tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71196432863132466262024-03-04T21:33:37.495-08:00dentro de mim não há ninguémmiuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09274054399007271086noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119643286313246626.post-10742157471838918012010-12-05T15:59:00.000-08:002010-12-05T16:25:29.046-08:00<div align="justify">aqui anoitece sempre, quando não anoitece em mais lugar nenhum.<br />nunca poderia ter desejado que me tivesses dito palavras que não tinhas em ti,<br />porque eu não era a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">jeanne</span> nem tu o <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">modi</span> e eu nunca me mataria por ti.<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">deitavas-te</span> na cama, sem uma palavra e o único soar naquele quarto era o arranhar da chuva nas janelas.<br />nunca percebeste porque era melancólica, porque chorava sem razão,<br />porque apenas me sentia em casa quando não acendia as luzes e eu nunca te quis explicar, nunca te quis explicar, porque era melhor assim, porque doía demais falar.<br />às vezes <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">acordáva</span> a meio da noite e pedia-te para irmos ver as luzes da avenida, o transito a passar.<br />ias sempre a contra gosto, como gaivotas em terra.<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">subíamos</span> a avenida e <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">sentavamo</span>-nos no marques, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">semic</span><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">erravamos</span> os olhos e <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">víamos</span> as luzes desfocadas dos candeeiros e dos carros, aquele mar de barcos velozes.<br />acendias-me um cigarro e eu esquecia-me do mundo, do mundo que era demasiado pequeno nessas noites.</div>miuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09274054399007271086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119643286313246626.post-53435565536008389492010-11-21T14:35:00.000-08:002010-11-21T15:00:27.243-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hx5ClfsKA-l0w9dl75q6yFqAqiWeJvkxj3C09zHJW3oSaqQp4UIDxxBF-kHNRrDQvU3px9QkA44fnrF-HRYj74LdAnxY-jl4RVhFbx2qY1fAAXgeEeWAPFMpzzCZ5VmAOnNwEGfr3ec/s1600/fellini-la-dolce-vita1.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542139108997715234" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 314px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1hx5ClfsKA-l0w9dl75q6yFqAqiWeJvkxj3C09zHJW3oSaqQp4UIDxxBF-kHNRrDQvU3px9QkA44fnrF-HRYj74LdAnxY-jl4RVhFbx2qY1fAAXgeEeWAPFMpzzCZ5VmAOnNwEGfr3ec/s400/fellini-la-dolce-vita1.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitulSe2wtMVlJRRax9FDecOcuyDhgGsGiJ2WoUGhTR1iXYvHGTcV4GJig_kcwyJceJr5w_942Tqj3_e5vTWOYvorx1Er4t9rdqL2ZBWk-dGloeBbBRqPv74K3iOUeZyZ4GYtLshnxG7h8/s1600/fellini+2.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542139014419654978" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 289px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitulSe2wtMVlJRRax9FDecOcuyDhgGsGiJ2WoUGhTR1iXYvHGTcV4GJig_kcwyJceJr5w_942Tqj3_e5vTWOYvorx1Er4t9rdqL2ZBWk-dGloeBbBRqPv74K3iOUeZyZ4GYtLshnxG7h8/s400/fellini+2.