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I am looking for my daughter, volume 3 of the manga Nausicaa of the Valley of the wind, not too prohibitive prices or exchange a comic cons, a drawing original food ...
If you also have volumes 5, 6 and 7 and you want to separate, you can make me an offer.
I know it sounds weird coming from me who can not read upside down, but we gave my daughter volumes 1, 2 and 4, so it's a shame not to have at least T3.
Thanks for your attention, you Cognac-Jay!

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Christmas Story ... The return of the lighthouse

I wanted one day a beautiful tweed jacket . I offered a model Johnstons Scottish tweed in Bookster.

That radically changed my style of dress. When I received the jacket, I was delighted, but had to yield to the evidence, none of my pants did with this pattern of tweed. I bought an elegant trousers, which immediately led me to invest in a stylish pair of shoes, a model from Harris.

I did not even get into this outfit a Fiat Panda.

I bought a Jaguar.

What more really did not fit with the Jaguar was my suburban house, that when I swore horribly garais front.

I found it quite difficult to acquire the mansion in Scotland, but thanks to some wise financial investment, however, I succeeded.

is by moving, I really made aware of one thing: my wife and children did not with the tweed jacket.

I am getting divorced, then, to have a husband with a young Russian woman who worked in fashion and whose lanky figure accorded well with the body of the jaguar.

As children, we ate them.

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It's been a while since I put anything on this blog, how you have done for you without your lighthouse illuminate the thought ;?

OK, say loupiote the fridge thinking, if you want, but it's something.

Some people tell me "but so what?"

And I reply, "but oh, it's going eh, I have not got all day ".

Actually, I'm really hurt by doing nothing, (what are the dangers of idleness).

is a nerve that got stuck all alone. So I really hurt when I fiddle with the mouse. And that, it looks like so much as a divine punishment.

At this time, no less, I suffer martyrdom, just for you.

As Jesus Christ.

No, but do not thank me, it makes me happy, (such as JC, I tell you! We, messiahs, we're like that.)

So that led me to the doctor that I have, now that I am old. This is the lady who came when I almost died, as I am not death, (I'm very strong, but still not to the point of writing to you from the beyond), I kept as a gatekeeper.

Before, I was not referring doctor because our family doctor he left. He wanted more from us, his patients and he went I do not know what I know not where.

And suddenly, he was replaced by a weird guy who does not really seem to be a doctor.

I tell you this, you do not care, but it is to say, this is the shit to find a good doctor. But here, one that takes care of my pinched nerve, it is good, but I will not tell you who it is, because his waiting room was packed and it goes like this.

And there I was getting at, I leafed through newspapers in the waiting room for an hour and suddenly, I know stuff like: Jean Michel Larqué a little girl of six years in the Béarn or Liliane Bettencourt to an island in the Seychelles and the Cat Geluck really not funny.

Oh, no, but the Cat Geluck is not really as funny as Mr. POPO!

I do not know it was worse at that point and I had a compliment for what a reader told me anything as I am as funny as Geluck. In fact he did not care about my mouth?

The waiting room is good to see real people. Since my house, there are only creatures of dreams from time to time, it is necessary that I dive into the terrible reality of vulgus pecum scrofulous, the bacon and aging brawler in stockings.

what real life.

Wherever you go, now, we can not avoid hipster chick in jeans whose kidneys are seen when she bends down a bit and wears one of those crappy tattoos which are fashionable among morons.

So when will you understand, band woodcock, it fucks up the whole aesthetic of the fall of kidneys, your zigouigoui in the lower back?

Badgers fall in all panels and are losing all sense of things.

The tattoo is for pirates, convicts, the bad guys, it's not for grannies to low-rise jeans!

The dotted around the neck with a guillotine "not having not taken", "neither God nor master" in blue ink, it could have a certain charm on a real hard but your tattoos is the decoration, it makes no sense, you monkey marginals feet warm and suddenly, it is vulgar.

But fashion and cons that we can do nothing, the only positive thing in all this is that fashion, it does not last but your pathetic crap graphically are there to and it will always laugh employees of nursing homes and embalmers in a few years.

If only they were tattooed Mr POPO CATS Geluck or at least that we would make the reading.

Well, as I can not do mouse, I put one of my secret works of collage of small heads.

And it's funny because a guy who contacted me to buy an original panel from the comic book "LONDON" is left with a plate of these collages, I do not know if it's because he counted the boxes and he felt he had more for his money ...

You can see one another and details on my 'blog drawings "in the link bar, if it connects you.

