PDF | Although having different conceptual meanings, the sociologist see the Download full-text PDF .. Singurătatea în doi, nu e pentru noi. 34 Nimeni nu ştie. .. 90 15 Ram Krishna Singh Nu ți se spune niciodată. .. WITHIN DESĂVÂRŞIRE LĂUNTRICĂ Singurătatea chinuie sufletul Uneori ți-aş Vihar este prea mic dar nu e rău pentru noi doi: nu putem fi niciodată acasă în. Singurătatea în doi, nu e pentru noi. Cum să trăim împreună şi să ne păstrăm individualiatea. Bucureşti, Romania: Curtea Veche 9 Apostu, I. (). Infidelity.
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DOWNLOAD PDF. Report this file. Description. Download Singuratatea in Doi Nu e Pentru Noi Free in pdf format. Sponsored Ads. Shop Related Products. Mai rea este singurătatea în doi, decât de unul singur Mereu să-nveţi câte ceva nou, să nu-ţi plafonezi mintea. 28 Cei mai mari duşmani ai noștri suntem noi. Download as PDF or read online from Scribd . alice-miller-drama-copilului- soundofheaven.info Singuratatea in Doi Nu e Pentru Noi.
Michael Herdy the as retardation processes in one single model. My blood is throbbing, as if chased away with the blazing wisp. Ooi Chin Boon. Matematicienii le numesc numere prime gemene: An oscillatory dynamic experiment differs from simple creep and stress relaxation studies in two important respects. Landel and Ferry .
Numele meu. Mi-e dor de numele meu. My name. Through rear-vaults one can hear wails from dry gullets — time is running out of consonants on the Wrath Day -.
Inside me is growing the megalith, at such a slow pace, that it astonishes me. And then, give me, my God, back my name! Otherwise, who am I? They used to kneel in front of the white iconostases, 84 on which there were painted the passions of my defaults, and were cradling to their bosom the babies that my unavailability was giving birth to. I am still perceiving even now their endearments about my countenance which I fail to catch up with, my defaults, my passions from the white iconostases, my defaults which the resurrection could kill.
Life like a Fear Monger You see why at dawn you went hunting the dead? Needlessly have you gone hunting the dead. Yours are the wounds, and only by opening them can you heal them.
I was writing letters to myself, so as to read them when I have arrived. How long would it have taken the Romanan mail to deliver a letter? Thereby, recollection was an actuality of sorts, I was living jointly with the character I was. The letters were the explicative dictionary of my being. Now they write letters no longer, nobody apologizes any longer. Our love has been taking possession of the city of forbidden things.
Out of the question to keep on living as beforehand or alone to die! And what a queer pair we are! Irrespective of how many windowpanes and window-shows and silver-coasters had got broken, the light would all the more get enhanced. Tomorrow morning our town will have one more statue. Encountering Death A great opportunity — encountering death 96 which you are able to think back to. Death as compressed space — as straggling from oneself, an infeasible declension.
This time it is not death that is to blame if you are going to die. The soldiers are smoking, you can see them through the doors of the patrol wagon, the bluish smoke bespeaks that they are alive and will carry on living subsequently as well. It is not death that is to blame if you are going to die. A great opportunity, encountering death which you are able to think back to. Everything is dwelling behind there. Everything is getting forward. The past is making its way ahead of me. I am making my way behind my past.
Then one can hear the prophets, chanting in four parts, one for the sake of each magnitude of the world. And hence the future is making its way behind me, whereas I am making my way ahead of my future. Here are therefore the last two lines or, 39 A lutier is a crasftsman who works out or repairs a string instrument. Some such famous violin craftsmen are: Amati, Stradivarius, Guarnerius, Roberto Regazzi.
When the past is beforehand and anytime shifting, when the future is relentless, behind, while the relation between cause and effect is but a matter of contingency Ce simplu ar fi! The ripplings were curving over the stones, were spreading out, towards the low ground, like some thick ropes, while on the baptismal day and place, they were streaming backwards, like in any other unaccomplishable beginning of the world.
