Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Monday, January 22, 2007
Can Cervical Polyps Come Back?
Sleeping outside
I thought I knew what the Social bump in the neighborhood difficult, with youth in care, or returned to HP after the colon. I was wrong.
Association Don Quixote
conducting an awareness campaign on the condition of SDF. This one is to sleep outside with them in tents, to live the horrors of the cold. 
It seemed interesting to carry out AgoraVox my own experience. After a summer holiday in the Cevennes, I decided to enjoy the heritage days (mid September) to offer me a weekend in Amsterdam. I met the first train of the day a homeless Parisian origins Guyanese around 35-40 years, Jose. We sympathized about a game he had proposed with great success to two children's car (a leader never misses an opportunity to complete its range).
We considered not to sleep at night to enjoy the nightlife of the capital, and give us a rest in the morning in a park. On our arrival, which was an option became a requirement: Due to an agreement, the tourism office only offered rooms at 160 euros and more, that neither one nor the other could allow ourselves . Speaking proper English, I would undertake translations (the Dutch speaking to everyone I met impeccable English) and we left both in mop in the lakeside town, making our food shopping in local supermarkets (expensive ) and taking a fast food snack of seafood The first day was pleasant. The city was beautiful, and we strolled through its streets until exhaustion. Jose, a little too wet, often get the ire of merchants and passers-by who were offended to see him pretty busy asking him to pose with the photos on his disposable camera. I pulled the sensitive situations, as it sometimes did not doubt. For his part, and while I was looking for a roof for the night, he saved me from robbing me by a group of miscreants in anticipating the problem. is the first observation that I do. The homeless and we have not even read the world. They are exposed to unexpected risk of those who have a safe place to spend the night. They know the street and its codes, and have learned, sometimes at their expense, how to manage hazards.
that day I heard many stories from the traffic Subbutex Romanians (who got their doses legally making the rounds of general practitioners), indecent proposals made by the deranged sex tramps Chatelet. How he had returned to life after being homeless and housed employee time.
Night fell, and having neither the one nor the other wanted to squat a coffee shop (we
no attraction for substances that it provides), we headed to a large rectangular square dance focusing many bars and nightclubs (Leidseplein, it seems more likely or Rembrandtplein) that we had been recommended by Sammy, a large black met in a bar.
On our way we saw be another face of Amsterdam, full of skinheads, punks, who watched with my partner aggression, and the apostrophe in Dutch.
I then felt for the first time the brutality of the vilest racism. This constant fear of slipping on the other. Some will say that in France it is the same, but I've never felt with such acuity.
Sensation which was specified in the Brazilian bar where we spent our early evening. The Dutch danced with great strength, and our styles (especially that of José !) Contrasted sharply with their own. I was invited by my friend who paid me to drink a few shots, which confirmed to me that people give a lot of little. The bar was packed, and my friend just had it up and danced with the young women of the box had formed a front against him. The smoky atmosphere (I had to leave the room until my eyes stung) and promiscuity added to the oppression of the scene. We finished our drinks and left the morbid place, which leaves my impression that the female animal is a good group, a resource not to fall into the hands of foreigners. As a return time caves.
I stood several minutes prone on a bench in the square, still under the effect of the situation we had to live. Jose did not admitting defeat by stupidity room, returned all go into the bar. After a few minutes he came back to me. To hold my head between my hands to protect my eyes, I had to look more like a junkie as a tourist.
A light rain began to fall, and we esseyâmes in vain to enter night club with our backpacks and our sweat shits wet. If our attire did not seem problematic at bouncer, we could not leave our bags at the deposit, which we refused entry to the nightclub. After a few
hesitation, we decided to return to the park that we visited during the day, the Vondelpark. The rain had people chase the gallows crossed sooner, and we sat under the canopy of a fine grove in the park pérphérie.
The night was extremely hard for me to pass. Paralyzed by the cold which surprised me for a day in September so sweet, my cotton sweatshirt is not enough to protect myself. Jose offered me his jacket, that I did not accept. I spent the night shivering, making the 100 steps and hopping there to get warm. The ground was muddy and cold, moisture penetrated into the fabric by capillary action when I lie down. Jose was lying on its side. I stayed up all night with the feeling that it was the least I can do.
the morning, I caught rabbits come to visit us. I saw scroll morning joggers and a few freaks who were returning from evening. When he awoke, José worried about my sleep, and we began looking for a water point, a place to shower, my companion still nine days left in town.