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Expo SAPEL

For those going there, my friend Dominique exposes Sapele sculptures, terracotta, linocuts and screenprints from 13 to 29 November 2010 in Saint-Genis-Pouilly, in the Ain.
The opening Nov. 13 at 18 am at the Cultural Center Jean Monnet. Dedication of the artist his book "CHRYSANTHEMUM", based on the novel by Pierre Loti.
Hours: Monday to Friday from 10.30am to 12pm - Saturday and Sunday from 10 to 18
Information: 04.50.42.29.37 06.72.26 and June 15
Now you know everything!

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Still ouatures

Last night my daughter took me to see the last Neanderthal Ao, which leads to an animal skin a moment in the film and we feel this is the beginning of the idiocy begins. The first vehicle.

is a carcass of an animal on which it glides through the snow, laughing and joy is the primary driver idiot just happy to go faster than walking.

say, four hours of makeup for the actor looks like a Neanderthal. Awesome!

They could have done more simply by directly Franck Ribery, but the movies we love to complicate life.

It really looks to Ribery, Ao the Neanderthal, with something a little stronger in the eyes, otherwise, its just his double.

is not a great movie, but my daughter loved it. I think it's perfect for CM1 CM2.

Scientists are super happy to have discovered that we, homo sapiens, there are little bits of gégène Neanderthals. These are pieces here that, according to the film, are the least worst, because the sapiens, are big assholes vindictive, arrogant and violent think only cum on her face, while Ao is a poet who speaks to little birds who just wants to tap the top model plays the female lead.

Unfortunately, Sapiens who managed to impose his liberal model on the planet and now he stood in line at the gas pump.

There are few things anyway.

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Auto immobilist


the news in the picture, evidence aplenty of automobiles that hermit crabs not happy bitch like what it feels like four hours they turn to find a station with fuel and now They are on the reserve. If you had not turned four hours to find fuel, you would not be on the reserve, asshole!

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Where there is no tear of pleasure

French is able to stir in the ass when it is really worth. He leaves turn Roma without much qualms, he let people die in the street while he makes his Christmas shopping. He does not move an ear when we took him for a fool-round elections, they vote for thieves, crooks without morality, thinking they will give him good liberalism that will swell its growth, but if he is nearing retirement, there he detest them.

It's like that French, he has the sense of proportion and priorities.

Together together!

the ass ass no hesitation!

No, but you want me involved in that?

This long march for old age?

Damn, but it freaks me out a bumblebee can not, the sudden revolt of youth to preserve the retirement system.

Not that it is illegitimate to finally move against the government of gangsters, it's not that I think the cause is not worth the trouble, is that it took anyone to touch your retirement to put you in the street.

I tell you, because as personal retirement does not concern me, with any luck, I'd be dead before and if not too bad for me.

Oh, it was so much simpler not to elect zébulon first.

I can not get out, while it was predictable, and now he must take to the streets to save the pensions of "work more to earn more?

Me, I do not want. I cagua retirement idiots who voted for the liberation of liberalism.

démerdent Let them with the shit they have sown.

By cons, when the "left" will be returned to power, it will be good to take to the streets to force to achieve a policy of social justice.

Or is the rise of mustard in the nose of the people is motivated by a real ras-le-bol-General and the revolution is here and I agree, it is all fart and you cut the head of the monarch, but if jute to preserve his retirement, it's too shabby as a revolutionary ideal.

Robespierre : "Well, Danton, we will ask the king an ultimatum: either he introduces us retirement at age 60, is blocked refineries. What do you say? "

Danton :" The what? "

Robespierre "Refineries. I said the refinery, but I could just as well have said the SNCF network! "

Danton : "The what? Maximilian Listen, I want you to be well ahead of your time, but you do not think you push a little? With your bullshit blockages, we will not be able to go on holiday to Halloween! "

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My worst

The shrill ringing of the alarm clock and evil. It is 6:30 am. I met unfathomable forces to extract myself from bed.

Fingersmith, I raise a piece of curtain. Outside the window, delicate snowflakes falling with graceful slowness. I have a few minutes to watch the race from the pristine dust. The flakes are detached from the ink of night, threatening to fouling. This poetic vision informs me that this morning my increased sensitivity seems more than usual. It's a bad sign.

Brewer noise ceases spit boiling water, its rumble, and I am retired from my contemplation . The coffee is ready. Hands stuck in my bowl to try to pump any calories of heat, I listen to feedback on my radio. Bad news. The stock fall and people die. I hear all this from afar, vaguely concerned. I feel that today there will be only my little person who will cause me concern.

