Meaning Behind Holocaust Symbol

Corresponding

Letter from an old fart at a young con

Stulturum Infinitus est ": The number of cons is infinite, liked to repeat King Solomon. Yes, but all the idiots are not stored in one basket. Overall, the best minds es bullshit like to distinguish two categories: young and old farts.

Whitening in harness, I agree without hesitation under the banner of old age. So why write to a younger con? Well I'll tell you, to paraphrase a small dynamic fifties, who wants it and has lots of ticks.

Firstly, I would have liked to have seen such a missive sent me when I myself was young and stupid. Already alerted me to the danger of too listen to the speech of any recurring old fart who respects: it was better before. Ah, it was better before! This phrase has always been used as a yardstick of bullshit aging. It is served with any sauce.

Piochon at random: In time, they knew fun. Want So! Danced to rock and it was dragging on ballads. Now, you dance alone, as mindless, a melodious electronic music as an electro cardiogram. Charles you speak! For older morons, remember the twist. It flickered solo jerking with force, as St. Vitus dance, with lyrics that could pass for Carlos Annie Cordy and authors of the Pleiades.

And most importantly, our time, we knew fun without getting high on gin and red bull or ecstasy. We knew how to live, we, young assholes! You surprise me Simone! It was known mostly die in atrocious suffering, coming out of corners like stuffed box, sitting in the back of a Golf GTI driven by an alien in charge of beer breath and cannabis resin. The firefighters had only to recover the body of the dead, seated at the right hand of God steering wheel, and two or three burns to the chest down, spitting blood in rhythm with the cassette of Boney M, sole survivor carnage.

No, remain serious. Boney M, still happening, but a Golf GTI, it never. No question of leaving the softness of a DS, or even an ID 19 for most of laïcards snobs! In our time, the alpha and omega a successful youth was to do everything to not look like anyone: a black moped when fashion was at Motley motorcycles, when the Stones were 4 boys in the wind, Lou Reed when the vane was pointing to Mick Jagger. In cinema, it was worse ... The art and essay, LOUD please. Man Atlantic, Marguerite Duras, Pierrot le fou at the boundary and a deep contempt for boulevarderies belmondiennes or lelouchiennes. All this to get to read together and that's all best sellers by Anna Gavalda, a distracted eye, the other being busy watching old branchouillerie canalplusienne continue in trendy circles. We cut the Ardisson and then push the string on the dark glasses of our sleepless nights. Ah, it looks smart to berate our kids happily sheep, Facebook band.

And the worst part is that these young con whoop and dance remixes of our finest kitcheries Abba, cloc-clo. Why not Maxime Le Forestier, Angel Starshooter or for that matter? Bastards of young assholes!



Finally, it is true that it was better before! Well, this one last apple that young people do not pirate and I returned to the terrace give red meat to my plants.



Me FOLAC

Uncencored Brazillian Wax

Epistolary nothing

Letter from Jean-Marie de Sevigne Orcesson world varieties

I have no particular inclination to melancholy music. In these days of an Indian summer when the sun burns its last rays of youth before inclining his body tanned to a fall in which blood is chill, where we start walking when the countryside whitens, my thoughts are elsewhere . Oh, how I talk about books fell off the bedside rather than to alert you of the decline of the song French. You talk about the faces of young women, languid bath in a custom-sea, near the shore of a Greek island, unless it is the Italian Riviera or a Bali night to celebrate life on the ashes the deceased Rajas.

But now, the wealth of rhymes, Hervé Vilard, Barbelivien Didier, Jean-Pierre Francois or C Jerome will soon be played in an imaginary theater of shadows flickering. The brutality of a world forcing us to the vulgarity of new stars escaped by a miracle of any academy forces me to leave my ivory tower to alert you of the decline French variety. Singing in French today is a challenge, sure. "Stirb und werde," Goethe said. You must die to be reborn. Yes but then a slow death, a long and full of delicious agony towards half full. Those, of Hugo, Hervé Vilard


"We, that is an illusion dies
one laugh in the heart"

As Marguerite Duras returned to lucidity and alcohol, I like to let me win the gentle melancholy music by Herve Vilard. Marguerite Duras, sublime, sublime necessarily, when launched, premonitory his young student lover May 68 "Capri, c'est fini." With his turtleneck, it gave substance to the prophecy Jouhandeau launched by fighters of the barricades in May: "Go home!" In ten years you will all notaries ... "

"Why the silence, why this big empty when I think of us.
It was a challenge at times, the spring before the spring"

Thanks Herve. Thank you for holding on in our long night of fog this musical candle beautiful and fragile as ancient Rome. I know, none of your preferred shooting star that the star was Jean-Pierre Francois and his meteoric "I will survive".

