Charissa hut

Listen up white cis-hetliberals…if you are ANY of these things at any intersection, I want to talk to you…. I am speaking in charissa hut intersection as a transwoman who suffers from things that share a great congruence with my BIPOC fellow humans, charissa hut. Google it to find its meaning and then come back to read further.

An arc made up of angles is mere endless dead injustice shambling Running from the truth and branding innocence with lies Fogs waver, quiver-quaver shrouding justice there in shadows While the monsters play the endless angles in the falling dark. Please consider our intersections, shared experiences, lived miles in light of this point of view and maybe, just maybe, the truth shall set you free. Shoot me, shoot me if you can for only then will I be still be still among the long green ferns and canted crooked in the grass. Softly blows the westling wind, blows lovely in this blessing night. And thus to love, and thus to mend, to love softly just like the wind loves everything it breathes upon. Listen up white cis-hetliberals…if you are ANY of these things at any intersection, I want to talk to you….

Charissa hut

Charissa Snijders, Registered Architect, draws on 30 years of experience to deliver regenerative architecture that expresses the self, others and the land. Charissa welcomes those who seek to make a difference in their own lives and in others, and in doing so change the way we live. Blending together the right elements ensures greater connection with ourselves, others and with our relationship with the natural world. The intimate living wing cantilevers into and is sheltered by the native trees to the south and extends to the north with the Outdoor room framing the panoramic sea views. This is a place where one can listen to the rain, the wind in the trees, bird song and the stillness of the night. It is a place to remind oneself of the richness that can be experienced in the simplest things in life. The palette of materials reflects both this simplicity and richness. Juxtaposing warm timber and moments of stone, the Treehouse is a testament to the beauty and power of natural materials. Salvaged Matai graces the floor and sustainable sourced NZ farmed Totara line its walls and form shelving to store holiday memorabilia along the passage. It imbues the magical qualities of native forest and seeks the praise of shadows as well as the light. Minimal impact to the environment was considered throughout the design and build. Starting with the careful siting of the building platform to avoid significant trees, to installing a low energy Biolytix wastewater system, collecting rainwater for it and the surrounding farm use, selecting low-water usage WC, taps and shower heads to using non-toxic materials and finishes wherever possible.

She rides, charissa hut, Her horse grey and shadow She bleeds silver mercury drops quicksilver seeds. From …trying to tell people how we hide… They leave marks, tears. The picture represents the utter joy and abandon that comes when one is cleansed of all extraneous distraction and burden.

The Treehouse rests lightly on a tongue of land on Waiheke Island. The intimate living wing cantilevers into and is sheltered by the native trees to the south and extends to the north with the Outdoor room framing the panoramic sea views. This is a place where one can listen to the rain, the wind in the trees, bird song and the stillness of the night. It is a place to remind oneself of the richness that can be experienced in the simplest things in life. The palette of materials reflects both this simplicity and richness.

I think this is among the handful of poems that I really feel good about, from the point of view of technical craft…I think I really hit the sweet spot and was risen above a mere hack or journeyman kind of poetess…. I wrote this, pretty much the first true poem I wrote after a seminal crushing happened to me and I was worried that my creative fonts had been polluted forever…thank God this worry was unfounded, as this beautiful little creature shows. We walked each day steady across those shores ever reaching to the sea and the sea ever running back to sands and sunset ever blessing everyday each moment with its many colored kiss in hues of pinks and purples, oranges, yellows, hues of bliss in reds and blues, and greys… you… always grey lining blue of mine with you, in silver shot straight thru with grey shot thru my blue. This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed. I think this is among the handful of poems that I really feel good about, from the point of view of technical craft…I think I really hit the sweet spot and was risen above a mere hack or journeyman kind of poetess… I wrote this, pretty much the first true poem I wrote after a seminal crushing happened to me and I was worried that my creative fonts had been polluted forever…thank God this worry was unfounded, as this beautiful little creature shows. Like Loading

Charissa hut

We are known for our creative toasted subs which include chicken and turkey, veggie options and plenty of delicious meat options. All salads are made fresh to order and include any of our sub ingredients along with specialty and house dressings. Ask us how to turn your fav sub into a salad! Try our chocolate chip cookies, rice krispy bars or our signature Goo Balls. Lookin for amazing cottonmouth cures beyond tea, soda or kool-aid? We are known for our creative toasted subs which include chicken and turkey, veggie options and plenty of meat options. All salads are made fresh to order and include grilled chicken bacon, tuna, greek, antipasto and house salads along with specialty and house dressings.

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I wrote this, pretty much the first true poem I wrote after a seminal crushing happened to me and I was worried that my creative fonts had been polluted forever…thank God this worry was unfounded, as this beautiful little creature shows. And I find them anathema, and abhorrent, a function of Empire and the spewed seed of Mammon across the face of humanity. I shiver and draw close, grateful for warmth this late spring day. PS: Pay attention to the line length…just a hint Listen… you can hear my words in waves breaking on your beach and celebrating…. Lord knows that I have grown up, been pruned back, become more and become less, been adjusted, and healed of terrible blindnesses…so I do leave room for the possibility that this has happened with him as well. And as they watched intently, behold! This poem though…what a treasure and delight to me it is. Regardless…this day from is a really good day to take a look at, in that it records several really fine poems and a couple essays that are palpable…this one being the most salient. Before you were sent so near to me, oh my lovey, lovely, my girl… I sit, and drink of you as you refresh my thirsty roots forever until Forever. They want it all.

The owners question how the case has been handled since then. Charissa and Tony Foster, along with their son, were working that Saturday when a pickup gave their pizza shop an unwanted drive-through.

And thus to love, and thus to mend, to love softly just like the wind loves everything it breathes upon. They gave Him Myrrh…because they saw something hidden, from all others…until it was manifest… …they saw that this Baby was simultaneously there, in that manger, and also at the crux of all, and hanging in agony, in Passion , and that His blood was the Spring that watered the very roots of the Universe… and the Myrrh was burial spice…for by His death our life is. We walked each day steady across those shores ever reaching to the sea and the sea ever running back to sands and sunset ever blessing everyday each moment with its many colored kiss in hues of pinks and purples, oranges, yellows, hues of bliss in reds and blues, and greys… you… always grey lining blue of mine with you, in silver shot straight thru with grey shot thru my blue. In Association With. We walk still each day, and every sunset bows to us, and then bows to the night, to the next day yet born, to the next sun yet risen, to the next sunset kiss… and the stars always over head and constant, glitter chips of always-light against the thick and sable night, the stars nod in return, return… ahh…the beach at night. It was as if my torrid fever broke! I had it all together rows and blocks neat and trimmed even if they sat ragged round the edges like clouds, like shadows and then artesian wells of soul, of spirit invaded, armies of color riotous rejoicing round those edges ragged like clouds, like shadows welled up out of nowhere and I am now here Share this: Twitter Facebook Email Print. And dirt clogged chuckle trickles up and filters thru the flowering grass… Teach simple truths, learn to accept that death draws near to everyone. We do confess this molten truth: old structures have imploded the old ways, habits, patterns no longer serve to fill us no matter how we gorge… for the old has listless fallen off And the new? God has been working in my heart…in our hearts…and we wanted to learn.