|Fᶉéҿ| Watch Full Length Une soeur
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Directed by - Delphine Girard / Selma Alaoui / Duration - 17Minutes / writed by - Delphine Girard / 2018 / Drama. 2020 tjrs la ? 😎❤️🔥. I'm watching the oscars and this was nominated it lost against hair love for t was a great film both. Moi hadiatou Diallo je suis musulman j ai 10 ans je me déjà la voile il ne faut pas dire ce quand j aurait 12 ou 11 cet paceque tu ne ce pas quand tu va mourir Et en plus Allah aime les enfants qui mette le voile de quand on ne petit.
Watch Full Length Une soeurs. Et le signe astrologique de ta soeur est le même que le mien. Watch full length une soeur film. ❤️❤️😂😂😂😂😂trop rire wallah endirais trop moi et ma sœur. Watch full length une soeur plus. Watch full length une soeur tv. LAMOUR 💖✨. Trop bien les vidéos avec ta soeur. ❤❤. Watch full length une soeur du. Watch Full Length Une soeur anne. Watch full length une soeur un. Watch full length une soeur video. Watch full length une soeur la. Sora le fantôme qui se prend une porte 😂. Thabitues au 3ème et tes parents au 5ème 😂❤️. Watch full length une soeur ma. Une génie des paroles et de la Musique, enfin il était temps. Magnifique CLARA. Man how can you not like this it was everyone Im in tears.
Night. A man and a woman in a car. He is driving, while she has to make a phone call to her sister, who is babysitting her daughter.
I agree with a previous reviewer that his is an intense short. Well crafted, but I have a nagging disbelief as to her attitude towards what happened before the depicted story starts.
Once again Pixar breaks me in less than 10 minutes. Who else is a total mess
Jolie demoiselle je suis tombée dans le love et lui aussi. Of the five shorts nominated by the Oscars, this was the best. A simple concept beautifully acted and shot. Merci pour la séance d'abdos 😂 😂 😂. 4:26 elle a flipper 😂😂. Cest quoi ses cheveux on dirait un nid 😅. Watch full length une soeur y. A 5 minute 50 on voit les fesses a myriam. Who's crying? Oh, it's me. Watch full length une soeur e. Watch Full Length Une soeur emmanuelle. Watch full length une soeur le. Watch full length une soeur de la. Watch Full Length Une soeur marie. Watch full length une soeur episode. Watch full length une soeur online. Plus de 20min pour un seul sketch, ça j'aime bien. et cette façon de raconter on s'y croirait 😂😂😂😂, il est fort ce type.
Watch full length une soeur d. T trop belle la meilleure je te suis depuis le début 😘💖. Elle : Salut. Watch full length une soeur l. Watch Full Length Une soeurette. Watch Full Length Une soeur thérèse.
Ouais c'est la meilleure c'est la meilleure intro venez tous dans la chaîne de Fadel vidéos de Fadel likez maximum. Siostra Adelphos (2012) In collaboration with poet Andrew Sestok, Siostra Adelphos is a series of fifty poems and fifty 5" x 7" paintings. Half of the pieces started with a poem, and I created a painting in response; the other half started with my painting, and Andrew penned a poem for each. Acrylic, epoxy, and leaf on canvas Significant. (part one) No use chopping cherry trees in the forest. the evermore useless Glue- Smile- teeth. ‘Move along folks, nothin’ to see here. ’ all for vacant lot of human principle, an acquired taste morality is... so goes the old worrisome oak and his final plea. -to be in earshot of significance. and surprisingly, neither Jack nor London, even Thoreau with his Walden in attendance. seemingly, not a one soul was near enough to hear the Last Leaf fall. (I was. ) Acrylic on canvas What is wisdom, but the accumulation of experience? Cat and mouse coincidence and the aftermath of an aftermath. Newspaper article reads: “Man mugged and shot early this morning By tax collector; claims to be the second Christ, Last seen on the kick, No one’s listening. ” (is this valid poetry? ) Coffee’s Black on thought, The rolling stone holds no moss, I never could learn Spanish. Third times the charm. Diner intercom reads: “Man with three heads on trial for Imagery this afternoon. ” -no one’s listening. Waitress approaches, closing in she looks Genuinely displeased to see me. [“What’ll it be? ” “I’ll take two eggs. Scrambled. ”] Jack Kerouac, Jack Kerouac, Where do you keep your enlightenment at? For I know I’m a fool, But I have to ask, Is that Dharma there, in your rucksack? agent orange