Pentax K-mpros And Cons

Childhood art

Stop complaining to those around you, it gets boring. Whether you blame them? Their kindness would be to cover their politeness of automatism, in their eyes looking elsewhere, it is not you they seek but themselves! What do you do differently? Have you ever drawn a horizon in which you are not the hero who rises?

Anne, sister Anne, you never will stop to watch an unlikely figure! Sociality that is overrated commodity, made over oneself, artful, applied! Exchange of interests, instead of barter and non-life. Look for a moment! Have you happened to barter species? I bet you've only had the hands were vials of perfume: species? Say it's too simple, fragrances, ephemeral as sweet, landing on the epidermis to the hair brushed.

Stop looking any nugget in the duck pond where ducks paddle; Cross your chips in the eyes of others? Polite indifference affectionate distancing, kindness merchants plea in which violence is matched only by the exquisite politeness! You have used up your credit, move along, nothing to take.

beings are fueled with archaisms and air time. They call it true or "right thing" or they do not call it work and without asking any questions. Their archaisms there is nothing to say, they deliver them dressed in projects, punched back by corporation, the sheep or crooks, legal anyway! You also concoct your archaic, warm under your jacket. This is where your trembling glow, it's nobody's business. And if one has to be approached, you dismiss strongly with what you have on hand: hunting or fly sentence glossy.

So stop complaining, it becomes tasteless.

What Normal Vision Looks Like

From writing before anything else.

Make no mistake, this is not the nth (bad) argument for an act of writing that precedes life, the hours that follow, are similar, again. No one finding of a superiority of writing about life, hackneyed theme, false addition ... in everyday writing is one point among others: work, eat, write and then go to bed ; some, a transcendent conscious of the legitimate and crushes them, put the writing on top of their life as a flag (another!), it is neither my desire nor my intention.

Looking more closely at the act of writing, I wondered what we could remove him without harming it. I immediately thought of the story, the plot. To the question, is it necessary to write a story? My answer is definitely not. A second accessory I have also appeared extremely fickle: to convey the message, idea or theory to defend that which equips it with a fiction that yawns a bit in the corners or go small. It should not be said that writing fiction is mixed to defend causes or demolish the ideas, the image does it with more force and without ambivalence that words trail behind them like a bad conscience.

Last pitfall: the current, all fees that just came out, some still war crisp, two or three scarves to Islam clear, confessions of a restyled head of state on return or a repentant pedophile. These books are miasma, they relate to writing that evokes qu'entretiennent sewer pipes with a clear source. Words in service and held function do the dirty work spokesman, denied speech the next day by another "highlight", speech dying before standing. It is necessary that the writing is as if the word has its place, frequent the shallows of thought!

We leave these false pretenses so that only serve as evidence of bad phrasemongers. And against all the reasons that I could rely on claims that writing does not need reasons. And we do not talk about the inspiration that should flow like a beneficent and unpredictable source. If need to write will wait for the right of this hysterical, the wait would be long gold of time.

My feeling, as modest as singular, is that writing is born of a desire for words, "write" is rooted in a crucial gap: desert of the page or screen, ignorance of being challenged to write. Being full written poorly. When the emotion carries or freezes, that the words rush in his head, battalion tidy, this creature is no longer master of what he writes. It darkens the pages, it can even get to finish a book, he does not write.

is to join a vacuum of ignorance that everything is at stake. Malaise brewing ... .. a kind of confused disarray. Seated at my table, I pitched a little: no subject, no connection, nothing to say. In fact I did not say but write. In the silence of others, when they finally cease their vile talk, their words are dispersed by the wind window, finally returns to silence as the least bad solution. That's when white page stands, accomplice of nothing to cross, seeming to tell him who wrote: "You're not alone, I'm equally." The other shrugs shoulders through the eternal: "I have nothing to say, nothing to write either," yet he goes to the first line, the first word. This one, cracked in the night match, illuminates his fingers, leaving his life in the shadows. The man goes, he does not know. It will notice when behind him, walked the path will be enough! He started writing, not too fast to avoid tripping or too slowly so the match does not go out on the road, burning his fingers, sometimes the heart.