I am tempted to wrap myself in my duvet and go to class with, but for questions pragmatism, I finally open my closet and my hand falls directly on this heavy gray wool sweater, one that is broad and formless but so soft and warm, where he is so good to wrap it. Okay, I understand. I immediately diagnosed my mood. "Chonchon" yes today I am what I call: "Chonchon be." It is a concept that I feel personally invented. "Chonchon" does not mean depressed. It means being at the border of sadness. This is an area between neutrality and greyness. A kind of melancholy, of melancholy warm. It comes down to a hazy day, where you do not listen to the people around you because the walls of your bubble stifle their speech. You float on a cloud of ether and your actions are slower. You feel a kind of reduction in the body. As for your feelings, they are nostalgic, feed on the happy moments of the past, images of bliss that left you. Your thoughts are negative suavely but you do not fight against, you want more almost. It is a twisted concept. That's me all over.

Harnessed course of my bag, I decided finally go outside in the cold of January . I shut the door of my building and lifts the nose to the sky to observe the crystals that dance. A flake Snow arises and builds on the tip of my nose. A shiver runs through my back, I m'emmitoufle in my big scarf and breathe through the mesh. The street is deserted, it looks like a post-Apocalypse. I head to the metro and the thin layer of snow crunches under my feet. It made a sound quite enjoyable.

I wait a few minutes on the platform and on the other side of the road, I see an orange mass, a huge down is lying on a bench. It must be inside a sleeping deeply unhappy despite the bitter cold and the noise of cars that pass. I pity the poor man.

The metro train finally arrives. There are few people inside. Chance. I even manage to find a place on a bench and can curl up comfortably for me thirty-minute drive ahead of me. My MP3, which I know only too well, an air broadcasts that I love and that fits perfectly with my mood. These I'll Be Your Mirror Velvet Underground of . Nico rocks me in her sweet voice and imagine what life would be if we were not limited by our body if we were wet and dry, and confused in harmony with all that exists.

Some stations parade. And then it happens. For automatic opening doors, it appears. It is not unusual but my eyes fell on him as he entered. It must be a student like me who takes the subway every morning towards the university for a day in a boring lecture hall. It is surely there every day, in the same train as me, without my noticing, however. The chance that I pay attention to him until that moment. I go out of my coma deliciously as he sits beside me on the bench. His features seem drawn with fatigue but I find attractive in spite of this, and dare I run into her ample Pretties hoodie? Her hair is Medium-length and tied carelessly in a short ponytail leaving a few strands free on his forehead. This gives him an air of medieval knight, prince charming sleep deprived. The doors of the car to contain, her eyelids too. The song ends in my headphones, I put my little digital music box. The young man seems to be sleeping peacefully, then I would watch it. It is soothing to contemplate a face serene, gathered into the arms of Morpheus. I seem to see a flow of heat from the neck of his shirt slightly open, go back down her throat. This gives it a sort of aura attractive, radiant, a vibration of his flesh. I suddenly felt like melting on his skin to experience the warmth, I who so cold this morning. Her lips, fleshy and pale pink are taking shape in a three-day beard. If I kissed her, I know I enjoy these little hairs that raspy spice kisses. His cheeks are hollow, but this is not due to its thinness. I know what digging is a sign of a relaxed face. In my theater class, we are in early trading relaxation exercises and we know that the goal is reached when our faces sag, when the entire network complex muscles of our heads is released. So I am leaning towards the boy and a kiss in the niche space missing from her cheek. Still asleep, her lips a hint of a smile. I am so pleased I reiterate, taking my time well to print the outline of my lips on her skin. While I was recovering, my beautiful sleeper rests her head on my shoulder and arm clings to my neck. His fatigue concerns me as it fills me with tenderness. Then I stroke his face as if to calm the storm.

The journey continues, the world has evolved into a silence. People around us are fuzzy, non-existent, like ectoplasm mist. I am confident that our privacy is a halo effect from the gray room. The time was suspended and immobility has a flavor ecstatic. We remain so throughout the voyage, immutable or merely shaken by the turmoil of the car.

The computer voice in the loudspeaker announced that we are at the terminus of the subway stop Technopole. Technopole. The officials who decided to give this name to campus desperately lacked charm. Rosamond the Fair opens eyelids, his blue eyes are troubling. Two circles of iceberg that hatch. I fixed his eyes where I want to drown myself. Then he smiled. Our breaths are placid and resonate with each other.

