How The Apollo 13 Use The Newtons Law Of Motion

On the Waterfront / On quays

Une vue du Pont Neuf et des maisons de la Place Runner in the Ile de la Cité. The bare trees in winter create a set of vertical balance the horizontal deck and boxes of booksellers. / A view of the Pont Neuf and The Houses of Place Dauphine is apparent Ile de la Cité. Trees Revealed by winter create a set of vertical lines of horizontal Which The balance the bridge & the boxes Of The secondhand booksellers.

Christina Alguilera Boobs

Some pictures ... From

Small photos taken in recent days ... The feminine touch of home:

A photo


unlikely ... I surprised Remi and Lena in conversation but what I love most and that I had not noticed when taking the photo is the shell to the ear. The small detail that makes the difference.


And then, a small test at the studio that has not been very successful ... I'm definitely a little claustrophobic, much more comfortable with the portrait from life!



I still like this photo, not by its photographic qualities but by the look on Adrian's sister who she even looks at his big brother to the looking for a sign to trigger antics ... Really can not ask them and so much more!

ميكرو بكيني

Our Lady Grey Weather / Notre Dame With A gray weather.

Medal Bottle Sterilization

Barges on the wharves or barges were

about a movie whose subject barges moored near the Pont Neuf in the background with the Palace of Justice on the Quai des Orfevres. / A small The subject for painting HAVING accosted nearness of barges has Lepont Nine In The Background With The Palace of Justice on the Quai des Orfevres.

How Long Can Chest Infection Keep You Off Work

Mist quay at the Pont des Arts. / Pont des Arts

time slightly sunny this January ally in the cold of winter cause slight haze along the Seine. Here at the Pont des Arts, L'Institut de France slightly blurred in the distance, while in the foreground color of the stones which support the bridge all warm. / The weather brightened up Slightly cette January allied to the Cold Light Of The winter mists Provoke Along the Seine. Here In The Pont des Arts The Institute of France Becomes Slightly blurred In The remote WHERE IN foregrounds The Colors of stones supporting the bridge Which The Whole warm.

Congratulations Well Done In Latin

scrap ...

... with the kit Scrapdeco inspiration for January. Not easy to resume after a month of December without making pages but this kit was perfect to set foot in the stirrup.



Papers winter but instead I let myself go to a summer photo because I love the combination gray / blue with beige fabric, it was perfect:



a page more tidy, it was ages I did not use flowers ...



page more season with photos dating back a bit but I really like:



To see the rest, I invite you to visit Scrapdeco, I Diversity always given by my teammates ...

Cost Of Dog Wart Removal

misty winter morning on the docks / Winter morning we quays. First

What Kind Of Diet Is Kathy Lee Gifford On

Three poems by George Khaiat

The Past


The past is neither dead nor buried.
In fact, it is not even past.
W. Faulkner


The hidden past you see
It is life that kills
The black spot bloody well affable
Are my old ineradicable. The indelible
cruel Lady Macbeth hundred times unsuccessfully attempted terror
With handwashing
His hands stained with royal blood ...
Filling this great tragedy
From my long past there was silence
Who were not without consequences On some tragic love
distant
What I want to erase some difficulty
Why have I given so many shots?
I plead guilty I confess
Despite my anger and my rebellion
Despite my furious kicks
I was deprived of liberty. My Freedom ... Like Gulliver
to toe ... I was tied
In this life the only real problem
Could write a great poem
A poem like clear water flowing between the mountains
universal issues
Singing of life the vibrant
Let everyone wonders to his friends recite the ear ... And then and then
this life do you know?
Perfect timing! I no longer believe! The past glory
sang ... This past
Come see more closely
You will see that my guts have bled.
In this difficult period of adolescence
moment of transformation and violence
Grief Grief Grief
Was my daily bread, my daily bread. In my
Tunisia so kind and so sweet
When I was only three feet six inches
Then came a small pogrom
If there was no loss of life
There were so many cries of hatred
In maddening staging
it will always be an injury And in my
be a permanent rift
... Do you know what friend is to be a target for every Jewish child
visible?
Painful memories accumulate
And why speak of the Inquisition?
What good talk about the occupancy
And all these concentration camps?
Do you know my dear Astrid
La Plaza Mayor de Madrid
Red impure blood that flows through it?
you remember pictures of Goya
those of Velazquez and Diego Rivera?
The noble red robes and pointed hats
heretics that torture and then kill you ...
The violence was the rule under Vichy
natural ally of Nazi murderers
And as criminals hunted
Faculties we were expelled
And we carried the infamous yellow star
To be recognized by this carnivorous wildlife from my Tunisia
so kind and so sweet I also keep
wonderful memories
Sfax is a city that I loved and sung in a desert
An island of prosperity
I will always love its smells
His bread and oil and anchovies
His talk fast his good nature and flowers
His The dirty little college
pool of Cafe de la Regence
Where we do not pay a Part two
I talk about my Grandmother Rachel
Who did break on my little person
A torrent of words
delicious word which I did not understand
My interpreter translated: You are
his heart, liver, eyes ... His sun ...