audience snickering at stage dripping wet paint don’t touch television set. waiting for response.. it is boredom that has now reached everywhere. suburbs are gloom with tired linguistics. pots of flower are in season. butchers are sweating in coolers, their sons have spoiled the meat with tears of joy in their eyes. voices are now becoming stagnant and popular with white noise. need a clash. interruption maybe-- outside kids are howling over the latest astrology hype; what year is it? Holy holy holy are- of angelic eyelids spoiled by Bliss and fatigue uniform. Though fortunate for the rewarded loss of time consumed. Stuck on Seymour, Jack? -me too. People used to stare at my feet so then I started wearing shoes with socks. Give me time machine eyes. Both radiant and cool with skipping stones move cautions across the rippled cardboard. the markings of an ancient past time or a Dead language- In one ear and out the other. Give me polluted eyes. Both light and marvelous of empathy and columned dirt for the mankind colosseum. Give me the recluse eyed vacant, & unfamiliar, the road less traveled leads here, though tunnel eyed, The Vision. A world gone mad to say the least of it. A night to unpack... But you get used to it. Acrylic, needle, and thread of canvas I have been plotted against by enough street lights. I have heard the laughing choir of the shower-head orchestra. I have seen visions of Dog phantom on running concrete and gypsy ferris wheels. I have felt euphoric hypnosis end in doorway with two legs. (Mike, you were right about everything. ) of these, I have fostered no fruit- earlier this afternoon I calculated the study of clouds on a meditative landscape. (Their movements not their philosophies. ) after several minutes I embraced the Illusion where shoulder meets neck. I tuned into the fine knitting of Sacred Rainbow Threads in the Eternal circuit Board- into love is all the everything- into Indigo museum on fire in the kitchen- into disconnected on purpose- into Indigo fire in kitchen museum- into no-thinking all-thinking- soon... I came to with theory. Down the rhetorical wormhole and up the precise paradox. The most cunning of data thieves cultivating my harvested spinal cord, bright young minds to mold into pathological liars. Flammable egos think to keep away from the athletics of pride and scholarly out-houses. Far away from anything extraordinary. Far from the extinction of suffering. Far from Nibbana in general. Typical burping of kitchen at 3:42 a. m. on a thursday. Mr. Weisen Solemn burning his own origami neck-ties and pretty insightful, tending to every head in it’s proper place, But I am liable to drift up streams of Sacred Rainbow Threads with no cents in my pockets. On Blood March to the origin of counsel. a meeting of the census. the octaves intellect is an impractical accusation for these are innocent pedestrians running their rounds; Thus, Dharma is not of Mankind to know. Corpse carriers to the furnace, tonight is a night for evil doing. exceptional young gentlemen walking on masks and the reverse face. Handsome generals who would love nothing more than to rescue from you the responsibility of living. The moon is down and has been, Steinbeck, please would you cut to the chase already? Dead giveaway Boxcar Delivery service reports: a new dream aborted about every eight to ten seconds. the global submissions, we heard the arts and crafts of our love into bushes, sticks, stones, and branches of dust and through wall conversations. protected thoughts, the all-seeing eye hovers close the hand that feeds. all the while, pearl of time is letting some disappear. as for the rest of us, we survive on close-calls and marijuana cigarettes. quieter than the wind to hear the earth happy. to hear the soft sputtering of truth and love upon the fragile lips of Nature’s translator. Adolescent figurines are Ballerinas beneath epileptic porch light that flash silhouettes of wind-chime violinists swimming in the cold cement. Chilled hyenas giggle with savvy pleasure under moonlight starry-night who’s swollen loneliness Will and can never be measured. Oh, how silent the night is-- after the fondness of nostalgia has lost the center of interest. after the crickets have crowed their last of angsty poetry and Rabid hormones. After the fever has drifted and passed by counter-clockwise