Suddenly he took my hand and took me out of my lethargy to take me out of the subway train. Since the windows, I see snow outside has thickened and the landscape is now completely covered in white. The light there reverberates. Rays blaze. The clarity is blinding. Reflections that arrive from outside and dazzle door of the car is just a big rectangle of vibrant shine. What lurks there behind this enlightenment? This mystery excites me and I throw myself with my companion in this sparkling, with the irrepressible urge to move me among the photons. We bathe in the absolute whiteness.

Then a tear in my brain. A start.

The shrill ringing of the alarm clock and evil. It is 6:30 am. I met Herculean strength to escape to sleep.

So it was a dream.

Recalled to real life, I curse the cruelty of electronics that shortens all beautiful things, destroys the imagination.

Fingersmith, I lift the hem of the curtain. Outside the window, I recognize the snowflakes dancing forever.

Brewer distilled potion of my energy. The radio spits out the same stream of devastating news but I do not care a bit, because today there will be only my little person that counts.

In the closet, my hand found the big gray wool sweater, jacket and me I breathe the comforting smell of laundry.

My current bag glued to the back, I go outside and trembling because of this January cold. I shut the door of my building and a great gesture to wipe the snowflake that just landed on the tip of my nose. I hide in my big scarf. The street is deserted and I want it to be due to the Apocalypse. I'm heading the metro and trying to cheer me up, leaving footprints in the snow.

I wait a few minutes on the dock and the other side of track, the huge lies down on the bench. The tramp who sleeps in could die of hypothermia and everybody can do nothing, or seems to really care.

The train Metro finally arrived. The cars are crowded. I try to find a minimal living space thirty minute ride that will make me suffer inside. I will unfortunately remain standing throughout the journey and my MP3 has decided to put me through the darkest songs and enraged Placebo .

I'm watching the entrance to the car, I do not see the boy.

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Rage free is wrong, but it would certainly be more than she paid.

Carla Bruni-Sarkozy is very nice.

No, but really very very nice. And I think it's also a very good housewife, even if they are the servants of the Elysee who are cleaning and cooking, because she says that sometimes she makes her little husband "the pasta, "I think it's noodles. I thought for a moment that it was a position of the Kamasutra, but the noodles into the water.

† it out, it does so in addition to dealing with AIDS, the poor and Chanel suits.

It is really very nice.

Normally I do not watch TV, but last night I was not fast enough to turn off after watching a DVD, and I fell in love with Madame Carla Bruni-Sarkozy husband and her little chair.

I seem to be a moth, but I also have a little heart that beats Barbie in my chest.

They are too cute. And she is really very nice, (I think I said before, but nice like that is rare, it bears repeating)

And yet it not an easy life, she is even forced to touch the poor, I saw him in an excellent story for propaganda broadcast by a string of public service that is effectively serving the public.

The public the Elysee is also public, that's why it's a public service.

What I want to be nice like that.

As Carla Bruni-Sarkozy, or even as journalists from France 3, which have made this excellent reportage of public service.

Carla, she goes everywhere for spreading AIDS, the struggle against inequality, we see even singing the Bob Dylan is tell you if it is incurred. We see her at a moment with a jacket of Samu Social talking to a beggar.

In truth, eh, a real poor sitting outside in the street on the sidewalk with dog droppings and all.

I expected we see it multiply the loaves and walk on water, but she is very discreet and we see just to kiss a gnome.

I think, apart from Eva Braun, I do not remember another president's wife also love it if you say it was cute.

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Let children ... One more effort and you will become old farts.

If there is something that one should not joke, it's youth.

First, because the humor of the young is generally quite limited, but mostly because the parents.

(Sounds of a sentence that is missing something, but actually not.)

For centuries, it has raised the children to cudgel blows and it worked very well. It felt good Legionnaires anyway.

At the time of yore, when the problems of unemployment and population were solved with a good sense of military balance and a good war every 20 years, the training manual chimpanzee first class was more than enough for the education of toddlers. Plus a tad of catechism and an ounce of patriotism, you will be standing a generation well in hand, ready to die for God, country, family and heavy industry.

were good times.

Unfortunately, came the consumer society that can not afford to lose consumers blindly to war, and Dolto.

Well, it's a little shortcut, but overall, it suffices to explain the current situation.

Dolto, that's fine.

If you want to have big beards that funny wiggle singing "Senior Weather "and" Big Kiss "is perfect.

Dolto read by imbeciles are worse than a song by Carlos, the door is open to all currents of air.

Ok, Niard is a whole person, even if counted as a half-share tax.

