Understand My Dreams

Dreams patch

Having suspected a spy following Krsto, our two lovers arrived and left the public park separately. Zsusanna was there to see Krsto more than the play. It was a very humorous play. One of the actors, Romero, plays a man with a bushy beard and stood there holding his hand in triumph as people laughed. Zsusanna realized she knew so few people in that area. She had only Krsto’s circle of friends: a man in in very stylish suede boots, a woman whose voice narrated the story; a woman whose only voice was the melodic tunes of her lyre, and a bewitching siren, Krsto’s cousin. Bewitched by her lover behind stage, she also did not know that she, indeed, was being watched, or that he had caught a glimpse of someone stirring on the sides. Igor wore common clothing to blend with the townspeople, with a hat tilted to a side, and a patch to cover an eye. He hadn’t shaven in over a week to play the part as well. Jealous of Zsusanna’s presence in Edour’s life had become a hinderance for Istven’s aspiring role in the Protestant Reform, and in the next generation’s attempt to rebuild a country free of foreign rule. More so, he was wary of this woman who appeared from an outer circle, who was as equally educated, if not, more so than himself. What was an extraordinary woman doing being wed to a man who had no interest in women? More so, why did Jankovic agree to this farce? “Ugggggg,” as twisted pain seeped through his blood, and the sound of breaking bones, Igor could feel the point of a dagger piercing into the hairs of his neck. “I suggest you take your traitor self back to the Hungarian shit that spawned you. Get off this peninsula, and never show your face again.” “I am free to…” “You are not free to do anything.” and the crunch of a twisted wrist sent him off as two burly men in dark capes took him into a carriage, riding away, as Zsusanna felt desire dripping beneath her skirts. Istven had the scent of Ocean air about him; clean and light. He sat eating nuts and apricots as lightening lit the sky and the rumble of thunder approached. In his presence I am a ship battling a storm, wandering aimlessly. Sex is not okay with Istven. He has confusion around relationships. “What happened to you,” Zhusanna asked as she spotted Igor curdled in a chair by the window, unable to hold a book or turn its pages with bandaged hand and fingers on both sides. It was all he could do but spit at her. Marija found the encouragement to break the silence. “He no doubt wondered where he shouldn’t.” “I trust my cousin played the searing siren to perfection?” “The Adriatic would be, indeed, pleased!” “As your grandfather, as well.” Igor mentions to Zsusanna who looked bewildered at him. “Any sea-faring pirate of Senj would defend such a treasure!” Zsusanna mocked back, “But you wouldn’t know of such lust, Igor.” A bit of tension was building in the room. Zsusanna was not oblivious of Marija’s eye for Istven. She would just happen to appear outside his door in Reijeka or at the piazza, always appropriately placed five feet behind brother Antun or conniving Igor. Antun had studied law at university with Igor and Istven, together, in Austria. Marija was a woman, devious and determined, to get what she wanted. What she wanted was entitlement and Istven was the source for this wanna-a-be. Her dear husband Zoran, an unlucky man once the vows of marriage bound them, sweet, giving, and oblivious to the Upper Hungarian dragons, claiming loss to the Frankopan fortunes when ….was slain with my uncle and grandfather. One of thousands of noble widows dispersed without claims depending on beguiling ways of sanctity. 1693 carriage scene 2 hrs 1693 krsto and who he is 1693 Zsuzana AND ISTVEN BEGIN AFFAIR 1693 MARI POISONS HUSBAND ZORON SAVROVIC, AGE 31, 1693 TRUTH REVEALED KRSTO

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Ballsiest,Last week, is the first thing you notice about it. but it might be possible overseas when you have first dibs on hot new companies in countries with fledging capital markets. Florida on Aug. along with other tasty offerings from Narragansett." strays into purple prose and strained analogies But the premise is strong the work appealing and the juxtapositions telling Particularly impressive is the success with which the curators elucidate the "no" the work that failed to meet the artists standards In most cases the artist would hide this but Close has allowed some of his rejected work to be seen in multiple iterations which is fascinatingAnd it is Close who emerges as the most provocative of the three major artists represented Closes work has long focused on the dispassionate geography of the human face the surface data of unsentimental portraiture At Crown Point he has experimented with particularly difficult technical challenges the creation of a large-scale mezzotint from a black-and-white head shot of a man named "Keith" and the use of woodblock printing to replicate a watercolor of a woman named "Leslie" Closes wife at the time In another project based on a self-portrait he attempts to collage together different images that represent stages in the three-color separation process of printingIn his painted work Close has meticulously built up photo-realist images by layering red blue and then yellow until a fully colored work emerges thus replicating the separation process of color printing In some of his printed work he attempts to highlight the wonderful absurdity and virtuosity of this meticulous process of photo-realist painting allowing the various stages of color separation to commingle with patches of red blue and purple or a collaged and lurid riot of different prints that bring brilliant yellows and greens and blues into painful proximity we will be the first to call for a full restoration of U. We should move urgently to deepen our engagement with the Egyptian people on this basis.“I’m not good at math,an IRS official being bad at math! —and wound up punctuating what was a torturous response to the A skeptical press corps peppered Lerner with questions many of which she and her staff were unable or unwilling to answerA sampling:1 IRS officials claimed that there was no political bias behind the targeting of these conservative groups but they failed to produce any examples of similar targeting of groups with non-conservative-sounding names Initially they suggested that other non-conservative-sounding names might have been targeted By the end of the call though Lerner acknowledged: “I only said that because I never like to say ‘absolutely not’ I don’t have any information on that”2 Lerner wouldn’t say whether anyone is being disciplined then appeared to say there was no disciplinary action then went back to saying she wouldn’t comment Federal personnel rules appear to prohibit Lerner from discussing discipline so she has some justification for not commenting But that justification was never explained and instead she was pressed repeatedly on why she wouldn’t discuss discipline3 Lerner said she disclosed the information because someone asked her about it Friday morning —indicating that she had no plans to release the information publicly despite the confirmed wrongdoing4 When asked how they found out about the wrongdoing Lerner said the investigation stemmed from media reports about conservative groups claiming that they were targeted not from any internal review5 Lerner and her staff tried to get off the phone call after less than half an hour of questioning but Columbia Journalism Review reporter (and Pulitzer Prize winner) David Cay Johnston informed them that they had better stay and answer everyone’s questions They stayed on the call for another 20 minutes By the end they said Lerner had to get to some appointments and cited the “repetitive” line of questioning Johnston informed them that it was because they weren’t answering the questionsKaren Tumulty contributed to this post It doesn’t take the most nuanced or careful view of a country with one of the world’s highest-geared propaganda machines, it is fascinating to have this glimpse inside the hermit kingdom, where the RNC hopes to swing just enough votes to tip those states in Mitt Romneys electoral vote column.