over high fire. Oh, how silent the night is. Acrylic, thread, needle, and seed pod from the garden of Gesthemane on canvas My immortal youth was apprehended by the illusion of Divine medicine cabinets and the array of Holy extracts and elixirs I nursed in sinister obedience to an anonymous physician I’ve not yet had the pleasure of meeting. In time of great need and cruel youth, I was conditioned to deposit my sins into plastic bottle caps and to excel in the Psychology of the Human Parody, observed and reviewed under glass and documented as such. I was substituted my youth for Copper Baptism, the Silver Bowl Salvation of cheap skull, wrapped in white linen and passed to every lady and every gentleman occupying expensive congregations of the Most Valuable Minds of our Generation. The yearning of my youth in False Doctrine air mattresses folding into each other and giving birth to new classes of Wool Intellects, inspired by the seeking of Faith in Nepotism. This morning I woke up in tomatoes and eggs for 20 years. My silverware is spotless, I am not. I see the world as brief and from afar, Watching them make love on handlebars. Teach me something valuable, mean me no harm, You don’t know me, but I know who you are. The heretic counter-culture for the prophet and nothing but perspective. Lousy insects on the bottom floor humming bird songs from one humanitarian to another. recycled ashtrays and comic books collect collages of modern love for the hipster soup kitchen. Take a slice and pass it on. and where does love fit into this? for what greater satisfaction can love own, but to share it? The idea of being love conscious. Plus, Burroughs says karma is truth and I think I believe him. (part two) Who goes there? exchanging of hands for fingers? palms pregnant with revelation. (aside- two cigarettes burning two holes into parallel controversy. ) (back to center. ) Bottles of poison Ivy cracked ajar Leaking odor into busy intersections. Naked arms performed significance while still concealing the very private pavement of what has come to pass. neurotic compass eyes dial into subconscious- the activities of taboo For whom this may concern. Gravity tells us, “What goes up must come down, pursuing certain equation must not have seen. Certainly, the Algebra of Need. ” Burroughs Don’t talk so great with hair in his mouth. ) History tells us, And all is well, and all is fair. ” and so goes the Art of Longing. Acrylic and canvas What a surprise and what a guest, the only-comes-out-at-night Garden pest. Who peels the fence from off my back, and it comes off slowly and then he laughs. The dirt, it quivers. My sanctuary is a burden. But cynical, the Black cat can have it, he earned it. The Bombardier escape plan from the clearest perspective. (not for the faint hearted) electric eels run crystal haywire horizontal for roofpanels of the Land “Where Men hang from ceiling fans. ” There is an art farm in the corner of the room, But no ants. Two agents of the silent police squirm into happy as a clod of dirt format. Keeping savvy Dialect while chit chatting intellectual nonsense. Soft typewriter in the room below Alters the spectrum to- Identical widows cut from the same fine clothing who leave peeled onions in the sink and build clocks. Old fashioned clocks that shatter into glass windows. Seymour Glass on the piano in the hall, the ocean room with little miss Sharon Lipschutz, he sings: “Tabloid massacre on the front page of the 21st Century. ” anyone opposed of the mosquito Drain? unanimous decision. zoom out… lengths away Dragonflies are made to cancel their wings in mid-air. zoom-in… the settling of dust and smoke to reveal a bundle of tiger lilies. and a note that reads as follows: “this is all I can do for you now. ” Persecuted by an arbitrary Juryof my doll face peers who hours later will be at the bar across the street digesting radios and alcohol. The vauge projection of sobriety and certain blood tests to prove my being guilty of being aware of energy manifesting. A non-obtrusive conclusion to white noise chuckling back belligerent mediocrity. Everything is temporary says aloud the Phoenix of time and general youth. (to have known no room stiller than dawn, hair on the floor in fragments) "You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette for me now would you? " young-minded