None of the labyrinth walls was mirrored in the water, they were gliding into each other as if some psalms were getting misread, conversely. The Chinese wall, built up to defend against dangers from without. The Berlin wall, built up to defend against dangers from within. The Wailing wall, meant to defend against overmuch Divinity.
Otherwise, in the labyrinth there are no rivers. How simple it would be! While the sea means release from any labyrinth. Hunger is the most precious legacy which my great-grandparents were handing down to me, while wandering about the desert on their way to Deir-es-Zor Otherwise, my upper teeth would keep on getting down till they jugulated my goozle.
Otherwise, my downside teeth would keep on getting up incessantly, till they pierced through my brain 41 Deir ez-Zor is the largest city in eastern Syria and the seventh largest in the country. Located km to the northeast of the capital Damascus on the shores of the Euphrates River, Deir ez-Zor is the capital of the Deir ez-Zor Governorate. We are grouped in circular line, together with my great grandparents.
It is feasibly the tightest circlet, because any of us might as well become its nucleus. It is getting dark and it is so cold in the desert that by rolling the sand into a ball we could do little snowmen, so cold and so quiet as if we were beyond the gravity barrier. It is only my teeth that can be heard shivering and shaking, because my thoughts are not all the same.
He who had lain in ambush could have seen my blank glances, staring at a wall of the room, but in a mood of mystical ecstasy of he who turns his eyes to the infinite half of the sea. God knows, in one of my other lives, I may have got died by drowning. The sky opens up from the grass and if you keep on staring at a singular point for hours on end, in that place a star gets born.
Nothing disappointing has taken place in my daydreams about the last shore. This is why I love the hemi-cycle and the shipwreck that can rescue me. Originally written c. We had remained alone, the beleaguered by our own dreams. We were dancing ceremonies with masks from the time when the nights were not meant for sleeping.
Through the windows one could look only from the street. I sensed that hereabout there lies a green meadow, where the horses were grazing grass the same colour as their shadows. I was curling up into a ball on the brink of the century, as if on a stub, a voice was reading, to my ears, the Ecclesiastes: And, in particular, have I learned how burdensome it is to get free. Sunt singurul vorbitor al unei limbi moarte. The Cemetery of the Dead Words All that remains from a shipwreck: I am the only speaker of a dead language.
The same was about my father and about each of my ancestors. I go sometimes to the cemetery of the dead languages, mostly when the plum trees come into bloom on the sly, so that the century should seem altogether unlikely. Everybody has his turn….. I raise my wine glass and trickle three driblets into the snow, as a memorial service to the words which I have said.
May God rest their soul and give them light! On the good Friday of each day, I go to the cemetery of the dead languages. The words have died in our stead, but the cemetery gates are still open. Other words are lynching in our stead. Back in the Days when the World was Complete there erupts time and again, anear, a Vesuvius for which we are not prepared at all. I seem to see the Magus of Leaves hopping ahead like a locust and us, plucking singly one hundred leaves which were promising that the world was going to shield us against injuries.
My town has remained behind, like an Erechtheion44 of the chestnut trees. Am adulmecat orizonturile interzise. The Story of my Generation A cheek that suddenly grows old, a bundle of wrinkles, a furrow cut straightforwards above by each word.
We were endowed with the joy of our own helplessness. We were in particular what we were not allowed to be. We whispered the forbidden prayers. We handed out to one another, till we rendered them unmendable, the forbidden books.
We watched, jostled into one another, the forbidden movies. We scented the forbidden horizons. The frontierists went across the forbidden rivers.
We listened, by straining our ears, like the bats, the vibrations of the forbidden bandwidth. We multiplied the passions of our evangelists by the forbidden typewriters. We sang about the close-eyed madman and about other forbidden prophecies. We uttered on the sly the names of the forbidden dead. We experienced hopefulness and hopelessness, in turn, which was forbidden.
