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Charles Messier: Who was this man ?

To those who ignore

Ok people. Today I am giving a lesson in astronomy since I'm feeling magnanimous. As many of you, dear readers, will know (I hope) many galaxies, many star clusters, nebulae, etc., etc., bear the name of M followed by a number. They are common objects discovered by Charles Messier in 1758 and 1782. He fills a list with about 100 of these objects, but now it has been enriched with additions. Messier initially believed they were comets, and so we compiled a list of astronomical time since discovering gave great notoriety. I hope they understand even the most clever they call a number as the M + M stands for Messier cataloged As these objects. See you next ingenuity that I can think of to write!

Charles Messier (1730-1817)

Large Raw Spot On Tongue

dirty paint

Me, now I have a special need

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This is my gift

D. A, without devotes no further

Walking along a road arid semi-desert and now everything seemed much clearer. Have you ever thought about how sometimes happens that the buildings reflect a bit 'society? The facade of the theater was standing there, mocking and imposing, in its picturesque and polychromatic false always, only now I could see it. Only a few steps, and he could also admire the majesty of the church presumptuous. And all I have emerged more clearly. Two churches, a theater, no, I was not mad, I was just thinking. Have you ever thought about how sometimes happens that the buildings reflect a bit 'society? But no one could answer, no one could understand, or at least not to share, because the difference is great: the one thing you can always understand, but you can not always share it, and then the other party believes that you have not well included. I tried to explain: the facades of these buildings appear to be all fake, look huge sets Cardboard projected at a height that prevents important to each of its comforting to see the area of \u200b\u200bsky, their blanket dotted with stars. The debut was not interested in anyone, I tried a more direct way: the hypocrisy of the world is how they do, these facades are like the society in which we live and we despise with a passion to make this anger to ourselves . The hypocrisy of the world prevents us from thinking . They still do not understand (now no longer a question of sharing). It was then that I laughed because I had understood, and that was enough for me now. But there will never be anyone that will include the words and read the silences?

For all those people, this is my gift ...

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sitting unarmed

A L., transparent letters he can read and listen to the silence I love you

not write on blank pages. Do not write on blank pages. Do not write on blank pages. Only minutes from awareness of the yellowed pages that follow, because the time goes on and you know it all, although you will continue to retire in your thoughts on eternity hypocrites of an individual. When you're young, they say, feel the arms extend to infinity, and sometimes you can get to touch the stars with his fingertips. When you are aware that the stars are too far away, that you are a person over, it is then that you are an adult. Shit, this is just emulation of common places now demolished dust. All right: You never touch the stars with the tips of your fingers and maybe you are a person over. But not all individuals are equal finished. I never had the feeling in me of omnipotent delusion, that thing that comes over you making you think that everything is much simpler, all as a silly game, and anytime you can come to touch the sky. No, none of this, everyone chooses what he wants to be and if anything I can to reach the sky will certainly be in old age, by which time my arms are long enough to allow, because I have chosen and I made one that developed in this regard. And then we talk about life? I limit myself to exist, and maybe I still have to learn to live, not today, today the rest down, helpless.

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And the grass grows tall

V. A, with all that I did not tell

man ray - tears (1930)

What will that every day makes me find the strength to get out of my bed, in the twilight of my corner of the world that belongs only to me ? I wonder, I wonder all the time, I am tortured, haunted me. Spine brain. Synapses quick and painless. And the key? Yeah, Dov 'is the key? Someone threw it away, it was me. The birds are confused card once again in black. Remember the vortex? Remember the fog? Remember the smell of corn? Of course, you always remember everything, but the memory is not alive or turns or takes shape in you. And the grass grows tall on your pages: breathe!