What Kind Of Dress Do You Wear To A Military Ball

expects nothing nothing nothing

expects nothing expect nothing from nothing passes the time, neither expect nothing and wrote tirelessly releasing think that it would write if he does not let up does not relax or so knows a little more waiting at the corner watching the street or seen since the second pane from his window would sometimes not well up the street would love sometimes does not go down the street but it is so beautiful the rue du Cherche-midi is said that people are not so interesting that it said it could not live without it is lonely but not alone is always a little more than the time before but does not know when it was good anyway so it works well on digital paper would prefer been born earlier or later not now says it's always like that nobody ever born at the right time or else it's very rare to say it's very rare to say that in any case which is very rare unless this would be the opposite or reverse unless it is the opposite is said that it is the opposite of what the opposite does not know either observed in the corner and across the second pane of the window of truth or its opposite or its opposite knows that the opposite and the inverse is also still working on on every day at least once every day at least walking paces gravity does not géostationne n 'exaggerates not presentable is not just smart in his pants even especially wine-dandy no it is not finite can be dandy for the full three pieces are manufactured in China to the chain by hand too small to be seen door is simply smart rotates around an axis in the heart of saint germain saint germain still hates saint germain saint germain loves knows that all life's like that hate and love, adoration and love anyway this is how not avoided

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Mario Giacomelli at the Italian Cultural Institute, Paris

In Giacomelli, everything is black or white. There is no middle ground, and it is a virtue. Everything is either black or white, but this is not the world it is, but images. Photography dealing with the world as whole. However, this relationship is trivial. If there is something that Giacomelli photographs show us is that talk about the world is trivial, that is also essential. The world is not black or white, but photography, yes. It is a statement about the photograph, not the world. In the photograph, whatever might be said the author, the world is still remote, or even not at all: missing - re-measure by photography. This gives some reason when they say there is not one world but many worlds, many worlds, and that are made. The world does not exist. It is not black or white. There is no realism. Just see photograhs Mario Giacomelli definitively to be convinced.

Nothing is as powerful as its Storie terra: History of the Earth (1960-1980) , whose hanging here allows an overall view, a synoptic view of these views dives from sky to earth. Green, brown, their nuances and the other colors are magnified by the simple dialogue between black and white. The scenery, by the perception that its geometry is given, sets its geography and history. Single trees or small groups in the middle of plowed fields, signs and traces of nature as she is domesticated, the stories become stories of land men who worked. It is here that the photograph is the strongest because the subject is everywhere present while being absent.

And then we see differently Io non ho series mani che mi volto accarezzino it: I have no hands to caress my face (1961-1963) because it shows beyond the priests who dance, play, smoke, live, absence, solitude. The absence of God or, perhaps, a woman, perhaps. But is not this the same thing?

Scanno in the series (1957-1959) There, on the contrary, an apparition: the child that looks like an angel or a ghost, he looks more dead than old black and he looks walking hands firmly in the pockets the photographer the objective. There should be a clairvoyant to know what he tells us, if only it has something to say. Regardless of his word. He will be jellyfish.

It's a different look but we freezes as well as that of the disabled in the series Lourdes (1957) . Here is the black holes in the face, mouth and eyes. Black holes that appear grouffres bottomless. It is both color and pain - all the colors of the world and all the sorrows of the world are engulfed. Three circles in a triangle above the disjointed members, arms and feet - especially the feet. Especially the feet that intersect at the option of involuntary movements of the wheelchair. Especially the feet - tasks purely black. The black color and swallows explains better than any light in the world's pain. Black swallow all the colors of the world and shows all the sorrows of the world. There, in the eyes and feet, on a wheelchair at Lourdes, where God is conspicuously absent.

Everything is either black or white there is no middleman. Everything is either black or white. There is no subject. The subject is the absence.

Photo: Mario Giacomelli, Storie di Terra (Earth Stories ), 1970. silver gelatin print. © Courtesy Archivo Mario Giacomelli, Senigallia. Collection Maison Europeenne de la Photographie, Paris.

Velicityvon Wikipedia

School's out, or ... almost

While students have emptied the last scene for two long months, is the perfect time to return to school and talk about the best job in the world (next to the oldest): Professor. Magnificent priesthood, teaching, acclaimed in theory and in practice poorly lived, is proving the perfect material for a writer multiforme. The school as a field of literary investigation, BS Johnson, and Sattouf Bégaudeau are stuck there, in styles, with objectives and outcomes for the less contrasted. Review copy immediately.