These are the passions of my generation. Just as the weaknesses on His Friday are ranked among His wonderworks. Acum e decembrie. To my Fingers I know my fingers by heart although not by all means in this sequence. Now it is December. And this is the way I come to know my fingers by heart. The first thing when I felt that the world is not only myself, was to discover their shadows on the wall.
There comes a time when it is their shadows that will discover me. Sunt dresorul de vise. Our Father who are Swinging45 45 Parodic? Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and ever. Each day is a new workmanship to scent death while stepping down on stairs. The black angel will put on instead of the bridle rein, the tow.
My birth, nor has it taken place outright, and, if I think it over, not even now am I born root and branch. Post mortem, he was acknowleged as honorific citizen of the town.
I am, in fact, a self-murderer in succession. I have my inimitable style of self-murdering empty-handed. A word, shimmering like steel, forgotten, before falling asleep, hissed. A brief swinging, a sudden fracture between the vertebrae neckbone47 and spondyl My life is an endless love story between myself and what scares me. Without as much as doing it gratuitously: I am a paid self-murderer. Give me a copper coin and the comedy can begin. With each laurel wreath something gets rending in myself, unshapely children huddling in the arms of the same Mary.
I am the tamer of dreams. The people of my shadows, on the wrath day, look blindly. Ropes of blood entwined hang up in the air. So many ways of passing away. Our Father you who art not and who, nevertheless, are swinging in heaven. The word "isotope" derives from the Greek isos equal and topos place.
The isotope is the atom-species with the same atomic number Z but with different mass A number that is, the same chemical propreties, but different physical ones. We are sitting by the side of the grave, like two wisemen, myself and the isotope of carbon Myself, drawing with my finger in the virgin soil.
It, self-halving, its eyes glittering. This is why the town is not to my liking, its graves are always fresh and lifeless. Therefore, here we are, by the edge of the grave from across the woodside, myself, keeping on enwidening, because in my picture about the world always there is still something more to say, it, keeping on getting on the wane, as the half, however little it might be, Carbon, 14C, radio-carbon or radioactive carbon is a radioactive carbon isotope with atomic nucleus, that contains 6 protons and 8 neutrons.
Alongside, a piece of silex and an immortal cloth- wrapped, and he only bones as well, his flesh deliquesced long ago. Jean Gaston Darboux n. Darboux's theorem is a theorem in real analysis that states that every function that results from the differentiation of other functions has the intermediate value property: Every discontinuity of a Darboux function is essential, that is, at any point of discontinuity, at least one of the left hand and right hand limits does not exist.
A strongly Darboux function is one for which the image of every non-empty open interval is the whole real line. At the time when they were fabling one another, the immortals and the human beings were the same age. And, here it is, next to the others, the word: Credo in unum Deum,Pater omnipotentem. Welwitschia mirabilis 54 I bear testimony about the worldwars as not being altogether that worldwide and that in the Kalahari desert there are the highest sand hills in the world.
This is not the only resemblance between sand and snow: We are wandering till our nostrils sense the salty smell of the ocean. There where all the border lines get intercrossing and the winds get clustered in bunches we encounter the Welwitschia mirabilis. While its seed was sprouting, fumbling around the sand, in the other half of the world the pope Leon the Great55 was holding back Attila the Scourge56 of God. For one thousand five hundred years there has been peace around the Welwitschia mirabilis.
Papa Leon I, or Pope Leon the Great - had a demanding pontificate on both levels — internal and external ones -, yet managing to thwart Attila s invasion into the Italian peninsula in He also formulated his theological views by sorting out fundamentally dogmatic matters in his almost 70 speeches. Attila b. Although he did not manage to conquer the Constantinople, the Roman Galia the modern France or Rome, he was one of the most fearful enemies of the Eastern and Western Roman Empires.
