On Poptropica Where Is The Phonograph

Ibtissem


During a holiday, near Monastir,
Among many pictures and other memorabilia,
Sun, and walks, discoveries and pleasures,
I remembered the beauty of a smile.

Woman Smart, multilingual graduate,
For the world around them, always interested
Eager to explain and reveal us
The charms of this place we can only love.

But sometimes in your eyes, a shade of sadness clouded
you say, kill the joy,
When you address, always address
expectations, the hopes of all youth.

What future? Fear of celibacy
controls police and purchasing power, corruption and censorship
. But today I think
What you thrown into a noble fight.

In these times of turmoil, where have you been?
I see you, a pure heart, these people face helmeted
who bludgeon and kill these young rebels,
Shake the standard of your freedom.

Galloping here and there in groups barricades
Denouncing so many years of censorship, harassment,
Your black hair loose, braving the gunfire,
Or arrogant crowd, perched on a platform.

But who am I, me, here, to rattle on so?
A tourist from Europe who took
your country for a very convenient area to stay cheap?
No, just a fan who speaks to you as a friend. How

not understand your animosity
face of our Heads of State, full complicity,
Loans to overlook, vile facilitated
Preserving, supposedly, stability!

Human rights are only dreams chimeric
When interests are themselves economical!
And for their constituents, a Maghreb peaceful
is the promise undue Holiday seraphic ...

But today is that you hold in your hands,
This incredible opportunity to chart a path bordered by fragrant
massive jasmine
While preserving the freedom of everyone.

Especially be careful, do not be dimmed.
Know that valuable this is freedom.
is a fragile child, so coveted, it will
every day, jealously guard.

From Douz Monastir, Tunis, Kairouan, Tunisia
The people drove these
peasants who hope in life that power and money.
Firstfruits in this world, a big bang?

Now you can laugh, sing and talk.
Enjoy the moment, life regained.
But it will take time to start over,
Building a new sustainable society.

Postscript:
But above all, to conclude, as I am greedy,
of Makrout of Turkish delight, jams, almonds,
Do not fall too in all these offerings,
At the risk of paying a dividend one day!

January 2011

Remove Cheats Pokemon

Letter to a young woman sitting ...

A young woman sitting, waiting for something
Or perhaps someone, or is just a pause.
His face is charming but I frown,
For I see a drop hanging from her eyelashes.

Is it a remnant of wavy glass that hits the
This station loud, like the ant,
Houses for some time, a crowd of people
Perplexed, regulars, eager or hesitant?

Is that a pearl of sweat after having run
Through this vast concourse?
Concerned by the risk of missing the train, missed
Sesame distant horizons.

Is it, as Pierrot, a tear eternal
injury will keep it in the deepest of her?
symbol of an impossible love or finished. The
he has abandoned or has she fled?

But why this drop remains "she hung up,
Refusing, on the cheek to slide?
Like an aquamarine dress natural
It attracts attention and makes the woman beautiful.

Belle by the mystery surrounding this moment
special moment in the middle these people and stressed
conformists who refuse adventure
And ignore the world's nose in their shoes.

I must unravels this mystery, this secret.
Just the time to punch my ticket.
I see the machine work of art incongruous
A "click", I turn around, the lady has disappeared!

On tiptoe, I look at the crowd
Who undulates and flows back, much like the swell
From coast wild and never rested,
in which the unknown is gone, drowned!

I will never know it was this gem,
This ornament discrete wants me this poem. And it is
Thinking back to the text of Antoine Pol
What I leave, frustrated, going up my neck.

January 2011

As she thought, rightly, that for some time, this blog lacked color Persilya sent me this lovely picture, and I thank her warmly.

Best Feet Scenes In Movies

ephebes, Guy Levis Mano, 1924

is a discreet poet. In 1924, aged 19 years old, he published a collection of poems of love in a gay magazine he founded with some friends without Journal Title .

This collection contains 13 poems, preceded by a preface by Guy Levis Mano, dated January 10, 1924. Under the auspices of Baudelaire and Oscar Wilde, he presents his book as a duty of memory. A English friend he loved committed suicide. He published the poems he has left:

I knew his body perfect, everything has to decline, according to the caress of male to male.

He put all his poems in his quivering sensuality, all the tumult of the spasms that grew impatient with him.

I did my work friend.

Now I let you go into this work, with some excerpts I have chosen, and 10 woodcuts by Lucien Lovel (Gaston Poulain) that illustrate these poems. I let you taste a little sad grace and lightness of these poems, poems about love and separation, the desire and weariness on oblivion and back. Reading them, we must remember they were written by a young man of 18, even 17 years for some of them. I also let you taste the charm of these drawings of young people languishing in the 20s style. Each print is an echo of a poem.

