Friday, July 11, 2008

Throat Spasms More Condition_symptoms

certainty line 89

last century man has experienced the hard way the evil of life, the absurdity of the world, with other beings incomunicabilit ‡, nausea for a non-sense, a being too.

Suicide is revealed, as well as a philosophical postulate of the modern world, accepted as a clear and obvious: "God is dead."

So Nietzsche summed up the future history, the history we are living, the story of an irrational and meaningless world, a present infinitive still, of waiting in vain, a man who discovers God unhappy.

The assumption on which the ancient believe ‡ understand the reality, the deep religious feeling of the Greeks, the light of svelatrice Christ is missing.

Man in his attempt to know anything he can prove, in an endless search.

Kafka, jew homeless drunk with hope, Camus, honesty ‡ desperate man, revealed the existence philosopher Sartre, open their eyes to a world incomprehensible and painful, cold and indifferent gently.

At times, when the cold wind accompanying the tired man walking aimlessly in the night, the faces in those moments of alienated people, smiling in a scream of death suggests a meaning that eludes a sense that perhaps not exist: hope, natural to man, of waking up and finding your place in this world of sickness, to grasp in the dark eyes of a man / woman that coveted true paradise on earth.

sense of man's cry crashed noisily on to a world that is becoming a more welcoming ˘ abyss.



Only one meeting, a light of positivity ‡, a rediscovery of certainty're ready to begin a search that, perhaps, puu not be in vain. Puu create a perfect moment, a possibility that may be sufficient ‡ untapped, may be sufficient, the only way to break the incomunicabilit ‡ painted on the face of others. That wall of

‡ incomunicabilit that every man is built to be destroyed by the love of a meeting that opens. You just have to wait for that breath is our life.

In every gesture shows a man waiting, everyone hopes, each man hopes that the meeting should go. Yet every day, the desperation for a life of failure, the beauty the putrid flesh, the wind in the reeds whisper that the happiness Verr ‡ ‡, the next day.

brown eyes, soaked assudo and evil of life is a veil of tears in the silence of the cold solitude.

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