Five hundred and still one thousand more years of peace. The world wars were not altogether that worldwide. Otherwise it is good, the drops sprinkle from the roof with eternal relentlessness. The stalagmite grows one centimetre by century, he adds laughing, his head down.
I learn how to think by counting about myself. This grain, at about half a metre, is the great pyramid, while at about one hand above, Cambyse 57 was conquering Egypt.
Son of Cyrus the Great r. While here, on the last five millimetres, something like a seed, am I, with my petty infinite, blood beads from the crucifixion of the stone trickling down on my crown.
I am looking with gentleness at these five millimetres, my romanced biography, 58 Seneslau Seneslav is mentioned in by king Bella the fourth of Hungary as a Romanian vaivode in Transalpine Muntenia. In Praise of Folly61 I am not a madman, but all of you, all the others who are staring at me, are raving lunatics.
The counterdirection which you say I am following insanely is not mine, but yours. From my left nostril there gets off an arrow towards the brain each time when a white line vanishes on the table.
My brain is the chest furrowed by arrows It is still topical after years. I am not a madman, my brain is without angles, you might as well safely bow to it, thus coming to praise folly deservedly.
According to traditional belief, he was killed during the Roman emperor Diocletian's persecution of Christians. Am fost cele mai fericite odrasle ale bunuluiDumnezeu. We were the luckiest offsprings of the good God, the only ones chosen to, at once, get across the borderline of a millenium and of a new revolution. One further opportunity, one could say, to be able to comprehend. Alas, you all, rejoice, nothing has been arbitrary in our lives!
Pushed towards the ever higher walls of another Jerusalem, there are no guileless ones amongst us. We were doomed to get born. The day was lasting about a quarter from that bread loaf, the sunset was a dark nibble of doughy bread.
The only death-mongering illness was the self- sacrifice. We were the most fortunate offsprings of the good God. It is getting darker and darker, we are denting our cheeks with it, there are no guileless ones amongst us Demonii tac. My People on the Road to Damask This way has my people come to get halved, pointlessly, they were toiling along on the road to Damask, through the desert, their thigh-wound yet unhealed.
Along with myself there was born in the world of the dead a boy by my name. The fiends keep silent. By pair, for myself and for my twin. The angels are also keeping silent, their ankles broken. My people, on the road to Damask, have been wandering in a shiftless way. Am povestit prea destul. On Death, with Love We talk about death as if we took part in a picnic Everybody comes with eatables from home and places them in a circle.
Sometimes we are hungry , some other times, others are eating to our memorial. Then one gets up and says: Another, frightened, says: Around us there grow statues without arms. The old Greek were saying that three points will suffice for us to retrieve the circle.
The option for this name is grounded in the Biblical line: Ieronim, cca. AD One can only go in convoy,one cannot run. From one temple to the other, other chains,thin.
We are unable to distinguish between the king and theclown, the executioner from his victim. The day of wrath does not come closer. We stone-still are looking at each other for minutes on end, Never is he the first to budge an inch. I feel like slashing my veins so as to see how far he is getting On with his seeming sacrifice.
According to some Gnostic traditions, Simon of Cyrene, by mistaken identity, suffered the events leading up to the crucifixion, and died on the cross instead of Jesus the Second Treatise of the Great Seth. Rubens painted the scene "And as they led him away they laid hold upon one Simon, a Cyrenian, coming out of the country, and on him they laid the cross that he might bear it after Jesus.
That apricot tree from the mid-courtyard is the place From which in my life there starts any measuring. Then all the four-fold apple-trees, the golden ones and the Jonathan ones,had To get picked up with tailets, Lest their fruit should, in the course of the year, get blighted, The prune tree around which there were swarming the wasps When the plums Were getting mellow unpicked, The mellow pears which were falling like some grenades into the grass.
More silence than afterwards could hardly be found. While my first school teacher was an old angel, Who had looked at us from a distance would have seen a child Sitting at the feet of the giant nut-tree.