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify"><br />tu não me conheces, mas eu nunca tive sorte nas minhas histórias de amor, até porque não sei se posso dizer que alguma vez vivi uma história de amor. hoje foi impossível estar a teu lado, foi impossível não sorrir cada vez que sorrias para mim, foi impossível não sentir que poderia caber na palma da tua mão cada vez que uma palavra tua era dirigida a mim, foi impossível saber que és o perigo e que eu não tenho qualquer vontade de ser salva.</div>miuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09274054399007271086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119643286313246626.post-19101454700652365872010-11-20T06:09:00.000-08:002010-11-20T06:20:41.465-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXjz8ypFU8jRhOwXD8VK6xBanyPkApMTmGWbJjtbvNWWC2laH9e1XNZlcV2mcxK0NnqDBibc2vGvry7CSjeR_uU8iWEDvtQZkYTmIffTIggGzCNEoCIjpXk-d9K91xqParBSBjv0mXLkw/s1600/vivre"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541634870003825634" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 298px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXjz8ypFU8jRhOwXD8VK6xBanyPkApMTmGWbJjtbvNWWC2laH9e1XNZlcV2mcxK0NnqDBibc2vGvry7CSjeR_uU8iWEDvtQZkYTmIffTIggGzCNEoCIjpXk-d9K91xqParBSBjv0mXLkw/s400/vivre" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaOLfo28r630wvTkfQFFj1d8_b5za0El-RQEP073TRB8QIKyhfRu5zbvrwVCtA4VJ87O-gMRg7ZgHWK4E76R78rg-fBbU4W1_WJLD-XBrgP2VquZbLmlu1Ex98jWzYjkiyti38kwVNp8/s1600/vivre+sa"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541634641293446274" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 301px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaOLfo28r630wvTkfQFFj1d8_b5za0El-RQEP073TRB8QIKyhfRu5zbvrwVCtA4VJ87O-gMRg7ZgHWK4E76R78rg-fBbU4W1_WJLD-XBrgP2VquZbLmlu1Ex98jWzYjkiyti38kwVNp8/s400/vivre+sa" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFg3VZoJgxqDqj8N6Gxry8tbwWS7YYTn1ijqZAxqktS2n7LUQ-zy63vePPxWTIICZ-us5dTy-tk6iO63FRU_MRCiiw96DNfuNHGJl8U2raCp6rzNobEKBs4Ac2lTUoxos0EZLZxoWd_1U/s1600/vivre+sa+vie"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541634528359038642" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFg3VZoJgxqDqj8N6Gxry8tbwWS7YYTn1ijqZAxqktS2n7LUQ-zy63vePPxWTIICZ-us5dTy-tk6iO63FRU_MRCiiw96DNfuNHGJl8U2raCp6rzNobEKBs4Ac2lTUoxos0EZLZxoWd_1U/s400/vivre+sa+vie" border="0" /></a> </div></div>miuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09274054399007271086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119643286313246626.post-17084756916204033172010-09-21T16:20:00.000-07:002010-09-21T16:24:51.685-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3TRNpjhuL49cBMxjUBXhygXxtn4gRFBoD1af4D6t9rjvozRFUJR1kCDMEWpHgdWPrRWshJpH3AQVyv5QC_UdK0YcKmxthJh8wm9jDMXcj1MbgtAPblk2Eb8z-5KNa4axLUlyoubp6rmc/s1600/glh.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519511232152833794" style="WIDTH: 369px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3TRNpjhuL49cBMxjUBXhygXxtn4gRFBoD1af4D6t9rjvozRFUJR1kCDMEWpHgdWPrRWshJpH3AQVyv5QC_UdK0YcKmxthJh8wm9jDMXcj1MbgtAPblk2Eb8z-5KNa4axLUlyoubp6rmc/s400/glh.bmp" border="0" /></a>miuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09274054399007271086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119643286313246626.post-27939255518156832452010-08-25T02:01:00.000-07:002010-08-25T02:11:20.748-07:00<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQhhraNN9a6Qk_oL33cg2QmYS_itcQ8sFQWuqEtBKWmC744dvohlLJq9PUzISCdsPPXi2L22Ehk1oTNXx9ARDe8JppO34vAyA5ZdPE5kc52yhH2t2s2j9RiwyacKN0MMigNMKC2Up0yI/s1600/07_chetbaker_lg.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509271315488029218" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 268px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQhhraNN9a6Qk_oL33cg2QmYS_itcQ8sFQWuqEtBKWmC744dvohlLJq9PUzISCdsPPXi2L22Ehk1oTNXx9ARDe8JppO34vAyA5ZdPE5kc52yhH2t2s2j9RiwyacKN0MMigNMKC2Up0yI/s400/07_chetbaker_lg.