youngest son of The Munsters, who promptly forgot the inconvenient detail, although some students we look with curiosity, and few people were not exchanged comments with their peers at us.
College was even more fascinating inside than outside. The cold stone cloisters and corridors, ceiling unfathomable, causing a feel of a movie full of intrigue and teachers crazy with abundant gray hair and beards.

The workshop was on the first floor. To access it was necessary to enter a kind of office where there was a couple of young fellows wearing all sorts of cultural and social issues, were part of Gaurgiro called the circle of the university today. The girl, a little more than twenty years, Henry greeted with a smile as we entered the door and looked at me curiously.
- Hello, Henry and company ... You must be Ana, right?
nodded without saying a word. I felt intimidated by all, for being there, being questioned. But let me continue with this attitude. Threw my shoulders back, lift the chin, and decided that from then on would smile and answer with words. Instead, Henry seemed to be at home, even bother to ask the fellow for his exams and maintain a brief but pleasant conversation with her. A conversation "normal." After that, he said goodbye with a broad smile of the girl, and invited me to follow him with a gesture. We crossed a door that led to another hall where a large group of young people discussing international politics gracefully, but with well-structured arguments and respecting the right to speak, like one of those talk shows on current issues that I had long not seen.
Still talking, we were greeted with a wave and followed us with his eyes until we reached the last door. Henry tapped and a friendly female voice from inside asked us to pass. Obeyed. He went first, me behind, as if innocently hide his thin body.

The room was very small square, two of its four walls were hidden behind a huge removable shelves overflowing with boxes, files, books, posters and endless paperwork. The rectangular table was occupied by the center as the school, and had many chairs around it.
There were four people seated, three girls and one boy. All Henry greeted with great sympathy and looked at me expectantly, waiting him or me present myself.
was I who did it, looking at each and every one of these to the face and all the sympathy it was capable. And they did so.
The girl in charge of coordinating the workshop was pure sweetness and kindness. Charlotte was called (it was the first time I heard that name off the books or movies), had a friendly and large hazel eyes, and studied philology. The other girls were Emily and Patricia, law students and History respectively. They also seemed very nice. I could not help asking if they were sisters, rather than the physical resemblance that I found in them (both dressed similarly, had long hair piercing dark eyes almost black), their gestures, mannerisms and way of expression, as had similarities that only siblings or close friends come to share. But it turned out to be nothing more than friends.
The only boy was Jose Luis, a student of Philosophy, at the time was telling everyone that I had read somewhere that his admired Jorge Luis Borges, as he hated the pigeons.

They seemed very few, but I explained that there was still people coming, and that until they were all, would not begin the meeting, only babble, although the workshop had officially begun a while ago.

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