Writing, exercise deprivation is based solely on itself. Neither news conciliatory ride or fiction to disguise, no posterity awaits the man who wrote, in his essential emptiness, he help of words to stand up.

Rosy Cheeks On My Baby

Tramway de Casablanca, lancement des travaux - Casablanca tramway

7 Weeks Pregnant Feeling Bubbles

Pills overtaken by suspicion

Pills overtaken by suspicion.

Strange rumors lurking around for a few months pharmaceutical companies. Their deposits in closed boxes arrive, unpacked, they exhibit multicolored powders. Contributed Nickel strings very Germanic, they emerge tablets or pills. They then provides documents and then they are locked in bottles or cans which are punched one of these common names, so close that they are part of the family: our dear antibiotics, our brave anti-rheumatic Our delicious antidepressants, and then the others: those who make us bend or who because of our hot flashes. Shortly thereafter, the goods shipped by truck, headed for the pharmacies in Europe or elsewhere.

Up is all very normal. But the rumor does not arise for the usual, if there is that there are unusual, the rotten, the indecent, brief information.

Before their arrival at the depot, the cartons were stationed on the banks of Delhi and Shanghai, and then they took the sea and kept him longer. Pills and tablets are expatriates: born Chinese or Indians, they became European without penalty or visa, by the grace of a trade that is anything but fair: he so good manufacture its products ten times cheaper for a great matador of the pharmaceutical industry! And then, what harm is there to help countries emerging from their command of a few kilos of powder for pills to become! is where the rumor went further: the powder is fake, toxic substances are inadvertently pointing the nose ... or need to make weight? Curious ingredients, not always exotic, keep watch of the hollow capsules: tar, resin, silicone, what else?

firms outsource their merchandise in cheap countries, countries with low threshold, firms ask few questions. After this chain of casual, the goods are put on sale in pharmacies whose caduceus flashing through the streets of London, Paris or Berlin. Born Indian, Chinese or Malay, renamed European Medicines are pure-bred, by the grace of a positive discrimination before any dividends.

The rumor hit the gates of the laboratories, received by a public relations officer, a young technocrat plastic smile: traceability products? In a decree absolute transparency he behind her smile. Ten minutes later, the transparent veils; pushed into a corner, the officer admits that he does not know the exact origin of products. Traceability on the run for multinational mafia.

Disappointed by the plastic smile of amphetamines, the rumor decides to go further. In the slums of Delhi, a camera intrudes in a cut to the dank, the powder is mixed in a nickel machine off. Origin? Eastern Europe, finest hour? Long before the Wall fell. Used machine sold to the natives of Eastern India by "comrades" to the humanism of junk.

front of the mixer in question, a man stands. Gray shirt, bare hands, he smiles at the camera while the mixer kneads ...

China, India, Black Africa, these factories subcontracting to dissect the world of dying Wrapped vessels and produce toxic powders destined to become drugs.

What the poor to the rich prepare their potions, this proves that the transfer of technology has changed direction! Say that potions are concocted in mixers of the poor, the thing is inevitable, but the mixers to distill traces of tar, nickel or arsenic that is that goes wrong in "o'clock news." Who is the blame? Good faith that poor chickens or residue from the mixer? The approximation was concern on the part of emerging markets that have not yet emerged in the fresh air of scientific rigor, one that floats in the cities of Europe, over the exhaust from cars!

Back to Delhi leaves reduces the rumor, the man closed his door. The camera puts the finishing touch images for a string of good quality and the same evening, a righteous indignation is recorded by polls, then the rumor goes sniff other carrion. At the bottom of their plants to flawless facades, pharmaceutical companies pack their capsules no qualms ... life, long quiet river, does not finish his horror spoof ordinary.