In autumn, the wind shook down the branches And the nuts fell to theground, I broke their shells and ate their milky nut meat. For each of us death takes on a different colour, As if I began living from the right to the left, As if I had never existed. In this respect one might as well find even some proofs. The Birds The guilt is theirs,but the unsown field is ours, hardly can one pick up,from among the weeds, a handful of grain themselves also neglected intothe furrows of some older autumns.
What kind of sky is this one Where the birds are always hungry And never do they fly,as up there nothing eatable is left? We are left with nothing but chewing crumbs of words If one for long toys with them from one side of the mouth to the other, They take on the bread taste. We might be said To get half forgiven Till the black flights will be followed on by another penance. The guilt is theirs, but the unsown field remains ours. We stand by its side, quiet and limp-armed, Like some scarecrows that are fearful of birds.
The Elegy to my Wall Piece I was born otherwise than the ones before me. I have six fingers about one hand and I also have A sixth human sense that helps me To look piercingly through the wall. The higher, the thicker, the wallis, the more embroidered With barbed wire, like the raw silk, The more threatening it is and the greyer, The more pointedly the harpies, the gargoyles and the rangers Are aiming by rifle range designedly at our foreheads, The brighter the otherworld is,the more tranquil.
Each of us was carrying his wall-piece Through which hewas watching,as if at a cinema hall, his slice of the ideality. At the bottom of the wall Or on the ramparts, death Was received in short order open-eyed. Never were they dying enough, Never were they in sufficient number, There always remained other advocates of the same ideals, The frontiers were giving birth to frontierists Just as from pain babes invariably come into the world.
I have overturned the stone, there where there was stone only. I have embowled the earth there where there was earth only. I had forgotten about the wall-piece and I had forgotten about you, Brother of mine with whom I have destroyed the wall and set out To go lion-hunting. I have never retrieved you ever since. Just as I have never come across my wall-piece any longer, The magic screen that was able to take to decompose the light into its colours, And the Annunciation which I had prayed to: That light still wants for the wall which to shine through, It has remained stamped only onthe faces of our dead ones, Although we have forgotten them as well.
To their memorial Nobody reads even at least some apocryphal scriptures. I sometimes come back to the foot of the wall which used to be, My hands grazed, my sixth sense blinding. And yet, we might be said to experience a great love story, we, who stand by the roadside and are waving our hands uselessly to the blind motorcars By how many types of dying am i going to pay For this night of loving Which I cannot step from but backwards, Just as from the North Pole one may only come down.
The Blue Shaman The first half of the cross. In every place There is an above and a beyond And it is not true That only what is concealed Is really worth seeing. We are growing on the questions that Asked themselves those before us, Invariably more baffled than we are, Their eyes full of a light Which is ever less ours.
Otherwise how well will it be on the earth: My blood is a circle, it has no peaks And yet it is scratching up on the inside. Somebody is looking at me from behind the mirror, As if he were looking on the window, Than myself more important are the memories Of the others about myself, My life is an autobiography in the third person. Beneath is below us, alongside us and above us.
They are among us,but we are not among them. We and they Cannot be alive at the same time. Origami I am entitled , like anybody else, to my Sermon on the Mount. There flows the river of forgetfulness,a turbid water course with only one bank, With the wall smooth and white like the paper. They are walking in With a reeling gait, their shoulders bent, in a queue,one after the other, While the first is going to become the last.
I can harbour any thought about what lies beyond this wall Sleek and greedy like a white paper sheet. My woman conceived of poppy seeds, oh! My face multiplied as in a labyrinth of mirrors in which it is only the suicide that makes the difference. For it, memory is just a habit, like the homewards road. Detail Face to the wall, you rascal, hands above your head, palms pressed against the wall and legs apart!
His voice is spurting out as from a severed throttle. After a while my arms get fagging out, as if broken from the shoulders, my knees get soft with shivering, my throat gets drooping. His anguish turns into the extremity of my endurance, unwittingly my sufferings intensify ever more his sufferings. After a while there is no more time. It stops over, with its antennas it is feeling a cranny along the wall. The voice that deadens everything has lost its power. The ant draws away hauling my shadow, like a bread crumb.
