Utility Trailer Licensing Ontario "No Limits" .- Eugenio Salvador Dalí, Federico García Lorca and Luis Buñuel.

"WITHOUT LIMITS"


Film which opens this Friday and I'm not going to lose. I look forward to seeing Pattinson embodies Dali and hoping fervently that no shred of character. xD.
The Farce in the water I've seen in the trailer is not wasted and after reading the odd interview about the film, I guess that I will enjoy as a dwarf. (Slashhhhhh).

I'll tell you what to like me;). And if someone goes to see her and discuss the film ^ ^.

also leave the promotional posteran aseptic flower square root.
In the waters of the Seine an ice-berg
cool marble windows and scatters the ivy. Man stomps the cobbled streets. Crystals hide the magic of reflections. The Government has closed the perfume stores.
The machine perpetuates its binary beat. An absence of forests,
screens and brows roams across the roofs of old houses.
Air polishes its prism the sea and the horizon rises like a great aqueduct.

Soldiers who know wine and gloom behead the sirens on the seas of lead.
Night, black estsleep in the sand. Offshore serves as a compass rose.

The horizon, virgin of wounded handkerchiefs,
the great crystals of fish and the moon.

Tough

launches white crown encircles bitter foreheads and hair of sand.

Sirens convince, but not beguile,
and out if we show a glass of fresh water.

* * * Oh, Salvador Dalí , olive voice!

not praise your halting adolescent brush or your c

in the fishbowl and the bird in the cage.
not to invent them in the sea or the air.
stylize or copy once you have watched, with honest eyes
their small, agile bodies.

love a matter definite and exact
where the fungus can not pitch its camp.
love the architecture that builds on the absent
and admit the flag as a joke.

steel compass tells his short verse elastic. Unknown
denies islands and the area. He says the straight line
its upward struggle and learned crystals
sing their geometries.

& nand shells.

Above all
sing a common thought that joins us in the dark and golden hours.

is not art in the light that blinds our eyes.

it is love, friendship or fencing.

is first that the picture you patiently trace Teresa
within the sleepless skin,
the tight curls of Mathilde the ungrateful,
our friendship painted like a game board.

fingerprints of blood on gold
scratching the eternal heart of Catalonia. Stars like fists
hawk shine on you,
while your painting and your life blossom.

not watch the hourglass with membranous wings,
or the hard scythe of the allegory.
always dress and undress your brush in the air
before the sea peopled with sailors and ships.