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">I get along without you very well, of course I do; except when soft rains fall and drip from leaves, then I recall the thrill of being sheltered in your arms, of course I do. But I get along without you very well. I've forgotten you, just like I should, of course I have; except to hear your name, or someone's laugh that is the same. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">But I've forgotten you just like I should. </span></div>miuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09274054399007271086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119643286313246626.post-10142218358998582172010-08-10T02:51:00.000-07:002010-08-10T04:30:31.806-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjywNpSvj0BRz7eAl00u9lamKuJJp4Y_UQJ_YxRnGCzsifGEgBHAF65gBDf32ykpvVUZ8SRS4NFIxbmP1NTAweEcVxtU7blkez4qZRr1aHc11AkeN4bweHVWfVi9xGHzjkZZxYGuL_bZGI/s1600/Ponte+25+de+Abril+1963+(constru%25C3%25A7%25C3%25A3o).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503728876464589410" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 281px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjywNpSvj0BRz7eAl00u9lamKuJJp4Y_UQJ_YxRnGCzsifGEgBHAF65gBDf32ykpvVUZ8SRS4NFIxbmP1NTAweEcVxtU7blkez4qZRr1aHc11AkeN4bweHVWfVi9xGHzjkZZxYGuL_bZGI/s400/Ponte+25+de+Abril+1963+(constru%25C3%25A7%25C3%25A3o).jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify"><br />o tempo passa, morre pelos dias, sossega pelas noites. sempre gostámos de passear por aqui, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">fingir</span> que a terra se fundia com o mar, enquanto o céu se nublava, se cobria de desespero e saudade. tu eras maior que o mundo, maior que o meu mundo e nem todas as palavras que inventei da alma para a mão atearam fogo ao teu coração. os dias <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">tornaram</span>-se escuros, pintaram-se de cinza e caíram na indiferença. hoje apenas eu me sento em frente ao rio e desejo esquecer todas as palavras que nunca me disseste, o vazio das tuas mãos, a dor dos teus sorrisos, dos poucos sorrisos que esboçavas. no fim apenas eu fiquei, despida de ansiedade, isolada em braços que não me pertencem, com o teu nome escrito em cada pedaço que ainda posso chamar de meu.</div>miuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09274054399007271086noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119643286313246626.post-47167076399697412272010-08-08T06:06:00.000-07:002010-08-10T03:44:26.088-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs2PMBGXtXKzv-5pskOPKGHWvz3EgVn4piP5Efkwz24rHFgm10wG-g66wb1xg4Z9YUrzvLO1catswMj_4MiiAp5THbyo7h6RH6rJdxUQYeVy647ZFhLEnh5bqxZRzI0Ajp-V6XjUDjOIQ/s1600/vlcsnap-16366268.png"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503730230451730898" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs2PMBGXtXKzv-5pskOPKGHWvz3EgVn4piP5Efkwz24rHFgm10wG-g66wb1xg4Z9YUrzvLO1catswMj_4MiiAp5THbyo7h6RH6rJdxUQYeVy647ZFhLEnh5bqxZRzI0Ajp-V6XjUDjOIQ/s400/vlcsnap-16366268.png" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br />de que serve o amor se não for avassalador?</div>miuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09274054399007271086noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119643286313246626.post-61781188048142502302010-07-18T04:19:00.000-07:002010-07-18T04:35:51.651-07:00<div align="justify"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicrUhIp5bc9WDol9QU96RXcE6UJ2MwdhLglhrGWtrHJ6mh5GIsnclx0nJ3FFkksOMSOy0-60sz5014CZO_AksRUE9ajxAUZpFZ-WOk-n4G1zusu_lUKrB2VxqGrFo3mgkZIKwwJbw6FM0/s1600/86d33882-bd8f-11dd-b247-5a9d19c47c2c.