With two more punctures, close my eyes to touch, bite, tear you apart. Hurt pleasure. Rub your nipples and rip a whimper. Hip bind you, penetrate you, whip. Israel Chavez
22:33 hrs
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Vicodin Before A Brazilian Wax
With two more punctures, close my eyes to touch, bite, tear you apart. Hurt pleasure. Rub your nipples and rip a whimper. Hip bind you, penetrate you, whip. Israel Chavez
22:33 hrs
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Wholesale Real Estate Letter To Insurance Agents
Amélie Nothomb
"It is time that the suffering of others and not was enough: they had to turn it into a spectacle. " 
"It is time that the suffering of others and not was enough: they had to turn it into a spectacle. "
Monday, October 5, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Funny Favor Tags Wordings Wedding Messages
Fracture
By leaving your desk, repeating the same routine. Stretching, staring at the ceiling full of cobwebs and curse his sore knee. many things could have done in his 30 years. many.
Israel Chavez
0:03 pm [extract from novel]
By leaving your desk, repeating the same routine. Stretching, staring at the ceiling full of cobwebs and curse his sore knee. many things could have done in his 30 years. many.
Israel Chavez
0:03 pm [extract from novel]
Friday, September 25, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Sore Tummy At 33 Weeks Pregnant
Fuck ... a few coins in the bank and hopefully have ruined me. I am a clerk whoring. I'm another person, read my texts and not recognize myself. He died, and I have no hatred, anger, or bitterness. For months I do not fight or curse for women. My face has softened with a stupid smile for all. I am disgusted, disappointed. I've run out fuel. No drugs, no public transport or wild blowjobs. Now is love and cars. Finally, the state co-opted me. will buy a rifle, I think that's the solution. Chávez Reséndiz
israel 10:54 pm
_______
"The sea was dirty, the waves dragged paper plates, beer cans and other miseries in the sand my father invented a stupid game but only play with my sister accepted him. No it was because it amused him by showing his buttocks to the bathers. I'm poor, but I'm good, that's the philosophy of all adolescents in the colony Moctezuma or Portales. When my dad got excited looking at some of these adolescents, inventing some pretext, he took my mother's arm and returned to the hotel, upon return we three children, the room not only smelled like avocado and tortilla other unpleasant odors but also the wet sheet to the mattress was impregnated by showing through a myriad of small spots of rust. were only three days because the money ran out, leaving only the exact amount of a gasoline tank. If everything would return to normal classes begin on Monday, my brother will be like my father and my sister have a life similar to that of my mother as I can me out of here. "
* Guillermo Fadanelli. will buy a rifle. Barcelona: Anagram. 2004. 140 p.
Baby Registry Messages Examples
will buy a rifle again
Chavez a whiskey on the rocks. The carefully prepared, in detail, almost like when you made love to his wife. The break the ice in the plastic container gave him a devilish smile, the same that circumvented by devouring the bra straps. While pouring the liquid, remember the sweat that produced the jig J, rescued the smell of the crotch. Strong, corrosive, heartbreaking. Almost as powders her nose before playing punk. Israel Chavez
22:00 pm [extract from novel] 
Chavez a whiskey on the rocks. The carefully prepared, in detail, almost like when you made love to his wife. The break the ice in the plastic container gave him a devilish smile, the same that circumvented by devouring the bra straps. While pouring the liquid, remember the sweat that produced the jig J, rescued the smell of the crotch. Strong, corrosive, heartbreaking. Almost as powders her nose before playing punk. Israel Chavez
22:00 pm [extract from novel]
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Compression Sleeves At Jcpenney
not write, not read, do not think.
not anything you Only you
and nothing else. Icr
0:04 pm
Monday, July 27, 2009
Brent Corrigan Pitcher
5:30 a.m. Praise of vagrancy
In high school I never understood it was that of philosophy. In fact, I always was very disgusting to know that philosophers themselves as "lovers of wisdom." I caused much resentment imagine what kind of people completely dedicated his life to reflect on human nature. Long disdained such readings, in fact I used to just waste time on the streets, fighting with friends and get the first sip of beer on the sly. A wander.