_ You invent anything?
These words are hers?
Say - that I thank him
And I will see her Thursday.
After kissing the fingers
From my great - grandfather Sovereign
I left with a piece of biscuit in his hand.
And much later when I was exhausted by
doctor consultation
noon hour arrived beer with salted almonds
valuable time where I concentrated on my palate ...
I will not speak of the loves of my youth
But while I was flattered
recognized physician in the hospital grounds I was
accosted by an elegant young woman who told me:
- I'm in love with you I'd sleep with you


But unfortunately you're not Muslim!
- Your compliments make me dumb
Let me, at least in thought,

I kiss your feet ...



My TUNISIA

To be born in this blessed land of Gods Tunisia
O sweet! Fertile plain surrounded by sea
Where the skies are always blue
The bright winter sunshine
of great happiness we were offered

Never shall I forget the town where my father was born
And I say without the slightest difficulty: I
Arab'm compassionate
For these long years of colonization.

My feet smell of the earth
My arms with their smell of sea
Have the strength of Sirocco and Mistral rampaging
My sweat smells like anchovies and olives marinated
My flesh has a taste for bread semolina oil tempered
Sometimes lemonade flavored with orange blossom
But when I'm old with golden hair
Motionless arms crossed I will become an olive
An olive tree foliage silvery

In this country Cockaigne brightly colored
For violent and benevolent odors
Men are constantly drunk
And to betray the emotions that come
Even the brains of the elderly are less frivolous
invaded by erotic dreams that the scariest!
Friend! Have you seen a Tunis walk?
dresses that mold
buttocks rolling
And scents that drunk ...
you hear the songs laughing
Shouts ironic and mocking
While swifts
prance And the sun so hot type?
- Mamzelle! Can I fondle your breasts
In exchange for a glass of good wine?

At thirteen I attended meetings of dockworkers
against high prices they were angry! By
misery and disease decimated
They said that the Tunisians were oppressed
That the French were the masters
Heaven and earth belong to them
Arabs they graze
For justice and equality they were not born
And if the bosses were fattened
In very poor villages
The natives were piled
To survive they learned to be sober
The peasants were squeezed like lemons
The women were subjected walled
And to reassure settlers
In d 'The horrible prisons
Destourien were tortured ...

When I grow very old with golden hair
And great blue eyes dilated
Motionless arms crossed I will become an olive
An olive tree foliage silvery ...
Mam'zelle French and I fondle your breasts in exchange
d’un verre de bon vin ?

Après de longues études je devins médecin
Par chance aussi célèbre qu’un moine Bénédictin
Mais quand je pris de l’âge
Et que j’eus l’apparence d’un sage
Ce n’est pas sans cris de rage
Que je fus contraint d’abandonner
La ville où mes grands-parents étaient nés.
Ces discriminations racistes à jamais déshonorèrent
Les quelques hommes politiques qui y participèrent.

