Remove Popcorn Oil From Shirt

"... And I'll see the last reef thoughtful,

provocative sweet wrecks

Shadowed God without devotees

your poppies will cure me of roses ... "

Marquerite Yourcenar

                                                                                               
At three p.m. Luciana came to the confessional. I knew that at that time the church would be empty and the pastor was not there. He also knew that Santiago, the seminarian, lying in the confessional would be trying to recover from the tough tasks for the day had to meet. Luciana and James
always met. They grew up together near the sea, more like close friends and neighbors until Santiago, influenced by his uncle, Bishop entered the seminary at the age of eighteen years and not seen again for 5 years.
At the time of absence, there was always a place within it, where with great zeal, kept his memory. Kept the color of his eyes, moving his lips, the shape of their hands, the width of your back, turgid of her thighs, her sensitive movements, his half smile, but more than anything, that form of God ... look! Everything else that was denied to explore your body, there also lay in a state of imagination where it fitting, on the sly, delighted.
That existence, made memories, lived in a hidden camera behind a tangled web difficult to access, built against reason and according to your wishes. A distant habitat guarding the beginning of the road where once the skin was pierced. A path that angrily rebuked the God who had refused and made his way in the midst of a dense constellation of veins, arteries and who knows what order neural connections and against orders, which ranged from his mind, his desires and their conscious or subconscious, making it even restricted area and especially for her, but she was persistent, overwhelming and able to pass, for him, all sorts of obstacles to cross thresholds exist for the human eye, but not least for real the senses. This room was also a sacred and profane at the same time, she forged to house, and although at first only if you dare to visit the surprising nostalgia in a long and surreptitious viewing of great melancholy madness or rebel, was then Once there, only there, he belonged entirely to become panting lover feel sneaky. So she loved him, so I could enjoy it at will, yet he never once suspected.

another world where he could breathe life into their memory, to know the texture of your skin, feel your pores wetting, their vapors exfoliating, scrubbing stories with their lips to make her give birth million flowers to satisfy their endless thirst for honey. Fade to his chest in a tight embrace, seeking to keep him forever. Feeling his hands slide down her thighs making her contract to the touch, while outside in the real world, your mind will wonder where you would find and who would be making her shiver.
So he spent the time between visits to his own interior, where it was and loved him or just sat and wrote to him from the most awful kitsch until invaded the scorching eroticism and then curled up on the edge of the bed , in a condition of helplessness almost back to its interior, while his mind was turned into a fierce lover of his memory, the dream prostitute, her prudish geisha fantasized all Western man. In the purest source of pleasure, his blood, his flesh ... I hurt just thinking love!

Until Santiago returned. It was about to stop being a seminarian, and she saw him again, he knew he must try to recover.
long time since I had observed, his home, Luciana, was behind the church. From there you could look early in the morning when he went outside to feed the chickens, rabbits and animal as it happened to possess healing. The was stripped to the waist to the annoyance of the pastor who assured him he would soon catch pneumonia and a bad thought. Santiago laughed so much to the delight of her who was already imagining caressing that body knew by heart. Luciana
knelt before the curtain and after a Bless me Father for I have sinned, he gave vent to his excitement and begged him not to confess that she still loved him. The seminarian covered her face with her hands and with a voice that seemed more like a sob, tried to explain that it was not possible to forget it. If it is - she replied as if he had fired a memorized speech by dint of desire - Let me calm your crying, being your jar that the breeze does not evaporate. Takes possession of me like unresolved land and your hands that unleash Prometheus take me to the sea, Poseidon summons, become a sea, make me into reef, coral sand, make your foam is drying on my side and show me how, from time immemorial, there is no intercourse wider and louder.
Santiago stopped crying, no one ever looked so much tenderness and pain at a time. A pain that he announced resignation, forgetfulness, lack. It can not be - he said - Do not you understand that to forget, I became a eunuch of God?

It was never heard. Hardly ever murmurs were heard among the waves that washed a reef with a woman's face, denouncing whispers abandonment and drowning under the tolling of bells in the tower of the church that could be seen from the beach. The seminarian was never seen again, but some say that on that reef, at night when the tide rises, a shadow dressed in full black, clinging to the rock and coral sand mixed with a female face, and without crying to God weeps bitterly.