individuals equivalent to an Atlantis microcosm, pleading with sacred rainbows of manana for the descendance of wet towel dominoes in an alley sky. Enabling the evolutionary snowflake to bestow the gift of scarce enlightenment upon my fragmented tongue, thusly extinguishing all formerly frivolous residences. Sprouting there on my brow is an Aurora Borealis of pixelated tiger lilies purging in exuberance from my rooted consciousness. all the while, nocturnal folk-lords and the most lucid of chaos enthusiasts are dangling beads of stringy sophistication in forlorn of pyramid pupils and opposite schoolhouses on the brink of mannered dichotomy. Knowing full well in accordance to spiritual obligations to allow ourselves, when the time comes, to act as, and volunteer to be, the catchers in the rye. Blessed are the eyes of the beholder. Eager enough in which to wander. Past early Death and former squalor. Past cuckoo’s nests and pigeon Slander. who reaches Grace and to the hostage-- “I can offer God, I can offer Birth! ” But holiest the hostage who prefers the wander, “The world is a stage! And the horrors of Theatre! ” -”Hey, Burroughs. Burroughs, tell your ma, thanks for leavin’ the light on. what must have been charisma looming suspicious over the rooftops of ghost town perimeters where handsome tax collectors can be seen combing their curled locks of blondish concubine with grinning enthusiasm and sparkling vitality. azure eyes and petrified of peering into the cereal messiah awaiting cordially downstairs in a basement guarded by four white washed walls and figments of junk rendezvous. the canopy withdrawal and a bad back to perpendicularly ponder a futile sky in captivation of the feel good pendulum flattering bones of out skin and encouraging the leap of vein. Acrylic, hair, wood, and anole on canvass Call me Lizard King, immortal by morning my tail will have grown back. Acrylic, wood, hemp, and hair on canvas Imperial is the courtyard of saintly cuisine and chance factotum, stirring askew the skilled poachers momentum and villain digest. Enraptured by the haunting of your eye lids and enthralled by the reverence of pearls under misplaced fingernails. The echoof endeavors committed in a labyrinth of bathroomstalls and portals to reality checks engraved in Dog Years being spent in a cornucopia of rotten spindle, but your conundrum is my conundrum. Even if for fifteen days you were dead. (stay with me now.. ) enter void: antique schoolroom window facing abnormal oblivion. teacher on stage, pleading, “ghosts come here too. ” some students tease tongues out of mouths. while others, give flight to small paper airplanes, finally landing teacher hair; (who has calmed down drastically and is now standing in one corner of the room glaring into the narrower end of a lampshade. ) tale-bearing halls of ventilator speculation and gossip, “fresh breeze and seaweed upstairs, ‘nuff to go ‘round too. ” warm clicking of shoes on cool hipsters walking back and forth readjusting their reputation by means of beat placement. I’m the only one who hears it, armageddon in the hallway, coming up. kneel down under wooden desk of abandoned carvings & former initials. paid my dues: and.. (flush. ):Exit void. temporal perspectives of a sly limousine mysterious in dwelling. the margin of excellence or an affair of suburban rituals broadcasted by radio talk show hosts, luminous on leather microphones. rag-dolls for supper in jovial picnic baskets of cranium manifest. congestion continuum of affordable graffiti in lieu of conscious thought and light-hearted limousines with sensual interior. rows of heads turn with frozen eyes casting blue shadow across metal lake. tuxedo cuisine on the first floor of times square dizzy plaza that i dream of often. where is that you have gone from me? stations i did know of before i forgot. the proud iron lion casting company advertisement-- pitching, “just two dollars’ll get ya from here to the moon son. ” alright so, scene: (zoom in) “so it is my understanding that this so-called secret underground police force of guerilla madmen fresh out of the loony bin-with chill hands and cigarette butts in there eyes and runnin’ outta eyes. So now they’re resorting to more drastic measures, if ya dig? which is fine and dandy, i’m not worried about that in the slightest. what does concern me most