We finally left after a coffee on the esplanade of the Rijksmuseum. I used the toilet this one to change the T shirt and underwear, to remove and clean myself a bit of earth on the night of my sweatshirt.
I did not forget to thank him for being there for me. Very simple and almost embarrassed, he said it was normal and went away. We did never seen again.
the evening I found my cousin and her boyfriend in Brussels. I felt different from when I left. I was returning from a strange adventure, and had the impression that having a roof for the night put an expression on my face as readable as the one I wore to the front few hours earlier: "I am homeless, vulnerable, easy prey".
This experience, even told in great detail, must be experienced to be understood. Connivance what I felt on seeing my computer screen
the initiative of the Children of Don Quixote
. They included: one had to live it to believe it.
Espérence 43 years of life. 86 000 by Inserm, 400 000 by the Abbé Pierre Foundation, 3.2 million badly housed under the same organization.
These figures, statistics.
A frozen to death in Paris Tuesday, December 19, before the declaration of the level 2 general plan cold.
When I shudder at the memory of this experience described in September, I can hardly imagine the cruelty of treatment in the current climate. We keep our pets warm when our "brothers die under bridges and everyone who cares" (AMI).
From this, I could m'accomoder, if it were an inevitable fate. But the cynicism of Nicolas Sarkozy, who claims that after 5 years in power there will be more homeless people (while the mayor of Neuilly preferred to pay fines rather than build its quotations for housing), that of the Minister social cohesion Catherine Vautrin (which condemns this intiative
"decoy address the problem of social exclusion"
,
"is touching but it's easy"
face the revolt of the Don Quixote Terry Gilliam, Jean Rochefort, and
"I said Yesterday there was a manipulation of these people who are in difficulty "
) I can not stand. The intolerable
has its limits.
48% of French
think they can one day become homeless. Stop everything
two minutes: Sego and Sarko, Armadinejad and Kim Jong Il, the 300 million in Japan and the hole in the safety, Johnny and Katie Holmes in Switzerland enclosure, the groin of Ribery and Lead Balloon Mendy, "the baby's bottle, the babysitter coming tomorrow, the food, rent, bank to repay" (Tryo), buy your season, your exams, and wake you.
There is no vision without political will of the people.
that day I heard many stories from the traffic Subbutex Romanians (who got their doses legally making the rounds of general practitioners), indecent proposals made by the deranged sex tramps Chatelet. How he had returned to life after being homeless and housed employee time.
Night fell, and having neither the one nor the other wanted to squat a coffee shop (we
no attraction for substances that it provides), we headed to a large rectangular square dance focusing many bars and nightclubs (Leidseplein, it seems more likely or Rembrandtplein) that we had been recommended by Sammy, a large black met in a bar.
On our way we saw be another face of Amsterdam, full of skinheads, punks, who watched with my partner aggression, and the apostrophe in Dutch.
I then felt for the first time the brutality of the vilest racism. This constant fear of slipping on the other. Some will say that in France it is the same, but I've never felt with such acuity.
Sensation which was specified in the Brazilian bar where we spent our early evening. The Dutch danced with great strength, and our styles (especially that of José !) Contrasted sharply with their own. I was invited by my friend who paid me to drink a few shots, which confirmed to me that people give a lot of little. The bar was packed, and my friend just had it up and danced with the young women of the box had formed a front against him. The smoky atmosphere (I had to leave the room until my eyes stung) and promiscuity added to the oppression of the scene. We finished our drinks and left the morbid place, which leaves my impression that the female animal is a good group, a resource not to fall into the hands of foreigners. As a return time caves. I stood several minutes prone on a bench in the square, still under the effect of the situation we had to live. Jose did not admitting defeat by stupidity room, returned all go into the bar. After a few minutes he came back to me. To hold my head between my hands to protect my eyes, I had to look more like a junkie as a tourist.
A light rain began to fall, and we esseyâmes in vain to enter night club with our backpacks and our sweat shits wet. If our attire did not seem problematic at bouncer, we could not leave our bags at the deposit, which we refused entry to the nightclub. After a few
hesitation, we decided to return to the park that we visited during the day, the Vondelpark. The rain had people chase the gallows crossed sooner, and we sat under the canopy of a fine grove in the park pérphérie.
