Translation Of Bisaya To Tagalog

... What Albert says ... or denial of natural disposition ...

For resigned

J e hate resigned!

I hate the resigned, as I hate the messy, as I hate lazy people. I hate the resignation! I hate dirt, I hate doing nothing. I hate the patient bent under some malignant fever, and I hate the sick imagination a little willingness would call right. I pity the man in chains, surrounded by guards, crushed iron weight and number. I hate the soldiers that curve the weight of a gallon or three stars, the workers that the weight curve of capital. Like the man who says what he feels when he is, I hate votard to conquer a perpetual majority. Like the learned crushed under the weight of scientific research, and I hate the man who bends his body under the weight of an unknown power, X in any of a god. I hate, I say, all those who, yielding to others out of fear, resignation, some of their power of man, not only crash but crush me, my loved ones, the weight of their support or their inertia awful silly. I hate, yes, I hate them because I feel, I do not bend under the tape of the officer, the mayor's sash, gold of the capitalist morals or religion; long ago I know that all this is that it rattles the glass shatters like ... I bent under the weight of the resignation of others. Oh I hate the resignation!

I love life. I want to live, not meanly as those that meet only part of their muscles, their nerves, but largely satisfying the facial muscles as well as those of the calves, the weight of my back like my brain. I do not want to swap one share for share notional Now tomorrow, I will give anything in this for the wind of the future. I do not want me to bend under the words "homeland, God, honor." I know too well the emptiness of these words: religious and secular ghosts. I do not care retreats, paradise in the hope of which take resigned, religion and capital. I laugh at those who has accumulated for their old age, deprive themselves in their youth, of those who, at sixty to eat, fast to twenty years.

Me, I want to eat when I have strong teeth to tear and shred the meat healthy and delicious fruit, when my stomach juices digest without any trouble and I want to drink my thirst or cooling fluids tonics. I love women, or women as appropriate to our common desires, and I do not want to resign myself to the family, law, code, no person may have on our bodies. You will, I will. Make fun of us family law, ancient form of resignation.

But that's not all I want because I have eyes, ears, senses other than drinking, eating, sexual love, enjoy in other forms. I want to see the beautiful sculptures, beautiful paintings, Rodin admired Manet. I want to hear the best operas, playing Beethoven or Wagner. I want to know the classic comedy, turning over the baggage literary, artistic inheritances from men to men past present or browse the best work ever and ever unfinished humanity. I want the joy for me, for the chosen companion for children, for friends. I want a home where my eyes can rest comfortably after the work finished. Because I want the joy of work too, this healthy joy, this joy strong. I want my arm handle the plane, hammer, spade or scythe. That muscles grow, as the chest widens to powerful movements, useful and reasonable. I want to be helpful, I want us to be useful. I want to be useful to my neighbor and I want my neighbor to be useful. I wish that we work a lot because I'm insatiable enjoyment. And because I want enjoy I'm resigned.

Yes, yes, I want to happen, but I want to enjoy and I want to knead the dough, but eating the best bread to the harvest, but drink better wine, build a house but live a better apartment; do furniture, but have the useful and even beautiful, I want to do theater, but large enough to accommodate me and mine. I want to cooperate to produce, but I want to eat together. That one dream to produce for others to whom they will leave, ironically, their best efforts, I will, together freely, but eating produce.

Resigned, look, I spit on your idols, I spit on God, I spit on the country, I spit on Christ, I spit on the flags, I spit on capital and the golden calf, I spit on religion: they are rattles, I laugh, I laugh ... They are nothing without you, leave them and they break into pieces. So you're a force, resigned oh, who are unaware of these forces but which are nonetheless forces, and I can not spit on you, I can not hate you or love you ....

Above all my desire, that I see you shake your resignation in the wake of terrible life. There is no future paradise, there is no future, only the present.

we live! Live! Resignation is death. The revolt, that's life.


Albert Libertad (1875-1908), Anarchy , April 13, 1905

... Where one sees clearly that men are smaller than cows ...

Braided Bracelets From Disneyworld

news tip where we can finally see the hook

My Projects trim rings for ASF:

son I left the train as they used to sew them on the frames. It lacks some models Like the little knot, the pair of cherries (I must find the red cotton for stuffing) and strawberries.
Besides, a little story, the advisor of the employment center was quite enamored by my ring-strawberry:)

Insert Cd 2 For Adobe Cs3 Master Collection

Tip Tip

There will be the next hook. I want to photograph models for fittings rings I made for ASF and bring my models wool flowers that are a bit all over the blog into a PDF for free Ravelry. But until I have the courage to do so, I changed the music blog to put two retro titles: Let's Face The Music And Dance, in the interpretation of Nat "King" Cole and A Fine Romance in the interpretation of Marilyn. All because I bought a CD of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers in a trade fair at 1 € and I made the reflection that I was more accustomed to these two interpretations as those of the CD ... And then I added For Me Formidable and the slot machine for good measure:)
soon!