BS Johnson, British writer, moved with Albert Angelo, a reading corrosive and funny engaging the school world. Albert Albert (surname of the teacher in a snub to the Humbert Humbert of Nabokov), works hard at a college in suburban London. Her students excel in indiscipline, incompetence him. While it is not recovering from her breakup with his girlfriend, he navigates between drinking at the local pub and being very "personal" to her dear head bungs (and hard). Written in 1962, when the Beatles sang Hard Day's Night, Albert Angelo turns breathtaking modernity, as if the tough guys today that were replicas of the rooms of kids 60s. If the myth of idyllic Sixties takes a sudden slump in the education we used daily in the media (and literature) seems less hopeless. Johnson, while exploding the narrative codes, excels in transcribing the atmosphere and insolent schoolboy College, the chattering class fund and thoughts of a geek teacher who finally gets bored much as his flock. In an apocalyptic geology courses (bravura literary), the reader is near the radiator to hear jokes about Mr Albert and gossip from the sideboard behind her ear, but also near the table to gather the thoughts of the teacher (in this part of the novel, the pages are divided vertically, between words and thoughts of students of the teacher). "No, shhh, we will capture Albert. -Fuck ... "That is what the hell? You believe that? Silence! You, over there, what's on that piece of paper that amuses you so? Standing, will recover. Standing, shit, I caning, not surprisingly, the name of god ... "

With a rough and ready language, we discover not the thoughts of students (it is all spent, it was therefore memories, and then the child king in the center of the narrative, it starts to do well), but those of the teacher. The boundaries of the ethics faculty are trampled. Albert J. Albert kids facies ("orange sweater, too small, soft hair, dirty, distorted mouth"), imagines a family atmosphere ("Two kids in the same year? The damn had to quickly lay to two in one year. She had to raise the return of menses), he briefly turns a thousand times more insolent than the teenagers that "educates". If subversion ago to write about the world of school, it is hardly expected in the stripping of the curses of students (and their rebelliousness eventually classical), but in the psyche of a man who never left school, and that far from having lost his reflexes rude schoolboy has, however, advanced.

the other side of the chessboard and literary school (closer in time and agreed to treat) is The Class Francis Bégaudeau. Prison with its title, this novel delves into the daily life of a fourth class, its difficulties in communicating, conflicting reports the kids (mostly immigrant) have with the French language. Hyperrealist some say Between the walls, and non-fiction essay on the educational world, is characterized mainly by its absence or decline of perspective and his "serious" very first level. We observe what awaits. We hear the speech of a stereotypical teacher, without verve. Of those who bored us when our backs were on the benches of those same schools. From a material that requires a stylization to exist outside the "walls" Bégaudeau merely a chronological narrative and demonstrative, almost academic. Taboos of Education, teachers' frustrations, all subjects flown without ever entering the flesh, the guts back, attacking the bone, with greed or bad faith.

As Sattouf Riad, the eternal teenager, he also delivered a version of school (and illustrated). Back to College with , he plunges into the life of a third class (it reminds me of a pitch ...) where girls are plagues in power, the boys obsessed sexual abstinence, and the names of birds are flying like balls of paper on top of desks. Far from finding economic and social Bégaudeau (suburb and its horrors), Sattouf infiltrates a Parisian institution well in all respects. Taking the pulse of a more golden youth and teachers well in their shoes, it updates the mechanisms for the teen universe. Neuilly, Saint Denis, (almost) the same battle. We may deplore his vision too angelic, but Sattouf talk shows that school is not necessarily a pessimistic way of the cross. Reading is even more gratifying.

In 1964, Bryan Stanley Johnson was taking literary liberties to denounce a system educational breathless and absurd. In 2003, Riad Sattouf pinned universal mores of teenagers, with great bursts of humorous bumpers. In 2006, Francis Bégaudeau wears a white writing to defend the school and the language of Molière. Forty years between the U.S. and the Frenchies, during which the concrete situation of the school has not really changed its course, but when literature, it has sometimes lost its luster and creativity to reinvent the world education. Fortunately some still manage to laugh at it, the better to dramatize and can be change.