The night was extremely hard for me to pass. Paralyzed by the cold which surprised me for a day in September so sweet, my cotton sweatshirt is not enough to protect myself. Jose offered me his jacket, that I did not accept. I spent the night shivering, making the 100 steps and hopping there to get warm. The ground was muddy and cold, moisture penetrated into the fabric by capillary action when I lie down. Jose was lying on its side. I stayed up all night with the feeling that it was the least I can do.
the morning, I caught rabbits come to visit us. I saw scroll morning joggers and a few freaks who were returning from evening. When he awoke, José worried about my sleep, and we began looking for a water point, a place to shower, my companion still nine days left in town. We finally left after a coffee on the esplanade of the Rijksmuseum. I used the toilet this one to change the T shirt and underwear, to remove and clean myself a bit of earth on the night of my sweatshirt.
I did not forget to thank him for being there for me. Very simple and almost embarrassed, he said it was normal and went away. We did never seen again.
the evening I found my cousin and her boyfriend in Brussels. I felt different from when I left. I was returning from a strange adventure, and had the impression that having a roof for the night put an expression on my face as readable as the one I wore to the front few hours earlier: "I am homeless, vulnerable, easy prey".
This experience, even told in great detail, must be experienced to be understood. Connivance what I felt on seeing my computer screen
the initiative of the Children of Don Quixote
. They included: one had to live it to believe it.
Espérence 43 years of life. 86 000 by Inserm, 400 000 by the Abbé Pierre Foundation, 3.2 million badly housed under the same organization.
These figures, statistics. A frozen to death in Paris Tuesday, December 19, before the declaration of the level 2 general plan cold.
When I shudder at the memory of this experience described in September, I can hardly imagine the cruelty of treatment in the current climate. We keep our pets warm when our "brothers die under bridges and everyone who cares" (AMI).
From this, I could m'accomoder, if it were an inevitable fate. But the cynicism of Nicolas Sarkozy, who claims that after 5 years in power there will be more homeless people (while the mayor of Neuilly preferred to pay fines rather than build its quotations for housing), that of the Minister social cohesion Catherine Vautrin (which condemns this intiative
"decoy address the problem of social exclusion"
,
"is touching but it's easy"
face the revolt of the Don Quixote Terry Gilliam, Jean Rochefort, and
"I said Yesterday there was a manipulation of these people who are in difficulty "
) I can not stand. The intolerable
has its limits.
48% of French
think they can one day become homeless. Stop everything
two minutes: Sego and Sarko, Armadinejad and Kim Jong Il, the 300 million in Japan and the hole in the safety, Johnny and Katie Holmes in Switzerland enclosure, the groin of Ribery and Lead Balloon Mendy, "the baby's bottle, the babysitter coming tomorrow, the food, rent, bank to repay" (Tryo), buy your season, your exams, and wake you.
There is no vision without political will of the people.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Deniss Milani Top Less
Dedication to La Croix-Valmer
On Friday, December 29 held a book signing the book at the Library Meeting. Jocelyn thank you for this appointment in the heart of my childhood village. Note that the ensuing article in the press has taught me that I chose a nickname for the occasion, certainly to avoid paparrazis the crowd from around the world !!!!! Unless it it a mistake ?????????
Glob Conception Mucus
An article that dates this summer
Response storyteller to storyteller:
In reading the fable of La Fontaine altered by the plutocrats disguised alter Liberals (Comments Article of Thursday, July 20 "Do you know what liberalism is?"
http://www.agoravox.fr/tb_receive.php3?id_article=11715
) and their history Poiraju (
http://www.quebecoislibre.org/04/040320-11.htm
), I found the material has to write one myself.
There once was a family of three. The father, mother and son. All three live in a pretty little house that parents have paid off long ago, by dint of hardships.
's son, Benedict, has 20 years, he studied and win some money by working side. He mounted his box of coffee delivery business and win even better than her father, who has difficulty finding a job Decent at his advanced age and his mother a homemaker. In fact, the son of the biggest benefits cover the needs of the family.
Benedict would like to "diversify" by selling Shit but his parents forbid him. It takes no care of his mother's work, never does the dishes or the kitchen, never wipe his feet on entering the house, do not empty the trash, do not shutters pumice, and throws his cigarette butts, plastic in the garden. It's not his job. Her mother was silent, it's her deal but would like it to do when a little more attention. Benedict also smokes
firecrackers in his room and leaves the food, so that the house stinks of weed and getting a nest for insects, but he deals with it, so what the parents complain they? It is not free to do what he wants with the food he bought with his money? To do what he likes in his room? So it makes humiliating remarks to her father when he buys a schedule to postal workers or her mother when she invites her friends over for dinner.
no longer supports the remonstrances of his parents, he begins to complain strongly. He no longer respects his parents and deals with parasites. He claims the authority in the house, as he has one in the company of which he is the majority shareholder. The father tried to explain that this is not his to make law in the family, he is the child and the father. Similarly, understanding, he agreed to change its attitude if the mother joins the opinion of the son. Obviously, overworked due to the small economies of effort of the son causing him much worse tasks (especially the mud, it does not come off easily), she believes that Benedict is wrong. It has the feeling of working hard, although its existence has no domestic production accountant. And is silent more and more, tired of being devalued.