À cette ville qui avait été mienne
Plus aimable que la ville de Sienne
Comme Timon d’Athènes
J’en vins à clamer I hate
she who had instructed fed
And often
darling ... The city where my heart had jumped for joy when
first
Shaking my hand in hers Marie
eyes sparkling with joy m ' In
smiled whispering I love you I love
glory in this poem!

I was promised Allah Paradise
right as I had pavements of Paris!
But living far from the sewer
I was still enviable.
This painful era is now forgotten in Sfax
And I went back laughing and singing
I found my friends and my friends Tunisian Maltese
And I could sing the fraternal friendship
Who tied me to the dear ones and Ben Ayed Sellami Mohamed Karray
In my philosopher friend and all my friends who were swimming the crawl
in flexible style cast innate
As I myself was in our clear Mediterranean. Leila
And my dear companion of tango and rumba
threw herself into my arms And
kissed on both cheeks
We were in the Avenue Bourguiba
When the ear she told me: I
George the beating heart that beats ... ...

Over time I became a citizen French
Joined in the tradition of The Revolutionary
Diderot Mirabeau Voltaire Desmoulins
And care of my patients said to themselves satisfied.
Except my accent has not changed, I learned a lot from them
And I experienced a wonderful new dream.

But when I am very old
With golden hair
Big blue eyes dilated
Motionless arms crossed
I will become an olive to silver foliage.

To all my friends in the capital of South

SFAX

Between the beaches of Monastir and the oasis of Gabes
Sfax. City without great wealth without poverty
But in the city where I was born
refined politeness is Love and tenderness to flow like honey and milk
Wind wind wind still
Will it rain in the palaces of the wind?

Two broad avenues open to every wind
Senior palm trees in four rows
A garden with a dome and a minaret
its neo - Moorish are the glory of our municipality
Wind wind wind still
Will we have rain in the palace of the wind? The souks

few houses a large mosque
All proud pink ramparts encircled
A city Sea bass Sea contiguous
brim full of pataclés
port where sun-burdened land
tons of wheat or tons of oil - all our prosperity -
are loaded on vessels Italian Russian and Japanese.
A city without great wealth without poverty
But surrounded by a huge forest of olive
Wind wind wind still
Will it rain in the palace of the wind?
How many feet? How many roses? How jasmine?
Thank heaven enough for all our tomorrows. At the Casbah

sun advance a group of veiled women
This side on high heels is perched
This other denim tights march in the shade headlong
An elderly man talking to his son with his head down:
- Blood of my blood, do not wait for tomorrow. From
sin stay away! Take the right path
Another basket at his feet, speaks with his hands:
- Here little dance little bit of drinking songs
But love and passion of bizness of wisdom
The wind the wind still Will we wind
jars of oil in the palaces of the time?
How many feet? How many roses? How jasmine? Thank goodness enough
for all our tomorrows

sails on the sea slowly swaying
Fins stir on earth in all directions
A little barley bread just wheat bread
oil red peppers we eat in satiety
And believe you me
Dockers workers will not make history
He whistles the wind howls hoots
Hurry rain in the palace of the wind!
How many feet? How many roses? How jasmine?
Thank heaven enough for all our tomorrows.

Black olives in our mats
Virgin will be our oil for our fish tomorrow.
And I want everyone to know:
We have no lack of almonds or pistachios
He whistles the wind howls hoots
When the rain comes in the palace of the wind?
How many feet? How many roses? How jasmine?
Thank heaven enough for all our tomorrows

If I had my moment of glory in the department of infectious
Neither nuggets or diamonds Only my memories are precious. A city and

my torment And the wind ... The wind blew so

That very pale morning mass we left the port
And so long ago that we left
That sometimes I have doubts about the inhabited. More
noise. Off very fled away in the wind ...
tomorrow Will we all together in the rain?