Albert Angelo by BS Johnson (Quidam Publisher)

The Class Francis Bégaudeau (Folio) Back to College Riad Sattouf (Hachette Books)

Posted on: Snatch Magazine

Free Movies Online Mario Salieri

Océanerosemarie the invisible lesbian

Sorpiona Who? Why hetero female becomes lustful after midnight? How to be cool in Pulp? All these questions are answered in The Lesbian invisible, one-woman show at Theater of Limelight. If you like girls, you can go. If you are a heterosexual who likes bitchage, this show is for you. If you're just a hyena laugh who wants his fill, draw your route street Saulnier. Meeting with Océanerosemarie Express, a lesbian damn hair. Rather

Rosemarie or ocean?

Oceane is my real name, Rose and Mary, my 2 and 3 ^{e e} names. So while I stuck! This is my coming out the most resounding, to assume my other names. The real outing, he is on it.

Rather benches the faculty or board of Theatre?

Both! I did a lot of theater as a kid. I went over Simon during high school. After 4 years I have done in modern literature. I have the pleasure of writing, reading, and then I'm also a singer for 10 years. I write my songs, so the real fun is writing.

Rather theater one-man show?

Initially I'm pretty scene. I know very little about the world of One-Man. I am a big fan of Julie Ferrier is a bit which made me want it, we could see how things funny and smart. I knew Desproges Coluche the classics, but this is not really my culture. It's been ten years since I was a singer and I just want to play again. I thought it would be easier to be alone with just one director (Murielle Magellan). I wondered what I could talk. And since nobody was talking about female homosexuality, I launched. I worked on writing with Karine Dubernet making the One. So it was more by inference than by vocation.

Rather Biba or Horse magazine?

The mix of both for understanding the complexity of being, a mix of "girl" and "I want to climb on big beasts and let them do whatever I want." At the same time I have on my advice foundation. In fact, I do not read neither one nor the other. But I've been subscribed to Horse Magazine at my great age of rider!

Rather Mylène Farmer and Patricia Kaas?

is horrible as a question rather Kaas, that big voice, she is a unmanly. It made me laugh to speak of her as a lesbian when she is perfectly straight poor. It has something masculine and then I like the side to singer voice. Farmer it does not talk to me too, these Gothic universe, evanescent, like "I'll die '... I never understood the excitement around it. Rather

football or rugby? Rather

football. This is one of the few big lies in the show. I've never signed up for a football club. Both times I've played I've hurt myself, I'm too girl. But the World Cup finals I can look. While rugby there is no hope.

Rather fringed skirt or pants?

It depends. I have a cupboard with two sides, one side girl and a boy side. With that of girls shoes and dresses a side and pants and the other large pumps.

Rather claimant or invisible?

Invisible crisis claim. I do not want to be the spokesperson for lesbians in France, but in any case it bothers me not to try to change attitudes gently and with humor.

Your show, rather autobiographical or fictional?

Very autobiographical digressions with stories I was told. I've stolen stuff representative. The mother said "Girl, you're not that ugly, why no boy would want you? "This is not my mother but that of a girlfriend. I still greatly exaggerated. Chrysanthemum (a character in the show) do not really like that name, however I must admit that his way of making love I have not abused!

Rather, ale?

I am very open! We can not know what will happen to us. I have been very dark for years and now I'm with a blonde. It is immune to anything! Rather

or Virginia Woolf Despentes?

I like both. On the artistic point of view, Virginia Woolf, but from a perspective of ideas, claims, I really like that defends Despentes. King Kong theory is a bit of a bedside book. She said the important things. I like his way of being feminist. She goes a bit far with his stories of artificial wombs. Like "we're not that good to have children, that men should do the kids on their side." But I like the idea that people stop taking us for hens. I did not like Baise-Moi (the movie). I do not like the aesthetics, the fact that the image is ugly, the actors playing poorly. In a film, it is an aesthetic requirement. And while I understand the dimension punk you can make a film but treated as subversive Jarmusch. Violence is not my cup of tea either. I'm too prude.

Finally, rather straight and gay?

I'm totally hetero in fact. HEC and after I did market research I realized there was a real niche to take on lesbians. There was a great lack in the performing arts so I started. I believe everyone that I am a lesbian and I do a bunch of dough. It's a true niche! Well of course now I'm flirt with girls, I am forced to go to parties lesbians, ass and watch the girls go by. It's exhausting ... But my husband and my children live very well. RMI was before, now ISF! The Lesbian

invisible, Thursdays, Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays at Limelight, 2 rue Saulnier, 75009, Paris.