But the son did not budge: he brings the money, he wants the authority. Anyway, if his father does not find a job because it is a dirty lazy. And what's with this habit of drinking wine with meals, it does not deserve it. Same for the subscription to a celebrity magazine for her mother, she does not have to pay with his money.
His father eventually exceeded tell him to fend for themselves if they leave home, they have to pay his private school, so they did not lead the life of the castle. But the son does not stop there: he believes that his room is his, and he calls his parents sell the house to retrieve money from it, or at least they create a door in the wall to enjoy it without having to cross his parents.
This time it is too much. The angry father threw his business through the window and ordered to leave. The son then crashes before him and taunted: "You gonna do what? Hit me? He ends up leaving them on "Poor no go! "First
end:
Then the son is looking for a new family. But nobody wants him because of his habits of pigs. He eventually found refuge in a roommate. But his roommates are so worn on hygiene that even he can not support them. He then had the idea to hire a housekeeper, who takes her a nice salary. But two hours after its passage, the kitchen is unusable again. "No, but they were educated, where those? "He can not help but murmur when its too noisy neighbors can not sleep.
The son then leaves a roommate. He loses himself in work to be able to afford a personal apartment, too expensive for that to continue his studies at the same time. But soon the neighbors complain. The smells that come from him stink so they can not sleep. He yell at each other with them. The owner, a big beefy, has broken his face, he does not want his property was devalued. When he dragged to court, neighbors testify in bad faith for the owner and are excited to see him leave his apartment in tears of rage.
Decidedly, the world is wild out of the house. His cynicism and misanthropy are growing day by day. But on the Net he befriends a girl. And his feelings for her are growing, even if they do not even lifestyles. He starts to say he can not invite him to his home in the state of his apartment. Made efforts to her and she ended up moving home. Sometimes he laughs himself with imagining a woman as crados and disrespectful as he was younger, and says he could miss the love of mischief.
the son understands that human communities do not manage like a business, and that everyone should be taken into account with an equal voice with regard to lifestyle choices.
But he did realize that when he got himself the responsibility of a community. End
alternative:
After leaving home, Benedict met by chance an entrepreneur like himself. Interested in the qualities of Benedict, he invited him dinner, and the windfall, offered to provide accommodation for the night. Ben is amazed by the splendor of the house. Everything is perfectly clean, tidy, orderly. Benedict said that Asians are decidedly good things. The dinner starts, and the procession of servants increases, each bearing succulent dishes that Master places that just do not taste before throwing them to the ground when he dislikes cooking. Regardless, the servants are there to clean up piles of spoiled food.
And the master of the house tells him the plan: Benedict will help market the produce cheap clothes it with his workers very effective. Benedict when asked about them, he said they came from the country full of hope, they are illegal on the territory that hides them for their own good and that at least with him they have what to eat. Anyway if they go they are free, they just pay a ticket (but forgets to say that their government looks forward to punish them for their impudence, and the smugglers had promised them Eldorado). Benedict and to say "What good man anyway! . He works hard but the Master and especially its "employees" involved in everything and treat him like a king, what Benedict has always wanted. And when he returned to town, he can afford anything they want: luxury goods, friendship and love of people (Shhh! He does not know that they are bland substitutes from courtiers). Everyone wanted at last.
But Benedict has trouble sleeping that night. Going to the bathroom, he heard the Master speak at vigil. He said "Now that he has trained his two replacements, why would Does it bother him. Tonight it must be done, right? "
Benedict recalls the story of Pinocchio and crying without knowing why, back alone in his big empty room.
He said he would help the employees (who were perhaps actually slaves) to free themselves from the oppression of the Master. May be transmitting the knowledge that her parents have left. Making them understand that they are only great when we're on our knees ...
Too late, tonight it will be the richest in the cemetery.
Moral:
Between those who make us pay for social peace increasingly expensive (alcoolos fathers) and those who want to leave everything except pay the pots they break (the ungrateful son and vain), it is not out of the woods (we Trimona for mothers nails).
It will however have to be heard well one day.
Curtain!
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