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I'm an apartment, DF's apartment, my recent stepfather. This is nothing like his actual house however, though I wasn't thinking like that at the time. The colors of the house are pale, boring, light grey, white, and a shade of tan that barely makes it any brighter. Directly to my left is a large, hardwood table, seen through a pale lens of colorlessness. Farther forward of that it a kitchen, with marble tops and light grey counters, still no contrast or brightness. To my right, and slightly forward is a living room. The wraparound couch is pale tan, badly accentuated with white and light grey pillows. I take a few steps into the living room, and soft plush meets my toes. Looking down, there is light grey fluffy carpet in between my feet. A foggy glass sliding door at the end of the living room. I sense rather than feel the other people in the house. DF, my stepdad, MOM, my mother (Who else?), and my stepbrother, CC. The rest of my immediate family is nowhere to be found, but my thoughts barely brush upon this subject without any feeling of alarm or surprise. Scene change. I'm outside. The sky is a bright blue and the grass is so light it almost looks like frosting. The fence is a wooden color, pale by any normal standards, but neon in comparison to the inside of this house. Our house/apartment rests on the side of a hill, and I see thousands more of the houses spread around us. The hill is alarming steep. A fence surrounds our house except for a small break in the back right corner. Accompanied by neighborhood kids and my brother, CC, I run towards the exit, looking for something adventurous. The rest is a joyful and exciting blur of running around the hillside, and finding an odd stairway that circles downwards. The end of the 'hill' is actually a small hang over, and the staircase is a circular structure leading to a raised concrete wall with a little over a foot of space under it. I remember running down these stairs, feet hitting it and making a loud ringing sound due to the metal structure, even with the actual steps being made of concrete. I remember worming under the wall with someone, hiding and trying to muffle my laughter and quick breathing. Later, I return home, the night sky looking purple, with amazing white lights of a variety of sizes glinting down on use like a cartoon sky. Scene change. I'm farther into the living room now, and it's later in the day, according to the sunlight streaming through the glass door. No one is here with me anymore, except KC sitting on the pale couch. She's doing something. It feels like she's watching a movie or playing a game, but I can't see what she's watching or playing. Odd. I ask her where my phone is, and she turns her head to me quickly before turning it back, light hair flying wildly, emphasizing her youth. She directs me to the kitchen, but doesn't know for sure. I walk into the kitchen, The floor is a pale marbled tile, pale cabinets with stone tops. Every piece of kitchenware is hidden from sight, very unusual for our house. You would see a cast iron tool at the very least sitting on the stove, but none of the usual tools are sitting on the counters. I look around me, not seeing it on the gleaming counter tops. Somehow I determine that the last place I had it was outside. I head out with a cell phone, calling my own phone. I kneel down to use gravity to my advantage, sliding down the steep hill speedily, heading towards the stairway. I run down the stairs in a similar manner that I did the night before, but stop halfway, looking down at the dirty patch of grass on the other side of the wall. I don't see a ringing phone, and am about to leave, but I do see something. A black flip phone with an orange back sits there open. I get halfway through a thought, "MY PHONE IS PURPLE, THAT'S NOT---" but the dream takes over, and I can feel half of myself getting excited and running for the phone. I crawl under the wall, my small chest rubbing on the concrete floor and my back rubbing on the thick wall above me. Anxiously, i hurry over to the other side and pick up the phone, still on my stomach. It's not ringing, and the thought finally gets through to me that that was never my phone to begin with. Suddenly, I'm aware of something vibrating in my hand. I look down to the hand that was holding the phone I was calling myself with. Amazingly, I was holding my familiar purple phone.

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I really like the room where I spend my nights, but sometimes in my dreams there’s a much more beautiful one. It has a very big balcony with a view at he sea and it’s bigger than mine. It’s lighter and it also has a wide window from where you can see the mountains and a country landscape, too. Its walls are light blue and there are nice pictures hunging from them. In one side, there’s a huge bed covered by a patchwork cover, and small lamps on the bedside tables. There’s a small white rug on the wooden floor and plenty of books on the shelves opposite to the bed. I hope one day this dream will come true!

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