Elena López Meneses

Silverado With Xd Wheels

Bless me Father coconut Agüita


They say that it a stormy night on the shores of the beach, palm trees tangled stifled breath of the waves had destroyed, he was delirious inconsistencies, holding her swollen belly and asked the moon to help. They also say that the coconut bit wearily crashed into the sand, looking for the sweet liquid appease the thirst of his lips pursed lips perhaps a human face pain away. They showed that the seabed particles maybe. Pieces of body and soul Ondina not know how long it would take to restore or if I could make.
hands was bleeding, puffy eyes and who knows if a lot mourn or perhaps the lightning that did not stop hurting the sky, had blinded the eyes. Holding her swollen belly about to explode as if they wanted to let out the child in him and kept repeating in despair, Insaf, Insaf Allah.
For days he had stopped raining but still wore the horizon blocked by a thick ceiling of Cold Steel. Were many people that the storm threw up his bank, a bank that had been stained Ondina death or life, depending on the case, finished thinking, wondering what would this woman who, at times, seemed to disappear under the sand after death ditch clinging to fresh water of the coconut. Your life is not over yet, tried to rescue him whispering Ondina memory seemed to have some mud on which it contained.

Ondina cities did not know or bridges, ships or aircraft to communicate with those cities, and yet leave to go around the world from her womb, from their miseries, pains and joys. Ondina was so old that gave birth to the sea, retired from his feet so that you respect their living space, but also turned his side when he wanted to be caressed.
If anyone knew of calm indifference, grief and despair, that was Ondina. Semi-divine origin gave the patience to deal with the human imbalance with ontological chaos storm originators beings, far more terrible than those that lashed the coast, valleys and mountains. So he devoted himself to give to take, over and over again, fresh water from the coconuts that the storm, a friend at the end of nature, had put their fingertips. Soothing water that removes the cries and soothes the fever of the senses. A Ondina only hear you cry enough Insaf wing and clean his wounds the body, to sense his painful fate certainly unfinished.
A crescent moon night, the woman's swollen belly about to burst, he opened his eyes for the first time and looked intently at Ondina, known for its aroma it was she who cared for her, who had sealed the wounds from the inside and outside the archaic power of stories to tell, what is your name - he asked - Fadhila - she replied - and immediately afterwards a long moan pierced his throat while he begged, holding her belly and released the load, save his daughter ablation.

With a close look at the half moon, it became stationary, light and precise without a veil that identification. Birth had been tortured by women stoned for loving the wrong person and sentenced to death for being a source of life. Allah Insaaf Insaaf, was the last thing he heard say, and his belly fresh off a heavy downpour. Coconut holy water life threw a girl who live in freedom and justice away from Ondina. Elena López Meneses

Left Breast Hurts All The Time

metaphor for heartbreak of a vintage


When Max saw that was different, had just 8 years. He knew that the closure was not the best way to avoid being subjugated by those who had been his friends, when started, just, puberty. Heir to the best wine grown in southern Tuscany, ran the year of 1664 when, as a descendant of the manor house Scaligeri produced the Chianti great to know that so far earned the position of best wine of the region. Those funds valleys lined with exquisite vine, had ordered his jailer, seeking to free it from the mundane curiosity. The man is as good as measured - sometimes lied to his mother - and only those with your height, reach the top or the stars.
The father learned to cope with their condition with a humor that was not accessible to pity, and when a civic or social event was scheduled to appear before a crowd, and asked permission to kneel and to rise developments. At times like this, most still do not understand if you laugh mocked them or himself. His father knew what he was doing when he was young, every night, he recounted the unusual and entertaining exploits of his son Gargantua and Pantagruel. Max then laughed, amused by the sight of those giant kind. The struggle for transcendence, like them, beyond his great humanity, led to the conviction that there is no obstacle which can not be reached to balance gain any limitations. With such certainty managed to become the largest host of Tuscany, arriving to develop an enormous capacity to delight all who wish to drink the fruits of their vineyards.
had grown up loving art, stories and flavors. He had lived without caring if your hair is tangled between the treetops, or attend school from the outside through a window, minimizing the force of his steps, his voice, his thoughts, and thus never denied of their condition until the day he met her and she became his soul, reason and feeling.