Okay, shaking babies, throw it out the window, forget the car, freezing them is wrong. All these practices involved the demographic balance while allowing the economy to make a good war because it would have the unfortunate disadvantage of destroying Mac Donald, are nevertheless quite unpopular in public opinion.

Stuff children from an early age of industrial filth, which make them addicted to sugar, stick them in front of television screens to keep them quiet while watching a succession of murders and propaganda advertisements for industrial crap that makes them addicted to sugar, cars, the diapers with elastic is small, the girls jumping around with corn flakes, etc.. ... It's not so much better, but it seems that only me who realize that.

Make the chain of small unhappy, for they resemble their parents is easier than to impose a certain discipline Raymond Barriens, fat-free and made of simple joys, like happiness to wash hands with soap.

Ah, yes, it's my vice. Wash hands with soap, there's nothing better in the world because afterwards, your hands and more be clean, they feel small.

I do not know how it happened and if it is the legacy of May 68, but children are idiots.

Well, not everyone has property there, I myself have a friend child.

That children today are baboons noisy, dirty and uncontrollable because their parents prefer not to educate them not to offend them, it could be a concept of civilization, and after all, everyone is free forge itself its own channels.

But please, we can at least cool to tell parents how their children freed from the shackles of etiquette is inappropriate in a civilized environment. More clearly, they make us shit shit these unruly, grumpy and arrogant which small characters marvel.

Because by pretending nothing, sparing the sensitivities, goat and cabbage, not only we allow ourselves to annoy with a smile, but we agree to live in a world populated by oddballs .

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Chairs

(nothing to do with Ionesco!)

For us who have buttocks and spend some time sitting on the problems of the chairs is more important than all these things which subordinates the media keep harping. What good is peace in the Middle East, if it is to continue to be poorly seated?
A good designer, is initially a good chair. The rest of the work, dedication and talent enough, (it must also be careful when gum!).
A good chair is essential, all geniuses will tell you, in fact, Picasso worked up. Imagine the work it could have earned if he had a good chair ...

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head job

If you go back the retirement age, it does even have time to enjoy his cancer, I do not remember who said Ah ... if it was Bernard Giraudeau who pleads with Bruno Cremer and Alain Corneau.

I could put Alain Bashung or almost anyone, since everyone dies of cancer.

Personally, I do not know anyone who died of something else, apart from James Dean and Marilyn Monroe Kennedy.

life expectancy lengthens, it is mainly for the old, because for us, the stars of today, it remains to be seen.

However, scroll the streets to protect his retirement, it's not very rock n 'roll, she's right Laurence Parisot. Not Mick Jagger and Keith Richard would come Chouin for retirement.

Well me, even shocking, I must admit that Eric Woerth it still has a head of an honest man.

And that is unstoppable. With a head of an honest man at the head of state, Nicolaou former will not have all these credibility problems.

A head of an honest man is better than a Rolex, it's better than a good pair of heels, it's better than Carla Bruni trotting behind you.

A head of an honest man, this man puts his (then head of a respectable woman, it scares voters).

There was a time during which voters voted in majority for a head of an honest man.

It must be said, it has the power not evil villains, and perhaps why, these days, "despite being" had already told them that we must not mess about, there are limits to humor and second degree, the head of Sarkoucesku had no place in a jar on a campaign poster that, despite all our appeals to reason, the zealous voters preferred a head cunt of pretty legs.

Too late to regret my lambs, it's not as if you were not warned, this is not a stupid mistake sms voting for a candidate of the "New Star" was the presidential election and the song you pourrave acclaimed, you will hear daily on the airwaves.

Now, anti-Sarkophilie is so standard, it becomes almost ridiculous, yet I do?

Wait until it goes into good democrats. The majority of idiots voted them to heel marmoset is therefore legitimate. This is the principle of democracy, normally if you care, you know roughly what to expect by putting a guy right ultra-liberal in office, a former interior minister ineffective, a wheeler-dealer first.

Patience then, more than a year and a half and you can play again. You are preparing a new show and a new champion, a guy left this time, a Cador, a rabbit with a real hot first lady, not a coat.

You recognized?

Hop, magic hat!

According to the polls, we want him for a big change in 2012 ... We really take for idiots, but it must be because it's worth it.

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Parable

Jesus spoke in parables, yet it was not always facing the satellite.

sharing of wealth in these troubled times, is very fashionable. The sharing of wealth between rich, of course. The rich share the wealth and the poor merely redistribute poverty.

The problem of poverty is the lack of organization.