TUNIS Tunis white to green windows
Despite his elegant and eloquent
age progressed merry making hand signs
For the pretty girls with disturbing scent of jasmine. Farther
old women wrapped in their white haik
Seemed taking flight to the slightest breeze of wind
the street from Italy to the strong smell of garlic onion and parsley
Happy Hamels a basket on her head followed blindly
swelling under the jacket majestic prominent bellies.
On Avenue President Bourguiba to cheer her
Tunis after releasing its bright red fez
Looked peanuts to put in their mouths
While the Africa Hall immense blue cover
chatted with austere building garnet
Coming straight Canada.
Just blocks from this hotel chic shock
feet splashing through the mud hovels
In sad and ugly
Young men ate standing.
Tunis! Point day without holidays!
Tunis! Point day without joy! Tunis
But I'm a stranger
No hand to reach No hello Just make
hear whistling the wind and wait
That the powerful smell of roasting coffee
push me to the streets of the Maltese when my mother was born
Intoxicated by strong odors of roasted chickpeas
And the terrible stench from the street of the Tanners
Suddenly a young woman dressed in red blood
Wounded to death by fire insistent gaze of indecent
came complaining to me with a wrinkled face of tired old Berber:
- Sex is everywhere! Impossible to avoid, rude and not gay!

- Such is life! Hope of love and the relentless reality.
Tunis! No day without holidays! No day without joy!
With the sun monocle like a phoenix on the esplanade
the middle of disaffected youth long I linger
Then I mingled with the crowd of men and women hurry.
I watch the beautiful brown eyes with kohl-colored tablets
And their breasts and buttocks
Happy moving! Maddening! Almost talking! Go figure
this graceful climb! This descent
! This disjunction not accomplished ...
Beware of glue in one hand uninformed
Just Watch Praise and say thanks. The street is
an arena where proud of their power
Young men play
bulls But only women have knives.
We look far. It confronts
Do not be nice! I! Yes I
your skin I'll let you do your business and you will break bones.
The waltz of love last but a moment
The last waltz of disenchantment, it is said, all life. In this long journey
exhausted I put ashore
In an elegant villa near Belvedere
From sweet green tea was offered a full teapot
Bakhlawas In two large plates full. In the bazaars
after long strolled
In Dar Zarrouk Mecca Mediterranean
For one day and one night I settled
Sidi Bou Said has retained its serene beauty
Under gray clouds the Gulf was purple
The wet pavement glistened
The houses were white Red bougainvillea

Blue doors and windows
Blue Sidi Bou's Happy
The air was light. It smelt of honey with honey orange
. My neighbors were all very fragrant
Three doves flew slowly toward the other shore Where
Bou Kornine two bald mountain smooth heads waiting.

Georges.khaiat @ orange.fr

Something To Clean The Stomach

6 years

Day special here, since its breath Remi 6 candles ...
For the occasion, I had fun taking pictures of his Playmobil, since it is the theme he has chosen to celebrate with his friends



and then, something promise is a promise , a small photo in the land of Vikings




soon as the sun allows, I will show you all my little projects ...
Bon weekend!

Moroccan Fabric Hanging

suns Paris.

The year begins with a little sun. After the severe weather of December, this little taste of spring is the greater good! / The Year Begins With A Little Sun. After the difficulties weather conditions of December, this small spring Foretaste Makes The Biggest good!

What Is Shiny Stone For In Soul Silver

Le Pont des Arts and the Institute under the snow / Pont des Arts and Institut

Last little Parisian landscape of snow yet. The snow has now melted. The mild weather and rain are back. January 2011 and began under the hospices. / Last small Parisian landscape of snow for the moment. Melted the snow now. The rise in temperature and the rain are back. January 2011 and begin auspices Under These ..

Csr Bluetooth Windows 7 Driver

Good resolutions ..

I decided to change direction a little bit of this blog. The scrap will still be a great place but I want to share my other passions: children's books, children's decor, flea market and especially the photo.

That's not all make good resolutions, they should take ... I hope to get there. For starters, the pictures of my diary from December came, now there are more than lay out and it may take quite some time! Here is a picture of homemade Christmas decorations:



What I like about these decorations is that everyone participated. Dad cut the houses and Lena and I have them painted. The only problem is we do not see much difference between those of my chip (4ans1 / 2) and mine (31ans1 / 2) ...