"Ah, there is a star that died
It will turn elsewhere."

As the Queen died of Henry Montherlant ultimate bulwark against the invasion of eternal ugliness, meanness, of stupidity and boredom, Jean-Pierre Francois came as an angel green, grime dark cauldron of football for light plateaux of Guy Lux fiat lux ... There's Rimbaud at Jean-Pierre Francois. It has all the audacity:


"In Chinese mirrors, in the eyes of a cat
I will survive"


Rimbaud did I say? That Jean-Pierre François feverish, as Verlaine


"In anonymous nights where I lose my body, I will survive
"

Even if its drift Sarkozyist is obvious, it should be frankly muzzle to ignore pen, light and fresh, Didier Barbelivien. "It's an epicurean al'imagination Catholic or Vendée", told him Sainte-Beuve. Romanian Cioran chose to speak in a language that honors and reveres: French. Didier Barbelivien is in this line, even he sought the light of the spotlight when looking Cioran darkness, fearing the plague as any form of recognition, documentation of major curse. "Elsa", sung by Didier Barbelivien is probably the synthesis of light and shadow, between ice and fire:


"Elsa
The rides Berlin turned in your arms,
The song sailors wept in your voice,
I remember those eyes,
Half blue, lilac halves, Fine
like an operatic aria "

As often, unfortunately, side is missing it should look the best. Nobody has to admire Jerome C, as nobody should be forced to worship Chateaubriand. And yet, for one as for the other, it is a style for eternity. We must revive our memories from beyond the grave and these verses was chased by Jerome


"I'm bad about myself, I want to go
,
There is always a slow,
To I steal your smile "


Since C Jerome, Chateaubriand knew about life, his passions. "Her skirt was short, her bodice ripped, she walked bent and arms crossed. His eyes were black, half opened his mouth to breathe. It made him want to tell her the roses. " The same torments wave C Jerome when Danielle goes ...


"This time that's it, Danielle is going, finished
It's like a cobra bite, the j'vous say"


Then, of course, to discuss the decline of French song, I could call to the witness stand trial braillers and braille from today's beautiful and famous figures, such as Claude Francois, Daniel Guichard, Dave, Gerald Levert, Jacquie Quartz, Mike Brandt or Joe Dassin.
the evening of my life, I just want to finish this letter by quoting the words of Dalida and Alain Delon. If I had to choose, I would like to echo these lines written in Rome you meet him in Athens. On the ruins as beautiful as the words that follow, eternal:

"You are the beautiful love story that I never stop reading,
You're like the wind to sing the violins and carries off the scent of pink
You are to me the only music that makes the stars dance on the dunes "


Jean-Marie de Sevigne Orcesson


PS: Guy Carlier not sing. And it's a shame, otherwise it could have been included in my pantheon of great French music. Before dipping his pen often talented in the ridiculous vitriol from the foam media for days, Guy Carlier offered the young Melody this little jewel of beautiful letters
"There's not that big dream, there's no the great who have feelings
He teaches me the names of the stars at the top of cathedrals
He plays the music of hope, his piano weeps tears of ivory

Wooden Clock Free Plans

's letter to his children Guy Mollet

While the young Nicolas S. tenant ai 55 Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré in the 8th in Paris, requires reading the letter by Guy Mocquet to his parents, us, curious sailors whose habit of making sentences, hope it is replaced by that of Guy Mollet's children. This letter has been read two years ago in a rugby tournament in Nantes (Loire-Less), by a designer but nonchalant talented, who has a daily called the Lightning of its heyday.