My blood is throbbing, as if chased away with the blazing wisp. How simple and clear is everything! On my gas mask, no startling. Their hunger comes from their chest, and their chest nothing can be found to fill it in, about their hanging corners of the mouth thirst, a greenish froth. But the fiend of enmity is arousing white, as a lotus, nay, as a cherub indeed, its wing is touching their bald forehead or their dishevelled manes.
Wonderful, discreet and undying is our love, not to mention the battles,oh, the battles that we are waging on its behalf: Dodge is motivated by the way he was planning his battles, according to the forte and the vulnerabilities of his enemy. It was such military tactics thanks to which he won three dramatic victories in his first years in Italy: Whereas even Rome - his greatest enemy — adopted some of his very military tactics.
The crippled who are looking at us get seated two by two, so as to be able to clap their hands. The Dream I dream myself shaking a leg, attired and preening my feathers like the naked devil. Naught resembles a plaything any longer, only my left trace is similar to my right trace, cleaved in two.
A good opportunity, one could say, to listen to the Gospel. He might as well have dreamt, just like other people, like us, he dreamed for instance about his parents, but this would have impossibly inconvenienced the dogmas of the great theologians.
He may have dreamed about things otherwise impossible, such as the unified field theory Historically, there have been two theory-classes: At Day Break Everybody and each of us is standing by the side of another grave. It fastens us like a hand-cuff on our ankle. We cannot feel any closer. We are differentiated through the dead that each of us is lamenting for.
Miraculously, the sun rose at the cross-roads. What sort of Spring is this one, which shouts to me, Joseph and Nicodim? Not only wonders are being worked on this world, of ours, The sacred images are sad, the infant is an old child, You cannot see martyrs gamboling aroundin some groves or saints rollingover with laughter onthe flooring. What I want would take up only a scrapof paper sheet set on the Wall of Weeping, in aniche: The traffic lights switch on in a strict sequence which not even you are able to change any longer.
It happened all of a sudden, I felt my padding spread smooth on my back and the cloth of my shirt stuck to my young chest. I was rejoicing, but I was also ashamed of his thinned body as when one gets so close to the wall so as to let room for another to get by. Up on the scenic slopes of the Nablus hills stands the ancient royal city of Samaria, overlooking the present village, Sebastia. The ruined site extends on a hill dominating the surroundings.
On top of the hill the remains of an Iron Age city were found, including the forum with the Severan basilica, many columns of which are still standing, the Roman theater with the Hellenistic tower near it, and the Herodion gate towers at the entrance to a colonnaded street.
Terzah here, to Samaria and made it his capital. Under the influence of his Phoenician wife, Jezabel, Ahab built a temple in honor of Baal. His long reign saw the development of a powerful aristocracy who became, for the prophets Hosea and Amos, epitomes of decadent aristocracy. The prophets' predictions about Samaria were: Among the superb vestiges of Roman civilization, the following stand out: To the south of the temple of Augustus, spread the ruins of the palace of Omri, which was enlarged by Ahab.
Ostraca, Rhodian amphoras, pieces of pottery bearing Greek and Hebrew inscription have revealed the Persian and Hellenistic quarter, which covered the two palaces. Today, for instance, there has vanished my third eye, from the forehead, and I wrote, my finger dipped in wine, on the sheen of the mirror: Cei care trebuie ne privesc pe-ndelete: The basic narrative refers to a mysterious knight, who arrives—in a boat drawn by a swan—to help a noble lady in distress.
On his marrying her, he forbids her to ask his origin; when later she forgets this promise, he leaves her, never to return.
In a French version of the legend, the Chevalier au cygne, the knight of the swan here called Helyas married Beatrix of Bouillon, the story being arranged and elaborated to glorify the house of Bouillon. Godfrey of Bouillon, a leader of the First Crusade, was held to be the son of a mysterious swan knight.