Pessimism

Tomorrow or after tomorrow ...
one day ... we will cross the same path.
you pinch your lips with an effort ...
on your cheek, nothing ... Perhaps a red short ...
you hide your eyes coldly,
forgetting that our bodies full of desires haggard
have known, that the Supreme spasm
was deeply vibrate in the same
embrace, our flesh and our members glued
in our mouths clenched, mingled our sighs
two people unnerved
our breaths were one under
the panting of common enjoyments.
You will forget all that ... You say, leaning
to your companion, probably my replacement,
melancholy tone and graceful face:
"You know, that one is an old collage."
So we give the most intimate self,
the weakest of his being: his faith,
to get to that! ... God it's stupid! Come
do not get angry, let your head
on me ... That one day I will be nothing
for you, just a few of your past ... Come on, give me your
lips .. . I'm bad, eh!
Forgive me, it's a bit of nervousness.
not think any more than the sole pleasure of
we feel like ... I switch off the light? ...
But yes, I believe you, it must be because I love you.
I joked, you know. I do not believe a word
of what I have to say ... Am I stupid!
But if I am a fool ... Kiss me again ...
You love me? ... true ... Me, you know, I adore you,
and we will love you long time see,
as long as we can, right? ...

The hermaphrodite

I1 dream of the glories of Imperial Rome, to
ephebes equivocal, with fiery Caesars
the Masters are giving their male officers
carmine on the lips and cheek paint.

He dreams to the August succubus Heliogabalus,
raising a magnificent altar to the phallus, the ignoble
Nero, the perfect love: his slave crying
Hadrian Antinous. He dreams

effeminate young men of Athens,
building proud, strong arms warriors ...
The teenager closes her eyes ... the night is full of desire
ecstatic perfume fever.

Ah! among the scents in jubilation in the park, in this solitude
have ample and serene, his eyes on
exalted tenderness of a glance over his mouth
passion hot breath! ...

The teenager dreams of a wonderful man,
infinitely soft and manly as the wildlife.
He sleeps a great lake in her wide eyes who
sad and faded color of autumn ...

Man caressing his head with his long fingers, and
slowly, passionately, his lips
know are startled in his flesh the spasms deep
and tell her heart a sweet delirium ...

Spasm

No, do not worry, I will not cold, no matter that I am
discovered
because your body is very close to me, and
I feel feverish your flesh ...

Come ... let me give your mouth.
No, not like that, you're brutal.
I do not want the fierce kisses
tonight, fondling hurt.

But give me your lips still ...
Like when your panting breath! Like
your breath. Inside there is sleeping a little
your sweet troubled soul.

Inside there sleeps a bit of your soul, but it's in your
cerulean eyes, beneath your eyelids
who swoon
it still reflects the best!

[...]

Oh! I love you very much tonight.
But if ever I love you very much.
tonight your eyes are like gems,
and brilliance makes my mad desire.

And I want in the short-lived death
ineffably forget everything ...
Ah! Tie me tight against your body ...
Félio! ... Félio !.....

And then one day ...

And then one day forever, you see,
we are no longer together, is expected ...
Our hot and passionate embraces
have been fleeting as the leaves wilted ... The Past
color will die ...
And our hearts are vibrant dreams while others ...
Your lips have lost their taste for pink
in the tumult of gloomy recollections ...
You will have forgotten that mine were good,
And it will be the same lewd gestures
calling other lips, other hugs ...
And yet you're here and hug quivering
and our bodies are united, for it seems forever
...
And we do love him more! ...
There 'will be over the heartfelt tenderness of our flesh ...
There will be more - is irretrievable - that
haunting perfume
ineffable things that were unspeakable a time ...
There may also be
remorse for having betrayed a little self-
who groan softly to not to be dead! ...

Illusions

It would no longer come to him, he would
, and his voice nonchalant
seems mannered and sing tiny,
he would tell me the lyrics disturbing
things sweet and subtle heart to know
serious drag their caress ... Then
light on my eyelashes lowered
traces of tears still wet,
he would say, and his voice is wistful, melancholy as the nightingale

the Threnody Vesper ... it say:
Little Guyto, your eyes are red, you're sad, and I am
who made you cry ... more
But never will you be sad
I swear, little Guyto ... I'm back.
Forgive me ... I was crazy ... Will, I love you ."...

And me, I hurt my eyes
to stem the tears that insist
before his eyes color of heaven ...

Guy Levis Mano

(1904-1980), usually known by his initials GLM was also an active editor and founder of numerous magazines, publishing many poets of his time. In his work, he clung to the quality of typography, not hesitating to innovate and explore new paths, ensuring the alliance of text and illustration.

