Tag: literature

Self-medication in the Black more. flows all around me Now I have reached the age when their own unusual events become merely a pretext for the memories My trip to the sea in 1982 and would be unremarkable event, if it had not appeared in my very first holiday in the south. Celebrity trainer may not feel the same. (Copyright history) 13-year-old boy, the blazing sun, sandy beaches, have never been seen before me, a girl in a bikini (though to me then it was of little interest), and friendly Sea. After a week off then I dove in with rapanom breakwater and struck a jellyfish. She slid from the neck to toe, I flew to the surface like a diver in the film were fired backwards: their feet up and immediately was on the breakwater. Dad immediately understood everything, grabbed me, and for eight minutes, ran to our house.

I had something like a light shock, and I could not say a word. Lay me down in bed and concealing cool cover, together with his mother rushed to find at least some medical care. I'm in the same breath udumal heal itself and pain crept into the cupboard. 'A good cognac, Ya-decided-will by the way. " One-third of the bottle, I simply poured himself for a moment and sat down to write an explanatory note to his parents at every fire.

Twenty minutes later, Dad came running from The doctor from a nearby nursing home, 'stings', that is, I was lying on the floor in shorts and a red back tightly drunk and happy something with a smile, apparently the pain departed. Note that was written in neat letters at first, and then giant squiggles lay on the table (little note to this day lies in a box with my documents). This is what it nakalyakano: 'Dad and Mom! I started to treat myself myself, you do not bezpOkoytis I fSyal Lida (owner rented the house) konyak and I drank it when I I bduu absaltyuno zdrovO___ '(on this note ends with a true mind and thoughts for the influence of brandy was separated from the body, giving him stupid to fall on the wooden floor). The doctor examined me sleepy, I'm sure the morning will be as fresh cucumber and ejected. In the morning I got up at exactly 10:00 am, nothing never hurt, even if stung by a jellyfish places. This one time, by the way, when the morning I do not suffer from gadskogo hangover. You will be able to read and other funny stories and stories: 'How in the usa have come up to fight pirates'.

Thus, the perpetual search for the ideal love can be seen of formaintensa in its words, something of course human, but that nor all have aousadia of externalizar. To love and to be loved are so profcuo how much the existence daalma that it feeds the proper body, and when the absence if makes destrio gift purer smile of joy. This absence calls solitude, caracterizadapor a deep pain, phobia, incompletude, emptiness, blackout and desistance. It is perceived in its workmanship, mainly the published ones apartir of 1918 the 1930, the predominance for the use of soneto. Inside of metric and estrfica this pequenafrmula, it if feels to the will to transmit the suaperturbante and shady place interioridade. Its poetry is of one of flagrantesexemplos of poetry ' ' viva' ' , therefore it is born, vibrates and if she feeds of the real seumuito human case; of its too much porventura human case. According to Oliveira (1987: 50) are sing in it of love that Florbelaconstri poetical its more good made in the mixture of sadness and ternura, auto-complacencia pain ede, pranto and idyllic projection, of vocaoabenoada disaster and of, been born this I sing of a spoiled possibility and compensated pelanostalgia whose weakness and whose force comes of the fatality determines that it, as sepode to observe throughout verses of the poem ' ' Cantigas takes them ovento' ' of Florbela. The souvenir of your Inda kisses in minh' sad soul, As one has perfumed lost, In leves of a sad book. (…) Amar to who in them disdains sina that people have. Later, Oliveira (1987: 51) affirm despite atravsdos sad verses florbeliano, notice it dither of the directions, the doamor anxiety, the delirium of the meat, the ternura, the passion, the volpia, in linguagemdesinibida that it surpasses the hypocrisy and the conventions, poetry without precedentesentre the Portuguese, with egoistic tonalities however, however of a same sublimeabnegao of itself.