Friday, February 8, 2008

How Does Gonorrhea Affect Fertility




Rain, lots of rain!

the pais tropical
not denied, indeed, the rain does its most traditional carnival pure: a bath in the mud of the Rio ruas is baptism, the first step of initiation.

second step, jump, fly almost on tiptoe at the tip of the nose and the streams of pee scattered in every corner, wall, traffic lights ... everywhere.

third step: built-in blocos: camionetas filled with boxes, with roofs stracomi of people singing, dancing and drinks and plays and ... the good thing is that the songs are almost always those of traditional canrevale; the same song is repeated 10 times, then switch to another ... and behind the band is the percussion that keeps the pace of hundreds of people singing "we were sincere voice ..." or "cachaça nao is agua nao ...."

fourth step: keep up the blockade. carnival is a parade, so the blocos go slowly on their way paralyzing traffic, and agglomerate more and more people, inside and behind the blockage, creating a river, a small village peddler who goes forward, backward people, who sells beer, and the whole, strictly, samba and singing.

fifth step: sambar. ... nothing complex step inside the bloco c 'is the minimum space to put one foot before the other and go on this matter, go ahead! skipping his two feet and shakes a little bit ... it becomes a single block, in fact, of bodies jumping and moving forward.

when you get to this level, it feels good, wet from the rain, including in the bloco ... even if you are not masked (and here an art form is important!), is balanced, simple, joyful, and Carnaval!

Monday, February 4, 2008

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Werewolf


Somewhere dreams come true.
There is a lonely lake
the moonlight for me and for you
as anyone for us alone.

There the dark white sail explained
wind is not felt in a vague
guide our life-sleep
where the waters come together

in a strand of trees blacks,
the woods where they face unknown
the desire of the lake to be More
and make the dream complete.

There we'll fade away and hide,
all in vain on the edge of the moon,
feeling that what we are made
was sometimes music.
Fernando Pessoa