Leg Pain And Lung Pain

Being syphilis in Guatemala. History

Being syphilis in Guatemala.

no mistake, this is not the title of one of these documentaries mid-humanitarian, half-alien whose TV channels we gorge. It is more prosaically from information published on 4 October in the newspaper Le Monde: Obama has apologized to his colleague from Guatemala who was received with coldness the United States had committed in his country a crime against humanity. How is it humanity? Clearly a guatemaltèse humanity. As for the crime, it goes far back in history: 1940, not yesterday. The world was shaken by a war between powerful last they have made "home" .... for all others, they went out like we send these kids play in the street to leave the house tidy.

Back in Guatemala between 1946 and 1948, the U.S. military inoculated to 696 indigenous syphilis: in chronological order the bacillus is injected to prostitutes, common criminals , the military and finally mad. Why you say? Oh very honorable test the effects of penicillin on the famous "Treponema pallidum". In that case, why Guatemala? Because the trial began in a penitentiary American Federal has not mustered enough "volunteers" when we looked elsewhere and Guatemalans, magnanimous, offered their bodies to science ... to free them. In sum, syphilis guatemaltèse was the only one that caught without couplings and resisted condoms.

Since that time the infamous story sank: adult in 1947, had inoculated passing away of old age or syphilis, they have allowed the medical use of penicillin in any Security and heal those who came after, in short to accomplish its mission to always save lives. To reach the haven of that medicine is supposed to never lose sight it took him a tiny detour by 696 Guatemalans. Full detour, she had blurred vision so that these unfortunate 696 went by the wayside. Not seen, just realized, human beings? Hardly! From flesh to syphilis. Between cannon fodder and fodder syphilis, is a fine line. In both cases, when survives, waits treatment, penicillin or other medicine ... houses its immorality under the usual mask of charity that sanctifies.

If the American process had the merit of his awful simplicity, other examples exist, most mornings, nearly recoverable: the first batch of vaccine against hepatitis B has been sent one African black business purely humanitarian. ...

Be serious! Inoculating of the healthy living bacilli or bits of inactivated virus, is a darkly criminal procedure. The volunteers have shown no will, no doubt Were "volontarisés" by any prize notification or remission; misery can tip in the first precipice come.

Beyond those sobering news items, the problem is broader. Ultimately what is it? Make us sick to heal us. Although not as straightforward as syphilis Guatemalan, the method is now so widespread that it becomes banal. "Fall ill, we'll do the rest", nice motto for the society in which we are enlisted as calves! See what that life pressed us to swallow : these sandwiches on the go, these pizzas generously sprayed with hot oil, these candies galore to escape the shot bar or watching the boredom that gnaws. Gave us life, then we kills. One morning we discovered that overweight the first one is surprised at the blood test requested by a doctor friend, all indicators are red, we push the door of a specialist A half hour later you come out, mine leaded: blood pressure galloping the wrong way, cholesterol is too high, blood sugar too sweet ... wobbly legs we head towards the nearest pharmacy.

the way we light a cigarette, barely a third of the day, it was two packets. It must be said that it was last century, it was twenty years, all moods went through the tunnel end of nicotine, tar and other excrement. And how to resist the image of Bogart, cigarette in mouth, a beautiful creature in the arm, (Was it Lauren Baccall?). It must be said that tobacco companies have done their job, those bastards knew all the risks of their wares carefully recorded in documents stashed in the depths of their conscience. Today was short of breath and spit his lungs every morning. Never mind, the chest physiotherapy is there, beneficial and reimbursed by social security.

inoculated, get sick, treat the sequence is well established. But it is sometimes insidious inoculations, totally unfair, you did nothing for, no vice, no faux pas! Set in an ordinary life hot, you look at the info: A virus has reapplied on a long haul, it happens to you; deus weeks later you're told to get vaccinated, if your diabetes is going to sweeten Your heart will swell like a pumpkin, who knows if you're still there in spring ... . You run to the vaccine, strip your forearm. Three months after we changed his mind, the thing was not so serious, as against the vaccine is new, you've been a guinea pig ... But unlike syphilis in Guatemala, you will receive no treatment, just wait and hope that this vaccine had no side effects. If so, prompt diagnosis is guaranteed to you, who knows we may even go so far as to apologize!