Come to think, I am very sorry, because a couple of years later I met some aphorisms of Nietzsche and memorized with the sole purpose of bragging to my classmates. Then came the allegations of the fatalism of Schopenhauer and Sartre and Cioran. As I read, increased my pride, but mostly my fucking arrogance. Were several years of ignorance, as did the readings were biased, badly. He just wanted the phrase irreverent and provocative. I took it as a fake scholar neighborhood and whenever I could, I dialed away with my classmates. No doubt, these first reading I collapsed into a stinking ignorance. It took several years to recognize me in the mirror and start to read without egos or greed.
Today I know the courage of philosophers, the art of thinking and risk the world to write about it. To sustain our discussions without fear of error or bend before the first attack. Fadanelli praises laziness, while lost in books, to wander, walk, fall, continue, break. A philosophy or at least, to think. Israel Chavez
"Perhaps the only time that the machines are similar to men is when they stop working, break down or the mechanism begins to have vices, when mad and do not respond to our control."
* Guillermo Fadanelli. Praise of Laziness. Mexico: Lumen - Random House Mondadori. 2008. 124 p. 
In high school I never understood it was that of philosophy. In fact, I always was very disgusting to know that philosophers themselves as "lovers of wisdom." I caused much resentment imagine what kind of people completely dedicated his life to reflect on human nature. Long disdained such readings, in fact I used to just waste time on the streets, fighting with friends and get the first sip of beer on the sly. A wander. Come to think, I am very sorry, because a couple of years later I met some aphorisms of Nietzsche and memorized with the sole purpose of bragging to my classmates. Then came the allegations of the fatalism of Schopenhauer and Sartre and Cioran. As I read, increased my pride, but mostly my fucking arrogance. Were several years of ignorance, as did the readings were biased, badly. He just wanted the phrase irreverent and provocative. I took it as a fake scholar neighborhood and whenever I could, I dialed away with my classmates. No doubt, these first reading I collapsed into a stinking ignorance. It took several years to recognize me in the mirror and start to read without egos or greed.
Today I know the courage of philosophers, the art of thinking and risk the world to write about it. To sustain our discussions without fear of error or bend before the first attack. Fadanelli praises laziness, while lost in books, to wander, walk, fall, continue, break. A philosophy or at least, to think. Israel Chavez
"Perhaps the only time that the machines are similar to men is when they stop working, break down or the mechanism begins to have vices, when mad and do not respond to our control."
* Guillermo Fadanelli. Praise of Laziness. Mexico: Lumen - Random House Mondadori. 2008. 124 p.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Likelihood Of Developing Allergies To Adderall
long fascinated me read Práxedis Ricardo Flores Magon and Guerrero, two anarchists who founded the newspaper Regeneration and for years fought the Diaz regime. In fact, one of the actions that had a significant importance to the development of the revolution, the uprisings were armed and shots of small towns in the north. The magonismo had great reception inside the nuclei workers, miners and even peasants, the newspaper Regeneration broke through illiteracy and repression porfiriana. It is noteworthy that the Partido Liberal Mexicano (PLM), founded by the Flores Magon brothers, was the predecessor of the ideas of Francisco Ignacio Madero antireeleccionistas.
hundred years later, fully agree with his political thinking, as they felt that the "change" ever occur in the polls since the state laws that allow neck surrender political power or representation to the people. In fact, one of his slogans was: our ballots are the bullets to shoot our guns looking for the revolution. As always believed that change was brewing from the street, in the factory, in the mobilization.
I rescue the point, and now James Petras, one of the sociologists favorite of the Latin American left says the same: evidence of political change in Latin America has forged in social mobilization, we have the example of Bolivia, Ecuador, Chile and even of large demonstrations in Argentina .