is they’re sayin’ now they’re using the main sewege system as their own personal ashtray and pollutin’ our water. ” “yeah, i heard that. just another one of those beaurocratic government conspiracies goin round, i think. ” Sailed suburban ocean to happy hill stargaze. tinfoil garages Fat cat fountains vandalize the Milky Way. Galaxy Bike walk, No side moon talk, “Well, everything lives on the axis, ” They say. Pixelated tree canvas take anonymous shapes “Lower the city to make some room! ” off you go and back to the lab. telegram after telegram-- Burroughs in the asian market touching vessels with lovecraft. “Yes, I can play piano But only when I’m dressed. ” “Of course. ” “I’m spiritual, you see. ” Acrylic and lint on canvas Burroughs’ ma caught me going crazy in the asylum and the asylum was empty. out dated vessels are empty vessels, I think. Dead vessels I heard circulating Blood, set to a timer, The graveyard shift in the shed adjacent. i keep my gloves on just in case. the imaginary mockery is mass-producing Highways overhead. the acorn whistle is the fool’s song. I am a fool, I think... Adding pocket lint to pocket lint. irregular minds, explosions in the sky with- in compilation. Acrylic and thread on canvas I’m cold, but I feel poetic. Talking madman-Beatnik so and so. essentially, We are three apples in a dirty refrigerator. We are the polish Kings and Queen of the German incinerators, three wise Brother-Sister-Brother. we approach (like three wombat bums) young God in the Flesh. Lunatics--we come baring three gifts: Love- Love- Love. Acrylic, epoxy, wood, and frog skeleton on canvas i can chew the fat with an ambiguous amphibian and all that subjective universe bologna in my spoon. for now there is famine to be tended upon the android continent. not separate from hologram delivery service injecting shinny veins with the corset culture. one taste of distilled euphoria in hallucination of an evening sun obscuring plastic dolls flawless. the perspective apocalypse sketching debris on an aluminum street where you can pay to see frogs shed their skin for tarantula eyes. Of whom is subjected to sensation carnival or ensnared by the root of eternal existence: are you face or are you mask Of whom on coarse stampede for subtle tranquility and comprehension of consciousness revisited: are you there or are you glass? Of whom in astral desolation sought transient companionship with an external compound of celestial entity: are you veil or are you flask? Of whom are engrossed by the impermanent consistency and the process of becoming extinct: are you meal or are you mass? Acrylic, deer bone, hemp, hair, and anole on canvas the fewer and far between barstool acrobatics and collaborations of curiosity in dilation of delusion den. Men with stick and tire bent on bait and fire. still training ourselves to open for interpretation after all these years of hands and hammer. have gained neither noose nor solitude; and lost ourselves in the process. Acrylic and feather on canvas the catch and the apprentice. the swarm and the bean-stock. Plundering no trail of bread crumbs to a hieroglyphic God or monuments of divine porch. Decades of shrine and trench gulping sawdust candle-wax and confessing to compass geography and wealthy protractors. A smudge of grief folk-lore from early Dog Years and how far we walked in the meantime looking for eyes looking for mine. Shells of treason cleansed of jigsaw puzzle in a salty bath. The drowsy estuary magician’s hypnosis over shy raccoon chasing lines of introduction, meanwhile transcending to fields of wild flower nectar teasing two nostrils foul; in other words, I’m more likely to burn than 30 monks. The happenings of human contact, see and learn the fundamentals of childhood happen-stance. Between two trees. close utopia. Fertile earthworms of the opposite wisdom. Hanging out to dry and good for the taking. and the ole’, “Aliens do exist, I’ve seen martians with my own two eyes. ” out from the inside of science-fiction kaleidoscope. and I’ve heard the lambs cheer for their own slaughter. The greatest abortion served on a silver platter and the medical decay of some political matter. “all have emerged and all for the better. ” the street corner, street light working class hide their prophets as I pass. “all have purged and all for the better! ” My collection