Me FOLAC

's letter to his children Guy Mollet

My dear children, when you read this letter, I do will be more - and quite frankly it leaves me froid.Vous can not imagine what I endured with such a name. Guy again, I'm not saying you can live with. Guy Take the Lightning, including a large newspaper Nantes still bears the name, or Guy Béart Guy Bedos, Guy Drut, Guichard, Guigou, Johnny Guitar, Yannick Guin, and even let us not mince words, Guy Mollet Lorant ... But, I ask you a bit! As the egg of the same name, my political destiny was mapped out: neither too cooked or too raw, not fried or hard, just soft. Victim in 1969 of the infamous barbarity of Mitterrand, died with me all hope of big night, breaking with capitalism, dictatorship of the proletariat, and even let us love one another, how would Ségolène or multiplication of the loaves, as recently wrote gueule.En Jospin in a word, the Social Democrats. I know, that makes two words, but with the Socialists, are we not entitled to expect still more? Besides, do you know why social democracy is the only tolerable diet? Because there is no example in the world, dictatorship Social Democrats (except in Nantes, but here it matters not, it's a pilot). No, I do not wish on my worst Mollet known enemy. And even less Tongs, incidentally. I will spare you the go ahead mollo Molay and other at the stake ... Since Philip the Fair, the annals of Congress socialists are full of these little phrases that hurt the French, and divert the real debate participatif.Non, to paraphrase Lawrence Fabius.Remarquez well, I could call me Edith Cresson that it was not easy either. Or Bernard Tapie. Or Jacques Faizant or Paris Hilton, that which derives at Courtepaille.Et then it is wrong to mock the name of gens.C is why, I tell you the truth, as might have said Segolene, have in this solemn moment a thought for our loved ones: my heart hugging each other at the mention of their names ... Jean Jaures, well known antique Nantes, Leon Blum, Pierre Mendes-France, Gaston Deferre, Pierre Beregovoy, Francois de Grossouvre, Roger-Patrice Pelat, Jean-Christophe Mitterrand ... And even more recently, Dalida, Sevran Pascal, Jean-Marie Bockel, Bernard Kouchner, Jack Lang! Ah! Loved ones! Enter here with your cortege of black Safrane! And let you look through the generations, including one wonders who will pay the pensions. But the past do coffee table, as oft repeated Jack Lang in plundering the Mobilier National - Jack Lang, which can not be overstated what he did for design and variety stores merguez sausage when summer comes . And then the young, eh, one wonders if the calf it still means something to them, apart from which inflates under the shorts to inform the midget fat ass of Hungarian origin. But that's another story ... Go small!

Whereof Guy Mollet

How To Make A Piano With Cake

Epistolary nothing ABC Restoration

names were obviously invented, and resemblance to any reality is purely coincidental ...

Open Letter to Ali Bongo Jean Sarkozy

My dear John, a tire of the Embassy of France tells me the ugly controversy that you are a victim. The arms drop me! As the saying goes Gabon, the value waiting not the number of years. I want to assure you of my full support in this test (Speaking of Total, my GR card no longer works and I have a drop in my Mercedes. As Total headquartered in defense, if you could speak, I you'll be grateful ...).
is true: to make a Last Name is hard! My father Omar, who was democratically reelected in 41 years, independently, often spoke to Mr. Foccart, then Mr. Papamadit: What Will it make my little Ali after my death?
Journalists, sold mostly to the opposition, do not understand the need for stability demanded by the people. Especially when it has the chance to be guided by a supreme leader, bright. And democracy does not matter. Look at North Korea's Kim dynasty is inspiring! And even when people leave the choice to elect his daddy, bong blood can not lie. The United States elected George W Bush before we shoot Dabeliou spinning, just to put some order into the game balls in Baghdad.
No, hang in there my dear Jean. You are legitimate. You are worn by people in a difficult district for the right, in Neuilly-sur-Seine, where the night prowl dangerous factions villepino-chiraco-Zapatistas ! You greet your father, who has replaced the great Jacques in our heart (he has no son this one?). And remember, I have on my credit card Total ...

Purloined Letter and maybe even invented by Mr. FOLAC, notary
in Lower Loire