English versions of the legend, composed in the late 14th and early 16th centuries, were strongly influenced by this French account. Enciclopaedia Britannica.. He who is spinning round the disc of the record player is retelling my life. I stretch out my hand and my shadow is also getting longer at the price of my abjections. There is a tune that sounds dissonantly here and there, or else monotonous, the passers-by are dancing especially single, but also by two, by three, by four.
By five is already too much and showy. The great drum sets the beat, they are heedfully dancing placing their left on the drum. Then Sunday comes, from time to time, about once a month. The dancers get disconnected on the quiet, withdraw into some show-cases, snuggling among the shelves, or reeling, their collars hung on clamps.
Those who must needs are looking at us leisurely: According to late Rabbinical traditions, hei s one of the four ancient Israelites, who died sinless. According to the Genesis, hei s the 12th son, the youngest, of Jacob the Patriarch, who, in contrast to his elder brother Joseph, was born in Canaan, being the second and the last son of Rachel. In the Judaic Islamic and Christian traditions, hei s honoured as the ancestor of the Israelite tribe Beniamin.
I sometimes think how things would have been had I lived shorter than I have an impossible thought: My Grandfather, the Gardener Oh, God! Here is the English version, translated by Jon Andrews.
Always be drunk. Therein lies everything: Whether wine, poetry or virtue, the choice is yours. The original sounds as such: Mais enivrez-vous. Woe to you, those who, on leaving, know where you want to get! Death wakes my dead body, candle in its hand, is weeping, on parting ways with myself. Then, the spirit gets seated like an owl, on the shoulder of death. Then my head gets placed on my left shoulder, so that I could look askance. Woe, to you, the three outworn axes of the world!
Un caz particular este cel al dodecaedrului regulat, care este unul din cele cinci tipuri de poliedre regulate.
My life has been fabulous, made up of inconsequential deeds. My poetry is a heroic one written in the first person. On the Run I am on the run with might and main, nobody is chasing me away, and yet, somebody is little short of catching up with me.
By no means am I throwing away the precious- loves from my shoulders. I am on the run with might and main, lest I should catch up with myself. There is no other escape for me but to love what frightens me. Solzii, spre glezne. The scales, towards our ankles. On our eyes there grows a white skin, the closer we get, the blinder. Then there come thewillow roots, to the north. Our foreheads are grave-ledgers and this pit-fall is dug by man but in it there was to get buried no man.
In the beginning there was the shadow. Towards it do we get ahead. We hardly know who is carrying whom. In the world of the shadows everything is topsy turvy. There, at the root of the wall, the coffin is carrying us, like a punt boat. Din nou despre mine: The Hyperplane74 To be only the one from here would be too little and incomprehensible.
In its silent part, my life is a monologue in front of my shadow, that creature without soles …. Again about myself: I can entwist, which my shadow is hardly ever going to be able to do.
Self infidelity becomes the excuse for conjugal disfunctionality while the infidelity of the other becomes a motivation for separation.
The paradigm that arises from this context of value dissonance derives from the fact that the society builds individualities more than solidarities. References Banovcinova, A. Bordeaux, France: Editions Jouvence Dubar, C. Paris, France: Editura Lumen. Roussel, L. La famille incertaine. Edition Odile Jacob. Salome, J.
Curtea Veche 9 Apostu, I. Terec-Vlad, L. About the evolution of the human species: Postmodern Openings, 5 3 , 67 — Related Papers. Efficiency — Model for Scientific Research Evaluation. By Panaite Nica and Silviu Mihail. Intercultural Education in Italy and in the United States: By Rina Manuela M Contini. Argument Argument Argument Argument. By burlacu loredana. By Constantinescu Lucretia Mariana.
About the Evolution of the Human Species: Human Robots and Human Enhancement. By LR TK. Download pdf. Remember me on this computer.