of tiger lilies and reading material Manifests into sky. Burroughs in the gutter with lovecraft, Newspaper sailboats and “It rained last night. ” Mom says night and the cat meows invisible. I catch you Before sleep and dream. Closer utopia. and all to me. But too close and sure enough another victim of the Fever Police, who speak pleased and easy, “Oh The happiness of human contact! There is a church Down by the sea Grace enough for Jesus Feet. Across the way in the west, Machines are elected president. There is a church Down by the sea Grace enough from whales to sleep. across the way in the west, Machines are the leading consciousness. In a dream, you were smoking a cigarette and coughing. Golden lungs squirming for elbow room. You were wearing collage eyes, remote with a hint of longing- but mostly lonesome. Cars passed under centipede-legs, and you were lovely up there, in your green happiness machine. The air bursted in private “.. the grave. ” rumors of refuge in ruins and brown paper bags of artificial momentum. new youngsters not divisible by mannequin logic using parables and syringes to inject rag-tag on several accounts now of deliberate lunacy and talented chaos. barking at the morgue of citadel America in jeopardy of losing it’s identity to the pocket gallery and basement technology. barking at the science of attics from an amused pavement gown, visiting from relay circus and caverns of fashion contortionists. barking at the membrane syntax ingrained in an omnipotent ego bestowing upon our heads the promise of oral punctuation and surgeon prophecy. barking at the personification of morality in obsolete gratification while simultaneously the idols of pyramids are fostering the masses into barrens of instantaneous shelters soon to be foreclosed. it is of these things that i have known; barking because at the end of the day poetry should be read aloud. Dogsick and jaded from too many doses of estimated postulation. I should have taken more notice of the moldy toast evangelizing to an oblivious oven boiling lobsters. Paralyzed by pliable decoys of embezzled ambrosia proposing diligence for the common humanoid entitled to corporate America, the only other structure on earth, built by hands, and not new to nebula. I had to kick the assembly cold turkey and make haste for the bohemian ferry on course from bridge to bathtub phenomena, bound together by the euphonic tile of ambient embroidery. Mining for allegory coal and a couple dogs in kennels somewhere snarling venom gestures of sincere malice. cardiovascular tug-of-war on territory and the origin of treason. collars useful belts for the fetching of flea infestation or post modern love. penalized with malnutrition of paternal instincts frantic and disjointed in visions of dog eat dog world. yelping from aristotle table-tops, utilizing the posture of masculine jugular. an heir to the throne; the most honorable of stakes in the ground. Once triumphant in childhood masterpiece, now lackadaisical and boyish burning a rusted spoon and callus for heaven; Hands once heroic in the precision of Grace, now rabid and hypothetical proving angelic contentment through trespassing glory of tissue apparatus; who once in credible nobility settled the reconciliation of blunder in sovereignty, now sitting cross-legged rationing and divvying up banana peels for the incarnation of an infinite appetite; Who once mournful of the grieving drawer epidemic, banished from thought the silver freedom, now in resilient contemplation of the funeral bloom in stupendous wicker, or rather, the same place that spirits go when they die. Acrylic, pencil, and receipt on canvas I pity the man who has materialized the mechanics of human misfortune. I pity the man who has sterilized his veins with contagious sensation. I pity the man who has immobilized the art of Genuine communication. I pity the man who has globalized the wretchedness of underwater asian markets. And above all else, I pity the man who has fantasized The carving of love from a wooden religion. Piñtata horseplay falls like candy over hungry vessels. The piñata prophet talks up the yuppie-scum gospel atop a golden pedestal. The ropest piñatas hang low from the apple tree and the masses come with their bats. The festival of Piñata Draws as impressive clientele of whom swing do it well. Who sit proud