The rich have put in place a system that works very much richer while the poor are content with a network of organizations to nonprofit. How can they ever be publicly listed, the bastards!

And then level communication, poverty progress to do.

Just an example, take the logo of Emmaus, we must admit that compared to the clown Mac Donald, head of Abbe Pierre's rather dreary and the people, the sadness, it the depression.

Poverty is not the seller. Whatever you do what you want, the consumer is indifferent to the attractiveness of misery.

It's like this.

This was understood by the rich is that the money, there are many, even if it is scattered in pockets of the filthy poor. And as the poor are not very smart, otherwise they would not be poor, say the rich, just find a tip that they give you the grisbi believing they are a good deal ...

example a liter of oil. The poor fond buy gallons of oil and it is fairly easy to make them think, once there are more, then a shot that finally there are still so full of ... By making profits on the speculation.

We talk about the poor middle, that is to say, those who think they are poor because they do not have much money.

could imagine a world in which the poor are less intermediate idiots, but is it really desirable?

The truly poor, who have nothing at all, he does not envy the bastards to Rolex or footballers billionaires, he envies the poor middlemen who have a roof, a vague and income a shopping cart full of shit buy at discount stores, the corner grocer.

And this is the moment that Jesus arrived with his dish under his arm, in the parking lot of Leader Price.

Although happy the poor in spirit, he said, because the realm of retail theirs.

The mass distribution is not to do with the great Redistribution is completely the opposite.

Go explain that to the poor intermediate even with a satellite dish facing. It's no picnic.

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Buddies is fun for me to advertise, but be nice not to do too much either!

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morning I feel like I'm

Truce of vulgarity, this post deserves a little explicate O n. ..

I do not know if v us O c O nnaissez and have heard the Shan O n Brigitte F o ntaine: "O Pr prohibitive O n". This singer and O link is c O mplétement shifted ... O say ns barred ... t O tally zinzin actually O ur p be honest. It says in this m O rceau that despite s O n advanced age, she c O ntinuera to "kiss b O ire and smoke," do him much good ... and p O ur although the O n O mprenne, she claims in chorus: " I'm old and I v O fuck us, with m O nl O o k Dragonfly .

Strangely, this little laughing O urnelle me c O heel and I told myself that the np O O uvait t O ut completely adapt to h O m O s because s uvent O O O nn us fuck p O O ur this u this O n O is very p effeminate because " O n O is very blah blah w ways ... but fuck that i O! O nv O not ask us v O be notice!

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A blog that is purring!

if like me you love cats ...

... and you like pretty boys ...

... Then must you go on this blog " Cute Boys with Cats " en cliquant ici  miaOu !

...
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b O nj O ur m O ussaill O ns!

After O n mbreuses hesitate O ns, that's it, I run and publishes m O n small bl O g.

I do abs O lutely not what direction it will take O n bl O g, if I get to be pretty hard O ur p keep it regularly ^ ^ if tr O uvera audiences etc.. What I know is that I draw from the O ngtemps and comics, c mic O strips and other small drawings s an d O nt eyes O m O yen as I tr O uve p O ur voice my moods, my g Uz O and small O your anecd . Al O rs v O ila, t O ut amateurism and humility, I v O us do share m O n universe that I hope will bring the entertainment!

PS: To be notified of new tickets, there's the Facebook page of the blog here!

cOlin °o O  °     o              °

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happy birthday Manu! (And remember a night of confession)

A ticket that I dedicate to Manu, my faithful friend, who was the first to whom I revealed my homosexuality, a birthday that night her sleep at my place, some years ago now.

For the anecdote, Manu has an undeniable gift for pulling the nose to anyone who has information that arouses his curiosity ... ^ ^

At that time Manu was already a couple and enjoying the joys of love. She questioned So I never talk about my love affairs. Therefore she asked me questions that I avoided with more or less in tact. Questioning reached its paroxysm on my birthday. From afar, she slept with me that evening. But after the party, once alone with our sleeping bags, Y'avait not much way out for me: S. So I told him everything about what was then still a secret about my fears, my sorrows, my hopes too and we talked almost all night I think!

Even today I remember that faith and I thank her hand stretched out to me a heavy silence.

Other confession was followed thereafter, but that first time was decisive.

And you? which was the first ear to listen to you?

PS: Manu, is not shocked by the 3rd picture! No fantasy for me to see you in pin-up in a sexy little negligee but I wanted to make a reference to Arthur de Pins his "guilty pleasures" that you love, I know ^ ^.