Today, politics has degenerated into the worst human essence. Regardless latitudes, continents or knowledge, the power used to destroy. No matter what color rule, no matter the "sacrosanct" democratic institutions, not mind playing left or right, everything is full of crap. Good Buk still damn right: politicians have been commissioned to offer two options, choose cold or hot shit shit does not matter, we always won, they are the same. To verify the point, we just have to look up: corruption, death, violence, narco, inequality, backwardness, pedophilia, abuse, soldiers patrolling the streets, waste of resources in election campaigns, enforcement, crisis, financial fraud, is white children burned ... you decide that both serves democracy.
Personally, I have always disdained to power. I'm not interested in democracy, nor the partisan votes, and blank or spoiled votes. I'm fed up, disgusted. I gone, I fought in front anarchists, I have been beaten, arrested, I have written, I fought, I have seen the collapse of my utopia when confronted with a real socialist, authoritarian regime. Not anymore. I decided to watch the circus and to laugh, things change and stay the same. Give them the rectum. I just exercise my freedom.
israel Chávez Reséndiz
23:50 hrs
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Barrett Juvenile Correctional Center, California
Welcome
Fifty years ago, take a vehicle to escape the urban amenities, travel long miles, jumping from one place to another and even pave another country, it meant the total irreverence. To bail a little more authenticity and, if individuals were proud to write paragraphs unprintable due to the anger of the texts. No matter staking everything on drugs, for the trip through the charming company of other budding writers.
Now might sound appealing to many people, including the brand new literary critics who refuse to live with us in the mud, in Mexico. I would also imagine that the mind would Kerouac drove through the villages of Michoacan or the streets of Ciudad Juarez, insurance flatly refuse to cross the border. Not have the stomach to collect human heads or casings have cartridges of AK-47.
I reread
On the way and indeed, it seemed outrageous and childish. I think I rot increasingly, and almost nothing shakes my insides. Israel Chavez
11:14 pm
"An ambulance passed like an arrow. American Ambulances advanced dodging traffic and sounding the siren, here [in Mexico] ambulances are on the streets of the city over a hundred miles an hour and everyone tries to depart on time and the ambulance did not stop under any circumstances and is in full swing. The drivers were Indians. People, even old ladies running after of the buses that never stopped. The drivers were barefoot and gesticulating wildly. Some crucifixes and marijuana sold in the street, others were drunk in chapels or stealing all the time. "
* Jack Kerouac. On the Road. Barcelona: Anagram. 2005. 364 p. 
Fifty years ago, take a vehicle to escape the urban amenities, travel long miles, jumping from one place to another and even pave another country, it meant the total irreverence. To bail a little more authenticity and, if individuals were proud to write paragraphs unprintable due to the anger of the texts. No matter staking everything on drugs, for the trip through the charming company of other budding writers. Now might sound appealing to many people, including the brand new literary critics who refuse to live with us in the mud, in Mexico. I would also imagine that the mind would Kerouac drove through the villages of Michoacan or the streets of Ciudad Juarez, insurance flatly refuse to cross the border. Not have the stomach to collect human heads or casings have cartridges of AK-47.
I reread
On the way and indeed, it seemed outrageous and childish. I think I rot increasingly, and almost nothing shakes my insides. Israel Chavez 11:14 pm
"An ambulance passed like an arrow. American Ambulances advanced dodging traffic and sounding the siren, here [in Mexico] ambulances are on the streets of the city over a hundred miles an hour and everyone tries to depart on time and the ambulance did not stop under any circumstances and is in full swing. The drivers were Indians. People, even old ladies running after of the buses that never stopped. The drivers were barefoot and gesticulating wildly. Some crucifixes and marijuana sold in the street, others were drunk in chapels or stealing all the time. "* Jack Kerouac. On the Road. Barcelona: Anagram. 2005. 364 p.
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