as parcels inside a Something shell Singing, “Piñata, Piñata, we wish you well, Piñata, Piñata, we know your spell, Such a secret, we’ll never tell, a fortune to keep all to ourselves! our piano tongues in young blood casserole. home-made consciousness we surrendered to gluttony and loosened our belts while feathered laurel trinkled melody souvenirs of past lives into an organic garden. (this actually happened. ) involved in cannabis conspiracy guessing the legend of soma holiday I’ve read so much about; that night, my sea-foam eyes were suspended in infinite jest devoting symbolism to the common curiosities of pangaea, utopia & etc. A Bomb drops in the distance-- we were quiet there by the fence on awkward highway shoulders. We lasseled the moon and pulled tiger-lilies from his palm. The grass complained about-- “All the Noise! ” Somewhere a television drops and everybody everywhere watches. Lightpoles laugh and announce, “There the vultures will gather! ” We close our eyes and count our happiness in the stars. The mayan auction Begins and we’re homeward bound. You remember one foot from the road back- “I forgot my gloves in December. ” I smile, “We’re gonna need a map. ” Acrylic and anole on canvas (part three) New sun in Mexico Illumination soft typewriter in charge of printing profound mysticism. Pure chaos addresses me from third person with promotion, “Number one, Mr. chaos never plays it safe. Number two, Mr. Chaos always comes Dressed for the occasion. ” The obscure projector in dusty room Behind cat eyes-Double-sided glass- looking in, looks like - [The verde fuzz emitting an ernest glowof warm visual contrast] -experimenting with Green theory and the host hypothesis-Admitting allegiance full-heartedly to the Illusion of Significance. False moon for the cause. False clouds singing, dancing, applauding. Hang from the trees expert chameleons are shooting their way to camouflage freedom... so goes train whistle-heavy listening- close by- “Sounds like he’s heading North for the movement. ” I put down my things and hop aboard the underground railroad. Cast away Dog whimper after midnight. slow smokescreen to avoid being seen. overpass protagonists shimmering in synthetic light like imitating clarity after soft rain fall in the evening, only came to go again, taking with it our weightless infinity of cast and glory. Where as cobweb dreamcatchers are marvelous glimmering under Violet skyline, fragrance like many grapevines. Reading Kerouac to keep quiet, talkin’ ‘bout not-a-thing. so art is food, i think. (Love for the world perhaps) ‘nuff to go round too. Acrylic, stone, turtle shell, hemp, and wood on canvass view with doors open Three step cigarette coming to an end. Weight of spirit bow & arrow to launch friendly porches lighting matches on our travels. All-seeing interpreter of Sacred universe recites for us the fundamental laws of love: stay as long as you’d like. Lounge here gypsy one for there is time to be warranted. Emerald eye passengers in coherent stenographer recording stupors of kinetic mitosis reoccurring the nucleus of spiritual awakening and marvel introspect. Weary of big brother and the cobweb monarch hatching cocoons of butterfly surveillance nesting symmetric nuclei and conscious geometry. Identifying spectrum taxonomy and parallel homeostasis. In concerns of an absent morning we concurred the mystery regime and theory of Limbo Motel in the meantime. Dialect untouched by mistakable love, Studied at once in measurable cups, “Drink up, my Darling, drink up. ” E. E. Cummings, on rooftop heavens, Making passes at all below him. All at once in awe suspension. Receiving glory from odd collections of Microscopic [t, a, d, p, o, l, e] children. If we should know one thing for certain, may everything that falls, fall to the weigh side, but LOVE is the ship.
Should have won. Watch full length une soeur en. Watch Full Length Une soeur jumelle. Watch full length une soeur de. Beautiful compaling story ♥️ Congrats for the Oscars nomination. TROP TROP BON UN DES MEILLEURS. Watch Full Length une source. Nadie: Absolutamente nadie: Yo llorando a las dos de la madrugada viendo esto. Watch Full Length Une soeur. J'adore l'islam.
Un génie ce mec ! l'un des rares qui me fasse pleurer de rire. Watch full length une soeur 1.
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