Published on: Gonzai.com

Seven Seas Dressing Creamy Italian

anxiety dream ambition

anxiety dream abandons ambition crumbles down their arms full length rises wasting his time doing his duty to work hard to forget the passing of time lounging stroll would send resumes to relax in the day is unpleasant taste treats her right and forget it all again Fun is feeling saucy unlucky gets stuck on a bus in traffic bridge sully listening to telephone conversations by trying to invent a stereo acouphènoménologie is a homemaker spends hours to spend hours wondering what it would look in a dress sr realize it is scratched Heterosexual is definitely disappointed wakes to fourteen zero six two points and spends his day in bed full of energy drinks too Talisker blackens endless these little books that fit into the pocket of his trousers dons a cardigan to think the nine hundred and twenty-fourth Bemerkungen über die both farben Ludwig Wittgenstein laugh nelly considering writing an anthology of post-rock or repetitive music that nobody will issue aa repetita place listening to music through headphones at night tearing his trousers to daydream Place Maubert-mutuality is determined to return to live in marseille but love it so much live in paris still can not see the interest not to abstain from voting would live with love and fresh water has long hair is not sociable like driving too fast on the roads in Britain carries with it books that will not read Walt Whitman leaf is a blonde in the land of peroxidized possible would like to write sometimes not at all

What Is The Worst Wegie

Salt Phillip Noyce-Cold War feels warmed over.

If Phillip Noyce's film has already dabbled in espionage in the past ( war games, imminent danger), this time he swapped the old Harrison Ford for the inexpressive Angelina Jolie. But preferring plastic actress on her script, the stacking sequences of action to the coherence of his narrative, Salt to ambitiously eyeing the trilogy Bourne but failed to inject pace in his narrative disjointed and outdated. Salt

Evelyn (Angelina Jolie), works for the CIA. High-flying spy, experienced and patriotic, she divides her time between her husband and his clandestine activities. When a Soviet dissident was arrested and put in question, an unexpected side of his personality emerges. Salt would have an agenda somewhat unexpected assassinate the Russian president on behalf of former KGB members. Escaping while his former American colleagues, she embarked on the execution of his murderous mission.

Synopses of spy films are characterized rarely by their originality of treatment, but by the ingenuity tortuous scenarios. If primers are mostly expected, gears narrative often wonder. Salt Fishing unfortunately an excess of laziness or trapping to surprise the viewer. Echoing the classic hero's frame considered guilty (but is it really?) Who has no choice but to flee, Salt follows the trail (again) of his predecessors fought without them stand out, nor even reach the level through such requirement. Mixing sequences worthy of Die Another day Salt is mistreated in North Korean jails, car chases where all transports make up the numbers (Mrs. Pretty jumped from one truck to a motorcycle, a car in a subway), Noyce's film 's apparent to a patchwork of déjà vu, but the seams too visible, poorly sutured, deeply bored.

Heroin, introduced as American spy, did an about face without preamble or logical to make the features of a high Russian bottle of the Cold War, no other aim in life than "destroy America "(the passage from east to west, nice / nasty be explained by fading from blond to brown threatening naive). Implausible, this reversal is expanded by mawkish flashbacks where we learn among other things, that Lee Harvey Oswald was the first agent of a larger project of destabilizing the U.S. (!) Or the Soviet indoctrination of children into potential terrorists. The processing of these memories, all in pastel colors a bit fuzzy, bordering on poverty (or even unintentionally funny).

interspersed dezincification bodybuilder any azimuth and a multiplication of twists and other changes in the camp, Salt is lost in a narrative gymkhana more unreadable. The character's motivations (revenge) are, for example, never justified. If we add to this opposition between East and West totally outdated in 20 years, a subtle interpretation in any frowns supported and fixed grimace (reducing the actors to pantomime bland), we get a movie without suspense (and yet many bends narrative can at least surprise) and tasteless (from the title, you feel cheated).

Salt dares even a final fishtail that casts a dark omen in a row (s) possible (s). Salt resembles those franchises that hope died in the egg as a second component would amount to a déjà vu ca. Straw!

Posted: http://www.critikat.com/Salt.html

Promo For Garret's Popcorn

Let me in. Matt Reeves- Knock Knock ... Apples by Richard Milward

strange object mimetic Let me in looks like a replay of the bland and disciplined masterpiece of Swedish multi award-winning in festival, Morse. Matt Reeves (Cloverfield) takes up the frame, the atmosphere and twists that have made the critical success of the original to provide a copy / paste altogether honest but without any appreciation or emotional, or plastic. But why a remake?