PS: about Marilyn, it would seem that there is a reissue of his sweater number My Heart Belongs To Daddy in The Billionaire. I would like to know where it is and if it's in my means of new unemployed because my version inspired is far from over, and besides I have gained weight since I started.

PPS: Gerard Darel it, and it is 135 € and are not all in one we see in the film . Disappointed ...

Long Term Effects Of Blood Donation

... What Albert Says ... or voluntary servitude for (at least ...) La Boetie ...

The Stranger's voter

C 'is the criminal you, O People, since you're the Sovereign . You are, indeed, the criminal unconscious and naive.
You vote and you do not see that you are your own victim.

Yet have you not yet experienced enough that members, who promise to defend you, as all governments of the world present and past, are liars and powerless?

You know you worry and complain! You know and you name them! The rulers of any kind, worked, work and work for their interests, those of their caste and their cliques.

Where was it and how could it be otherwise? The governed are subordinate and exploited: in do you know who do are not?

long as you do not understand that it is for you alone to produce and live as you please, as you will bear, - for fear - and you make them yourself - by belief in the authority - leaders and managers, know too well, your delegates and your masters will live in your work and your silliness.
You complain of everything! But is it not you the author of a thousand wounds that you eat?

You complain to the police, army, justice, barracks, prisons, government, laws, ministers, government, financiers, speculators, officials, bosses , priests, Owners, wages, unemployment, parliament, tax, tax collectors, pensioners, the high cost of food, rent and rents, long days of workshop and factory, the pittance, privations without number and the endless social inequities.

You complain, but you want the maintenance of the system where you vegetate. You revolts sometimes, but always to start. It is you who produce all, who plowed and sown, which forges and woven, molded and transformed to that and build factories, which feeds and fruitful!

So why do you drink your not hungry? Why Are you evil dressed, poorly fed, housed evil? Yes, why without bread, without shoes, without the house? Why are you not your master? Why you curves you, obey you, do you serve? Why are you the less, the humiliated, the offended, the servant, the slave?

You draw everything and anything you possess? Everything is you and you are nothing.

I'm wrong. You are the voter, the votard, one who accepts what is he who, by ballot, punishes all its miseries, he who, by voting, devotes all its easements.

You are the volunteer valet, the domestic kind, the lackey, the stooge, the dog licking the whip, crawling before the grip of the master. You are the Sergot, the jailer and the spy. You are the good soldier, the porter model, the tenant volunteers. You are the loyal employee, the devoted servant, the sober peasant, the worker resigned from your own slavery. Thou art thyself thy executioner. What are you complaining about?

You're a danger to us, free men, for us anarchists. You're a danger to the equal of tyrants, masters as you give yourself, as you call, you argue, you feed that You protect thy bayonets, that you forbid your brute force, you exalt your ignorance, you are authenticated by your ballots - and that you impose upon us by your stupidity.

It was you the Sovereign, that we are flattered and fooled. Speeches t'encensent. The posters you hang up, you love nonsense and sycophancy: be happy, waiting to be shot in the colonies, to be massacred at the borders, in the shadow of your flag.

If your language interested pourlèchent Royal droppings, O King! If candidates hungry and full of platitudes commandments, brush the loin and rump autocracy of your paper if you're gray incense and promises that you dump those who've always betrayed you and deceive you sell tomorrow is that you yourself are like them. Is that you are no better than the horde of starving your sycophants. Is that not being able to raise you awareness of your individuality and your independence, you are unable to assiduously avoided by yourself. You do not want, so you can be free.

Come, vote right! Have some confidence in your agent, believe in your elected officials.

But stop complaining. The yokes that you suffered, it is yourself that you impose them. The crimes of which you suffer, thou doest. You're the master, you're the criminal, and, ironically, you're the slave, you're the victim.

We, tired of the oppression of the masters that you give us, tired of supporting their arrogance, tired of supporting your passivity, we just call you to reflection to action.

Well, a good move: leaving the coat close to legislation, wash your body roughly, so that dying parasites and vermin that devour you. Then only be able to live fully.

THE CRIMINAL is the Elector!

Albert Libertad (1875-1907); Anarchy , March 1, 1906