Like humans, Guy Levis Mano homosexuality remained discreet. This first collection of poems will remain unique in his career. This is probably why neither the man nor his work are usually cited, even if the main bibliographies homosexuals do not forget it. And yet, in the French literature, poetry homosexual, especially one that asserted itself, was still very marginal in the early twentieth century ^e . Guy Levis Mano therefore a pioneer, just as a new gay consciousness, more assertive, is emerging after the First World War. Proust had just died and Sodom and Gomorrah had appeared in 1921. Andre Gide and Jean Cocteau, were publishing their works in which homosexuality clearly asserted themselves who wanted to be seen, beginning to want to "dare say his name." But Guy Levis Mano was then a complete stranger, this book was probably printed in very small numbers, with a distribution very private. Then, Guy Levis Mano seems to have remained away from the circles very active in the Gay Paris between the wars. For proof, Gilles Barbedette and Michel Carassou do not cite in their bibliography Paris Gay 1925. He also stayed out of the surrealist movement, which probably explains his fame still discreet. However, it has its admirers and continues to arouse great interest among those interested in all the artisans and Text book.

Illustrator Gaston Poulain, who signs his drawings under the name of Lucien Lovel, belonged to the circle of friends by Guy Lévis-Mano. I have not managed to find out more.

For those wishing to know more about the work and the work of Guy Lévis-Mano, the website of the Association Guy Lévis-Mano is a mine of information. It will be seen as little space that homosexuality is on its way of life, at least publicly: click here.

I extracted this is beautiful photography:

Description of structure

Paris, untitled Journal, Publisher, 1924, in square-12, XII-81 - [5] pp., 10 full-page illustrations in the text including a frontispiece, double blankets, first illustrated cover.

This book is particularly rare. The reference 3-e edition on the cover must not be misleading. This is a dummy statement. There are only two copies in public libraries in France: one in the BNF and the other in the library of the Arsenal. The Journal

untitled published by GLM, seems to have had only 2 issues.

Can You Use Expired Chicken Broth

A year 2011 under the sign of our joint exploration of gay culture.

This image, any lightness, who will accompany me to my wishes, 2011.

She is from a book of photographs that I made you discover this year. I extract this other picture. I offers this image of male beauty. Maybe everyone does not find it, but it brings everyone to imagine his own representation of male beauty, picture that accompanies it, I hope, in this year 2011.

Finally this year 2010, which saw the audience of my blog take on an unexpected, I want to thank all my readers. I know they are many. I especially want to thank all the blogs and sites that made reference to my own, often with flattering comments. I see a form of recognition for work I would like more complete. Some of these sites or blogs are foreigners, a sign that beyond the language barrier (my culture is still very French), we share a common culture.

For 2011, I make a vow: you give more messages and you can still more discoveries. Indeed, a professional occupation that is consuming me, other interests very different but also very addictive, do not leave me time to devote as much attention to this blog that I would like. I feel you discover parts of our common culture gay. I feel you enjoy this work. I would now like you do even discovered. There are so many works and books for which I would like to share my excitement and enthusiasm that has fueled the discovery of a new stone in the construction of large homosexual culture and, at the same time, the deepening of my personal reflection on my own homosexuality.

I renew the vow this year to be able to assist you in exploring this rich continent of our common culture Gay .. It is also an activist, so that no one forgets that this situation remains fragile and that we live today that we live through patients to these works, built in time to know us and let us know.

Two memories from 2010, gleaned from my posts of the year.

The handsome youth of "Kiss of Narcissus" Fersen:

The enchanting interpretation of "Sentenced to death" of Jean Genet by Etienne Daho:

Catch Phrases Of Party

Wishes 2011

It is good politics, it's tradition,
the morning of that day, the first of the year again,
When the mist is still in barrels,
Take again , good resolutions.

We dream angel, giving good words
Convinced that our wishes will all be obliged
Promising so many things that can disappointments
Do What happened, eliminating the halo.

And what can we think of these important people
Who we bombard vows
charge of hypocrisy or sincerity is found disguised
In the exemplary image of our president.

No, really, although it is us,
Ancestral, redundant, I think this year
I will let fall, I will remain silent.
At these mea culpa, I will chorus!

Anxiety is palpable as the times ahead,
In continuation of the year two thousand ten,
Who was, far from it, a year of bliss,
May attract our flowers overgrown with brambles.

So how to find in this illusory world, where selfishness
smothers solidarity actions, beliefs
Where are the men, opponents
This simple light called hope?

Yet I long to give you all,
For intimate parents or those strangers who read
by chance, these lines incongruous
The hint of a smile on all your little faces.

Also, for the moment is copying the monks,
who seek peace and serenity, That I
wish you all, success and health
order it is good, this year 2011!

Email (1)
But regarding the good intentions,
As I will not keep them anyway,
Being too old to follow the lessons,
Do not expect me that I change opinions.
Na!

Email (2)
And then, with "eleven", what can we rhyme?
Because even with the football, we're desperate!
Aside "bronze" or "bloke", the choice is narrowed,
So this little "monk" is not so bad found!
No?

January 2011