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495208410117063618" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 220px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicrUhIp5bc9WDol9QU96RXcE6UJ2MwdhLglhrGWtrHJ6mh5GIsnclx0nJ3FFkksOMSOy0-60sz5014CZO_AksRUE9ajxAUZpFZ-WOk-n4G1zusu_lUKrB2VxqGrFo3mgkZIKwwJbw6FM0/s400/86d33882-bd8f-11dd-b247-5a9d19c47c2c.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"Ainda hoje me acontece ouvir, à noite, uma voz que me chama pelo meu nome próprio, na rua. Uma voz rouca. Arrasta um pouco as sílabas e identifico-a de imediato: a voz de Louki. Volto-me, mas não vejo ninguém. Não só à noite, mas no ócio de certas tardes de Verão em que não sabemos muito bem em que ano estamos. Vai recomeçar tudo como dantes. Os mesmos dias, as mesmas noites, os mesmos lugares, os mesmos encontros. O Eterno Retorno."</div>miuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09274054399007271086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119643286313246626.post-33754581860501076062010-07-16T01:42:00.000-07:002010-07-16T01:54:31.692-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj30mw4QyDi2AEYpR0QvWNPxxa1j7I3E_qWA2vT_GqEDhB4uGLPIprgXmRKF6iJsdRccnjbVSCWY3f9bKEXTvZoVmmDOaCrJvHCA9y-9ONNSNpyOs9-B_5Up5291Op3pyNhTD2Sxup6BAg/s1600/law1.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494422660434095202" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 279px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj30mw4QyDi2AEYpR0QvWNPxxa1j7I3E_qWA2vT_GqEDhB4uGLPIprgXmRKF6iJsdRccnjbVSCWY3f9bKEXTvZoVmmDOaCrJvHCA9y-9ONNSNpyOs9-B_5Up5291Op3pyNhTD2Sxup6BAg/s400/law1.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6tDt0ZiXgzaZ6yFcV466j02yn7Ay_cAPmXc5LA1WQqfuaL1njpPoTQYZ9KuS1Bxgikid8_Sj86vutBluWCpUhKyYHZCdLaTDvrWRPVZdOjMsgxw0kdTCsppy8PcQKNnmuzGMpVfnVZxo/s1600/law2.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494422289095478402" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 289px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6tDt0ZiXgzaZ6yFcV466j02yn7Ay_cAPmXc5LA1WQqfuaL1njpPoTQYZ9KuS1Bxgikid8_Sj86vutBluWCpUhKyYHZCdLaTDvrWRPVZdOjMsgxw0kdTCsppy8PcQKNnmuzGMpVfnVZxo/s400/law2.gif" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1cd_Bh8yyuLI7bRNgGQ8xG7eGoytBJ49J7ctPI66UmTDMCRiRlr3Sm4RYGG_X6Y7uP6cDinanS2eXhcZJC3r0U_BtwwDaRIylIiy8RFpl6a76cbcoE67HJRxlsLbt4bD5TAl2StCwEhY/s1600/law3.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5494422190888878034" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 284px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1cd_Bh8yyuLI7bRNgGQ8xG7eGoytBJ49J7ctPI66UmTDMCRiRlr3Sm4RYGG_X6Y7uP6cDinanS2eXhcZJC3r0U_BtwwDaRIylIiy8RFpl6a76cbcoE67HJRxlsLbt4bD5TAl2StCwEhY/s400/law3.gif" border="0" /></a> </div><div align="justify"><br />E mesmo quando todas as tardes morressem nos teus lábios eu saberia que seria sempre assim: que teria sempre esta luz difusa que te confundia e te intrigava, que amaria sempre o lado sem sentido da vida e consequentemente que me amarias, que a incerteza seria sempre o que pisaria todos os dias e que viveria no eterno retorno sendo sempre feliz em lugares destruídos pelo tempo.</div><div align="justify"><em>Os lugares não são destruídos pelo tempo, são as pessoas que os destroíem </em>disse-te eu um dia quando te pedi para te despires e dançares comigo contra o vento.