Do not sensed, did not see coming. Their presence had come as assault with a thief who climbs in the dark of night, on and defeated by life. What storm had thrown up his chest, cruel wretch who had shown him the way to his veins, making Evergreen host your senses, insatiable gourmet pending the sweetness of the harvest. Who was it that was not intimidated with more hands than hands like two bowls of endless depth, nor was shaking by the percussive sound of his voice.
Reconciling the agitation of his chest with a timeless feel that although it was unknown to him, if you still having it at his mercy he hardly dared to suspect the smoothness of her lips, to watch while he slept with his chest heaving and racking for some bad memories fading with sunlight. A haunt breathing and oxygen envy that had all in each inhalation. Nothing mattered

if he had thrown the north wind or always lived each cluster of grapes. Better than your sanity would break if it was forced to remember and when leaning over his face was a captive of the inexhaustible reservoir of seduction was her stare, at some point unrecognizable to any mortal, then thanked providence that she did not exist in light that would not look as it was and be satisfied with the ride feel of the vineyard site violet like a stormy sea, with her arms, taking it in the air at sunset dusk, waiting for the full consecration vintage. I was sure that in those endless walks, the scent of your skin, female fervor and the purple background of the vine, there was only a kind of symbiosis, of otherness and a miracle unique poetic not ever be exhausted.
One day she disappeared, without leaving a trace, a mark awarded by the hope of finding it. It was the same day they carried out the harvest. The day when the wailing of one giant heart, the valleys watered with a fine drizzle and resigned. Also the day that began the arduous task of touching the grapes to shed blood with agility proud, wanting to escape, to secede by itself, or on clusters that began to bubble, suffocated by the weight.

No sad, "whispered a voice that seemed to come from every sacred fruit - Do not you feel my perfume link to your waist and firm up your trunk? ... Now you own me, drink me, bathe in me. Go with my cadence and recognize my scent - he said - Cultivate my bouquet, my tannins and outlines frótame ferment until I feel shaken by your touch, because I never went and I have always been part of the vineyard of your valleys, I am surrendered to your feet, I am death and resurrection. Elena López Meneses

Coleman Furnace Limit Switch

Fidelius The final mystical Escarpit "... and that day we read no more" Dante Alighieri - The Divine Comedy


A infernal chronic realize an episode that beyond the borders of Dante's nine circles to be recorded in the memory of some early-century Caracas. Fidelius
When he arrived to hell, social activity that existed in the darkness was very precarious. The fear of those convicted of being kidnapped or killed at the hands of the mob overwhelmed, had destroyed the ability of the most fun. The nights were spent in the solitude and in the streets or the underworld was given appointment in the traditional corners, for fear of being victims of looting or military. Fidelius
radically changed that reality. Had been assigned to the Mayor and cultural promoter of the fifth circle Cain where about violent moans, and where are those who committed the sin of love. His well-earned reputation as an irresistible seducer, in the cream of hedonistic and luxurious area, had led him to make that place was one of the most coveted by humans, convicted and some other species of the outer underworld.
Until the situation began to decline, and is that even in hell would have to agree that failure to maintain certain rules, the company is heading for disaster and it did. Fidelius gave nothing less than the love of Francesca and Paolo charged with high treason against the sacred circle, was forced to flee before being thrown into the last level. It happened
one afternoon when he decided to approach Ghótika, your favorite bookstore, looking for something new. Enjoyed mixed among the people eager to get to his favorite author, eager to find reading less palpable reality that offered the news, reality shows and some soap, the aroma of food used books to encourage millennia. It was a year when the economic crisis and some measures had been resolved and could easily get to enjoy the seductive new lovers. Sade chose a book, I wanted to reread the prude and more familiar with the gruesome stupidities of the women who arrived at the premises claiming a hellish unfair treatment in their accountability or otherwise claiming false regrets.