When Morse was released in 2008 on the screens, the phenomenon known vampiric unprecedented interest (Underworld, Twilight series True Blood and Vampire Diaries. ...) But the little Swedish film, despite critical acclaim modestly fails to attract the public hall. They had not reckoned American opportunism. Sniffing the potential Morse (a vampire movie tweens who fall in love, to really short), producers alpaguent a bankable director in the person of Matt Reeves, and the remake is underway. Less than two years after the original, then copy arrives on our screens.

New Mexico, 1983. The existence of Owen (Kodi Smit-McPhee, the boy from the Road), mid-mid-adolescent child, divided between the bigotry of her mother, sometimes violent ridicule he had suffered at school and extreme loneliness that never leaves. Spending his time to snack on sweets alone in the courtyard of his building, he made one evening met his new neighbor, Abby, taciturn young blonde (the kid killeuse Kick-Ass, Chloe Moretz). Through a friendship turns to love, Owen discovers the terrible secret of the girl, belonging to the race of vampires.

Abandoning the linear narrative construction of the original, which invited the viewer to a viewing apneic and a letting go emotionally, Let me in fact the choice of a scenario more suited and far more dynamic. Starting his film as an action, Reeves offers an opening scene, all in a handheld camera, close-ups and indistinct epilepsy and begins thus artificially pump suspense. The public, parachuted from a random episode about which he knows all the ins and outs, saw his curiosity and fueled his desire to understand exacerbated. But the pace blown into the first few minutes to evaporate the moment a long explanatory flashback takes over. It was then discovered Owen, struggling with her daily in the heart of the snowy winter of New Mexico (perfect echo the decor of Sweden immaculate original). The flabby he shows resonates with the slow pace of construction of the relationship between him and Abby. He is shy, she is fierce, their environment hostile. Like two frightened animals, they observed and not allow themselves to win the trust only after a long prelude.

If the throbbing rhythm Let me in offering the viewer the time of immersion, without being bored, the atmosphere in the world of actors, unfortunately, with heavy weights. Vampire movie requires, the director must have thought a mandatory physical metamorphosis of Abby when she eats. The hunting sequences are similar then to an unlikely mix (and undigested) from The Grudge to the mobility of the monster and the Exorcist for his appearance. Abby is because under the camera Reeves, a monster. While reports of the characters tend to erase their racial distinctions to focus only on what they feel (to Abby's question "Do you love me if I was not a girl?" Owen invariably answer "yes"), the passages vampire away instead of Abby human status. This highly differentiated treatment of the character of Abby makes it difficult public compassion for the girl and almost impossible the credibility of this love story. As the decorum of New Mexico, he retains the winter atmosphere isolation (the whiteness of the snow as a symbol of virginity doomed to disappear in the blood), he errs on the side color. Far from the triad colorist Morse (white, red, black) who built the open space of the courtyard of a building (the geographical heart of the story) instead highly intimate and poetic, let me get crushed by the symbolism of the orange lights , lessening the surreal nature of these appointments.

Worn by young actors at the edge of their sexual awakening, the vampire myth is so special in that age the best setting for his speech. Mined of unconscious wishes, impulses of death, violence returned, the two heroes operating in a world where adults are absent. Unable to support herself, the father of Abby (a former lover who has grown old while remaining in the service of his beloved) fails in its role as purveyor of fresh blood. Owen's mother, divorced, is struggling to raise her child so much so that the camera does not pick up. Blurred, or back view from a child, it symbolizes the idea kindergarten without ever reaching the truly embody. Left to themselves, the "lovers" experimenting vampirism as a transition to the age of reason; Abby sanguinarily becoming autonomous, emancipated Owen family of religious dogma.

For if Reeves has learned a lesson Morse is undoubtedly its allegorical significance. With this "discovery", he clumsily tried also to print a subtext to the film, but not subtle means. Where poetry surfaced and the notions of Good and Evil were constantly displaced invalidating any corporation, let me get used heavy artillery: the speeches of Ronald Reagan moralists in the background, the prayers of mothers everywhere ... So pitting realism primary evidence of the inability of the director to think his audience able to perceive the invisible, feel the unspeakable, to believe the impossible.

The "remakage" has its good points (Piranhas) but Americans have become accustomed in recent years to a low quality Stakhanovism Replay (Dark Water, The Ring and soon Old Boy or Battle Royale). Let me in clearly belongs to this category. Filmed without originality or passion, the film distract those who were unaware of Morse and revive, for others, the desire to see him. It already better than nothing ...

Posted: http://www.critikat.com/Laisse-moi-entrer.html