</div>miuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09274054399007271086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119643286313246626.post-72273422635826242572010-07-06T10:27:00.000-07:002010-07-06T10:41:58.383-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggMUhnUpo00Pm1oUPa9x0vVkZgequEziWJQ1pKY9QNCdoZDDqhTNvC4ENdMNYGLa3hAnTL9Wc83M_K6TU8AyTq3ZApQJEQPU5pnxgSENv8fKkdJ-b929RXe5eydcMvYcaKpK37ZjWNwTQ/s1600/Cine_Comodoro_2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490846194388562450" style="WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 279px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggMUhnUpo00Pm1oUPa9x0vVkZgequEziWJQ1pKY9QNCdoZDDqhTNvC4ENdMNYGLa3hAnTL9Wc83M_K6TU8AyTq3ZApQJEQPU5pnxgSENv8fKkdJ-b929RXe5eydcMvYcaKpK37ZjWNwTQ/s400/Cine_Comodoro_2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify"><br />a luz. a mesma cadeira. a mesma fila. a mesma tela. a mesma <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ânsia</span> pelos beijos desbotados e tristes numa ponte em paris. o morrer da luz. o escuro. o silêncio.</div><div align="justify">a solidão de que são feitos os meus dias.</div>miuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09274054399007271086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119643286313246626.post-4924567839401578462010-07-04T14:29:00.000-07:002010-07-06T10:41:39.917-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMbGi6fiAbW90egFoViLvZ8NeiWrCK2a1oHcXiiva-QZfcN4dJ3ngdR4ZmMJnKI3opZWiSePi0aqG5HeqKd4jLrmAZmRx0U6DgPHWZTXvFZ_svMVvrPn_gqN0fU5VtDJVV2YJQUu0w8k/s1600/422x660.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490848778594928482" style="WIDTH: 366px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMbGi6fiAbW90egFoViLvZ8NeiWrCK2a1oHcXiiva-QZfcN4dJ3ngdR4ZmMJnKI3opZWiSePi0aqG5HeqKd4jLrmAZmRx0U6DgPHWZTXvFZ_svMVvrPn_gqN0fU5VtDJVV2YJQUu0w8k/s400/422x660.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div align="justify"><br />"O Júlian ocupava uma água-furtada no bairro de St. Germain. </div><div align="justify">O andar reduzia-se a duas divisões: uma sala com uma cozinha diminuta que dava para a balaustrada de onde se viam as torres de Notre-Dame emergindo no meio de uma selva de telhados e neblina, e um quarto sem janelas com uma cama de solteiro."</div></div>miuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09274054399007271086noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7119643286313246626.post-88384016198842041432010-04-04T14:31:00.000-07:002010-07-06T10:40:50.576-07:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYDFOTfkbmvhSOy67O-P7EJpk5945rmNQZ1UN8srJSMa9_8i9n8ZlKj3MuBhR3Psl1Fgro4_5cLErUsnGO_Fnbl9GwbJGXbqrY8Nd1Oa7zpN_B42Hons3ems63tJxt_xDkQkGQsZlG5NU/s1600/modig.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5490849388061377266" style="WIDTH: 250px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 335px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYDFOTfkbmvhSOy67O-P7EJpk5945rmNQZ1UN8srJSMa9_8i9n8ZlKj3MuBhR3Psl1Fgro4_5cLErUsnGO_Fnbl9GwbJGXbqrY8Nd1Oa7zpN_B42Hons3ems63tJxt_xDkQkGQsZlG5NU/s400/modig.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZUl1yh6HjHNRiLL41t4OcAv0Z-lYJyLcbC8Nh70-kXbFOCtGW0tyDxRbq75A01fsrYRUI-H06GuLMlcReuMqkjRxjr73ybOcfZxvkhbcAeDrxzQeOfDA84aoB_MQsi-ijFOqk_ATvbI/s1600/anthropometrie.jpg"></a><br />dói tanto viver sem asas para voar.</div>miuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09274054399007271086noreply@blogger.com1