came in thinking that when the watchful eyes of Francesca landed on his neck, her shoulders in her belly, making him feel that all his blood as wine aged jealously hoarded, going back and forth from his body shaken by that tide an unexpected frenzy, as if she had been listening to your thoughts and would like to show that there was no prude, warn that better reading was the story of Lancelot and Guinevere, as he held the minds, guts and lust permeated with habitual under which had also succumbed to the unfortunate Paolo. After a brief search
Internet, found a place like that confer further powers to continue their immortal soul. Caracas was no longer a branch of the sky, in recent decades had become an infernal city and decided that this would be an interesting place for your lifestyle. I knew what was at risk to try to live as a mortal again after so many centuries, but also knew that the condition to remain immortal among them, was to keep his lustful nature and do not make the mistake of allowing a pure feeling of love, before This was certainly never decline.
was during the years when the night was the Mecca of most youth, night clubs and nightclubs not closed its doors years in which the drug along with prostitution were the big night dominatrix Caracas. Fidelius had thought of first place in Puerto Rico for that of the frequent deaths assigned to the chupacabra, a situation very convenient for their purposes, but hated the reggaeton so opted for choosing to live in Caracas and Los Palos Grandes, a place where I could observe when the sun soothed his ruthlessness on the afternoon of the capital, causing the decline Ávila their greenness while hopelessly blurred with the passing of the hours to become a dark spot wanting to devour the city. rented
an elegant studio contacted controlling the business of nightclubs, drug trafficking and gave the insatiable task than did best from the beginning of time, suck the essence of beings until stay in or a single drop of blood, dignity, pride, or of life. In its history, was not that known to Siloam, a voluptuous brunette, stripper in the bar of the old Danilo Rivas, the man who had been connected with the underworld. A mud sylph who subjugated by her tenderness, her skin, her mouth inviting him to suck and possess indefinitely forever and ever. Every day counting the hours to view the steps that separated it - look elsewhere boy - then advised him that it knew Danilo Siloam - That flower and has an owner -
So let him know it too, warning also that being a humble young woman coming of Petare, was stupid or naive and not having that office was easy prey. For the hell of Fidelius temperament was no turning back, it had sunk in a cruel punishment which nothing could satisfy an irrepressible yearning for redemption, surrender to an almost naive love that knows no tricks or traps, and is only happy if he loves happy.
For the first time he saw himself naked and felt cold, was facing a mirror that he only returned a rusty dark shadow, a shadow that disfigured his face like a bad memory. She felt small and exhausted of life. How do you see it, intuit its ambiguous nature, precarious source.? How to ask to accompany him to exist in eternal darkness, if she had invented the light.

He had been loved by princesses Norse had their feet to the most sought after Eastern and African royalty, drunk to the last breath of life for the noblest of European societies, intimate friend of Rasputin who supplied him with perverse pleasure when the Tsarevich it took for bleeding and not stop, he drank to satiety Eloisa's crying, desecrating their habit and their dreams by posing as Abelard, now aspired only to be loved by that woman blessed with a tropical aroma and melao Capin.
was past midnight when I decided to approach the bar of Danilo and wait until he finished his shift. He was sure to convince his love, surrender, sacrifice themselves to lose his eternity so to have it. Would not go, I hated to see how her hips eyes lit up with desire of men, he felt scared for her and he never felt fear, a desire to protect her, taking her to a place spotless. Both enjoy the helplessness, abandonment of their victims and now was the martyr of an uneasiness that only she could quench.
The approach was calm, confident with a smile that burned inside him and made him wonder if it would, perhaps, the face of Eve when God created it. Everything happened in fractions of seconds. Its proximity to flash on his face, his breath brushing her neck, her breath penetrate into the bowels, and then an earthquake was when the rapture making merciless plead in silence to the Divine mercy, in order to earn your body. Siloam
just kissed him on the cheek, said goodbye and went back leaving long forgotten, as gentle running water and clean, that does not stop a stone can not muddy the mud. Siloam water that redeems the horror and drought, leaving puzzled himself, stripped of their miseries and redemptive immeasurably reduced it to dust and ashes. Elena López Meneses