Denise Milanifacebook

goose

Stories goose.

You remember this curious news story, reported by some media, last winter? Let me remind you, was so little fun with the news!

This starts as a story: one morning in January, in the mist of the Hungarian countryside, trails lead to lost a few farms where villagers prudes and sober living and dying on the spot. The city is far away, they plow their fields and raising geese. Yet that morning, a disturbing noise springs from the depths of a hangar, is spread from one farm to another, the quiet countryside in the morning chirping.

Hungary joined the European patchwork, but this campaign has nothing at all integrated, it is not on any map, the roads do not lead men and frozen in a life of silence do not care to belong to this or that; they are driven by destitution, their master forever. Behind the closed doors of warehouses, they renew obscure tasks. Yet this morning, the squeals were rounded up foreigners, waves journalists seeking anything that would be good to say, annoying, and "not invited" to push the door, discard eyes, pointing their cameras out their indignation mingled with shrieks of "You saw?" of "oh no, it's not possible!" For a couple of shots , foreigners are going: they came for the material, they got it, the rest do not look not, then it stinks awfully in this shed. The car that took them off again, the villagers close their doors, the evil eye, at the bottom screeching started again.

The next evening, a French channel broadcasts information stuck between "the Australian Open" and the risk of avalanche in the depths of the Hungarian countryside, geese are plucked bright , the animals squeal like damned, farmers continue to pluck. The journalist is his smile "three thirds" third amused, the other plainly indignant about the remaining third it does not care, it does its job, two more minutes of air before the weather, the presenter added: "subject to the laws of physiology, geese have no other recourse but to repeat and feathers be plucked again and again. During his life, the same goose feather can be up to five times before dying of old age or pain ... "

What the tenor of the news does not say is that the simple villagers do not do that for fun: After the feathers after the trail, there is a paved road which starts the Europe of 20 September, there stands a truck that eats bags of feathers like popcorn, then flows into a hangar where very clean officiate and two technicians, masked and gloved. After a string of very sophisticated, feathers left their bags and comforters soft cheap on a small device which affix the stamp of the European Union, "natural warmth, unbeatable prices," says the promo ;; in their quilts, feathers begin a life rich.

geese Plumer brightly, that is a tiny barbarism that will not make headlines, even the 'Don Quixote' of the animal protection not lift a finger for such a story: the goose is lowest ratings of the humanitarian, this is not a dolphin or a seal, it is not popular with hunters, is not salivating gourmets. Some even use it to refer to some silly white female whose opulent forms conceal a freshness of mind bordering on infantilism. Seriously, no association would agree to fly to the rescue of geese it would lose all credibility with patrons, or the need to fetch the goose called the bottom of a lost season, with bad weather and roads that glide! And if one were to count all those that is being abused for no reason and screaming, squealing or die around the world, humanitarian associations placed end to end would be insufficient to the task, though God knows all the goodwill that these associations are making to address land geese of all kinds! After all, Europe is the guardian angel of the world, she has enough to do with Sept. 20 countries and their citizens each squeal in his idiom, besides all the geese do not squeal, some are fleeced without flinching.

In cities, landed balances and indicators are green: crowded stores, prying eyes, discount unimaginable, even the circus for years, craving the same objects , expertly maintained, indestructible. Before the funds, geese wriggling insert their card into a reader, sign an invoice to a salesperson's smile controller and go, dragging behind them a huge packet; on their side of an air fleet biped smug: they come to afford pure feather duvet, sold off twenty per cent of its original price. Excellent deal.