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tea ...

... is drunk every day, sometimes thrown away, said. I was very impressed with the idea to also make an analysis of the tea: tea
initially consists of three parts, one of which is at the beginning and two at the same end of the infusions.
This is a right-skewed frequency distribution in the tea.
The typical Gaussian shape would have a chemical conversion of tea, according to, like this:
ete

Tea is always a matter of perspective, tea from the other side considers opening the tea lovers totally new pages:
eet
(Due to the technical possibilities of the representation is only limited value.)

The theme of tea deserves further detailed investigations with the above designs was trying to work out the most important points about the tea.

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only times ...

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image somewhere in the world (old German song) - brings back memories

there somewhere in the world
's a little bit of luck,
And I dream of it at every moment.
somewhere in the world
there's a bit of bliss
And I dream of it long long time.

If I knew 'where is that
went I into the world, because I'd
' for once,
So his happy heart.
somewhere in the world
Starts my way to the sky;
Somewhere, somehow, sometime.

I'm 'so desire,
I dream so often, is
Once my luck to be close.
I'm 'so desire,
I have hoped
Soon the hour will be there.

days and nights I wait on it:
I give up hope never.

somewhere in the world
there's a little bit of luck,
And I dream of it at every moment.
somewhere in the world
there's a little happiness,
And I dream of it long long time.

If I knew 'where is that
went I into the world, because I'd
' for once,
So his happy heart.
somewhere in the world
Starts my way to the sky;
Somewhere, somehow, sometime,
Somewhere, somehow, sometime

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literature Bistro ...

is ... in my city library highly recommended ... as you can in fact sit down and read and there are even books on the tables around ... it is almost expected for it to be meaningfully joined with 26 or more letters of the deals ger alphabet, while at the same time satisfies the brain and stomach.
If one enters a normal coffee and unwrapping the book, it is sometimes amused, sometimes compassionate, sometimes staring eyes, ...
other day someone said that people radiate a rest ... maybe there is something in it.
In any case, is allowed to operate and buy in a cafe atmosphere also. Other psychosphere
atmosphere than at home.

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Bulgur

This recipe I wrote for Simon:

onion (s) and garlic fry
Bulgur saute
& double the amount of vegetable broth or white wine to simmer add
(ie level 1 cup bulgur wheat, 2 cups vegetable broth finished)
1 / 4 hour leave (or . sometimes most marked)

Add Optional

• cinnamon / cardamom
• chopped tomatoes (not tomato paste, etc.)
• parsley
• vegetables
• eggs
  
• fantasy

(under the label of poetry, as some recipes are really a poem.)

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I - or more?

A silhouette on the wall as
Made by man:
The image of the image.

Can you fill it with colors
Or is it gray, full of deep scars?
The uncertainty of mourning.

A beautiful smile hidden by shadows. If
brought the image back to life?
The sweetness of love.

blood freezes? - Blood pulsates!
death or life?
court and forgive!
So much very close - close - inseparable!
disappeared The image of the image,
the image of the Supreme reinvented ...
Created.
rest. Time and again after the dance of emotions ...
rest.

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poem (one of many)

longings, nothing but excuses

a reality

fears sows. The

me formally implores

stay away from her,

me to describe the days

with imagination, not to forget

,

fears that eat soul

stay still awake, distribute

nightmares.

The world is unhinged,

shifted my perspective completely

it rotates back and forth in the waltz step,

creating entirely and truly out of step.

I can not keep up,

off my life,

am caught in such acts of nature,

'm blinded by such Lebenshaß,

I find this really fucked up and gross.

Why do I think when there is so little?

Why I hope that Daddy loves me?

stay Why do I, that he forgives me?

sure why that guilt does not push it in my shoes?

I want to get up, go with

right

not just stand, not only see

disease.

I'm tied to the soil, lies my soul

flayed,

during dreams I walk around,

my dearest hope customers.

The shop is closed,

like a fool, undaunted,

tear I humorless antics

have fired without my knowledge the bird.

Pink colors in a poem, create

it not

the world to dive in a different light

what do almost all of them.

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What do I want?

A few things come to mind immediately:

• I want to drink just as happy at that moment was.
• and other banalities. Point.
  

point (oh so that I had already mentioned). Still, point. But this is precisely the point:
.
.
.

.
.


more I find not just one. Because everything else is so buried that I do not really know. This does not mean that I would bury my ideas, because I do really a lot.
Only if God - or any other person - ask me that, I have no verfünftige answer, I am totally perplexed wonder where there may be a question a lead in life.
I want a lot. I know almost nothing. Actually, even nothing.

is life itself?
Is love means to an end?
If God is the purpose for which funds?
Or perhaps both?

What do I want?
I want to sleep and hope I wake up tomorrow and knows it. But I have to assume that things that need to be excellent, to be developed.