Michał spędza czas kręcając filmy dla kobiet ... czy może to wytłumaczyć?
Silna kobieta sprawia, że ja czuję się silny. Silna kobieta poświęca czas i wysiłek, aby rozważyć moje potrzeby tak, jakby były jej własne. Ona mnie słucha. Nadszedł czas, abym zaczął jej słuchać. Jestem dumny z tego że słucham - nawet jeśli nie spełniam czyjeś potrzeby mogę być dumny, że poświęciłem czas, aby ich ocenić jako ważne osoby.
Uczę się, jak słuchać kobiet - nawet jeśli czasami mówią okropne rzeczy. Chcę, aby wszyscy mieli równą szansę.
Zdecydowałem eksportować sztuki ręcznie zrobione przez kobiety w Polsce, do Ameryki. Sztuka wysokiej jakości ręcznie produkowana przez kobiety wysokiej klasy powinno się rozprzestrzeniać. O ile więcej mogę sprzedać tym w Stanach którzy znają się na to, tym więcej mogę kupić od tych, czyje godne ręce nadal walczą o otwartość i równość, walka, którą biorę w dniu dzisiejszym do World Wide Web.
Twoje wsparcie zapewnia, że filmy dla kobiet zrobią różnicę.
Ze sztuką dla kobiet pomagamy położyć kres mobbingu
Siła i godność strojem jej...
Księga Przysłów 31:25
Uwaga Autora: zostałem zabroniony od dzielenia szczegółów dotyczące mojego prawdziwego romansu przedsięwzięcia, do czasu, gdy druga strona jest gotowa do przedstawienia swojego punktu widzenia afery układu...
W poniedziałek przyjechałem do Europy. W środę kupiłem samochód. Do piątku poznałem kobietę, która kilka miesięcy później mogła powiedzieć że podrózowała ze mną 10,000 kilometry po Europie.
Wiedziałem że naturyzm był popularny w wielu częściach Europy i jako artysta, który pracował na rzecz akceptacji ciała przez całej jego kariery zależało mi na dokumentowanie jakiś mały fragment. Przyglądając się ze zdziwieniem znalazłem bardzo ważną część kryjąca się w Polsce. Miała na imię Gosia.
Będąc z Ameryki, tylko było potrzebne w Europie włączyć radio, aby usłyszeć amerykańską piosenkę. Aby zobaczyć amerykański film, tylko musiałem pójść do kina. Aby być zrozumiany, tylko miałem mówić po angielsku. Będąc z Polski, one nie mogła znieść słuchania radia przez tych wszystkich bzdur politycznych które tam są rzucane. Nie lubiła oglądać amerykańskie filmy, bo twierdziła, że wszystkie kończą się tak samo. Nie chciała mówić po angielsku ze mną, bo nie tylko chciała powiedzieć słowa poprawnie, ale także chciała powiedzieć swóim sposobem. Nikt nigdy jej nie nauczył jak. Ja rozpaczliwie chciałem zrozumieć. Ona chciała być zrozumiana.
Pomimo dystans kulturalny który istniał między nami, udało nam spędzić 10.000 kilometrów w jednym samochodzie. Spędziliśmy ponad 40 dni w jednym namiocie. Zaczęliśmy uczyć się jak mamy słuchać siebie wzajemnie. Zaczęliśmy uczyć się zaakceptować nasze różnice i jak mogliśmy z nich korzystać zamiast pozwolić aby one nas rozdzieliły. Powoli, lecz z pewnością zaczęliśmy uczyć się pokonać te demony które nas nadużywają.
Słownik Kultury: Bielsko Biała Plan
Wymowa dla kobiet angielskiego odpowiednika na Bielsko Biała Plan
Jeszcze nie opublikowałem dla kobiet wymowę angielskiego odpowiednika na "bielsko biała plan."
Definicja dla kobiet słów Bielsko Biała Plan
Jeszcze nie opublikowałem dla kobiet definicję słowa Bielsko Biała Plan.
Jestem pewien, że to nie potrwa zbyt długo.
Odniesienia dla kobiet dotyczące hasła bielsko biała plan
I loved your father, too. He was a good man. Do not believe your grandfather. He lies, not knowing the truth. Your father was good. I know that. He was good. He didn't kill your mother. He didn't kill Your brother. No matter what they say: he was a good man. Believe me, child. Your father was good.
"Years and years ago," said Hitler, "I was just a young boy, but my dear father let me run around Centropolis willy-nilly - this was long before the Revolution, mind you: there was no question of being harmed - I was standing in the courtyard before the steps to the great Pyramid when, all of a sudden, this huge, old miner came up to me out of nowhere and put his huge, dirty hand on my shoulder, looking down at me with his huge, dirty face - those eyes: those blue eyes of his were standing out like gems - he said, 'Boy,' with his booming voice, 'Do you make yourself conscious of how that crack found itself on that there pyramid? Do you know who made that crack?' I shook my head. 'That was Sherman 'Lucky' Panzer the Second. You know how he made that crack?' I shook my head. 'Well, God Almighty! Let me tell you the story. Sherman 'Lucky' Panzer (not the Second, but the First) was the greatest, meanest, awfulest man ever to walk the Martian surface. You know what he was?' I shook my head. 'He was governor!' said the miner. 'He had five hundred privates - you know what a private does?' I nodded. 'You do?' said the miner.
Your father dressed his top lieutenants in the national colors of Poland that day - not for any personal reasons but because the wardrobe was being provided by a right-wing Polish political party, which, having lost most of its parliamentary seats in that year's parliamentary elections, was, nevertheless, courting your father's support for its presidential candidate. Your father was saving as much money as possible for his Independent (Lower Silesian) Riflemen's Armored Brigade and its upcoming deployment to Mars, and, not having made any specific promises to the League of Polish Nuclear Families, was more than willing to allow them to outfit his men. After all, the wedding was taking place in Poland, in a Polish Church (the Sanctuary of Lichen), your mother was being married to a Pole - however disgraceful and corrupt a Pole - and therefore, there was no reason why your father, a very, very proud Pole himself, shouldn't have been wearing the old royal colors of red and white. In fact, your father took the liberty of reducing everyone's chest measurements by a small but significant margin, making sure that every single member of his party, after having trouble putting on his jacket, had appropriate posture.
What an asshole, I thought. Was he even aware of himself? So his ancestors imported game to Mars - so what? Grande cuisine: what Polack would make this for him? Why do our best chefs look outside our borders, or in books of foreign history? Don't they know that our cuisine is peasant cuisine? It favors the bold, not the delicate; the simple, not the rich. It finds what is common, not esoteric. It has its own subtle flavors which must be exploited, not abandoned. Like chicken broth: why did we abandon our Sunday broth? Once upon a time, it wasn't Sunday if chicken broth were not served for dinner. And why did we abandon it? For what? For leisure? For the sake of time? Or taste? Is it possible we actually prefer the taste of manufactured products? Like instant soup? Soup in a can? Or did that come later? Did we forget the taste of a boiling chicken's juice? Did we become estranged from our domestic traditions? Or did we choose to abandon them? Were we ashamed of chicken broth? Or disgusted? But why? when a woman like Catherine de Médicis takes it out of her ice-box and calls it aspic. Why were the French so enamored of it? Did they lack chickens or ice?
And to further my justification, I also thought we had been rescued from that facetious duty of having to judge some wine superior to the rest, thereby making such and such a vintage exorbitantly expensive, falling into the hands of the wine industry, et cetera, et cetera. The truth, as I discovered much later, is so much more banal. The wine-making process remains wonderfully complicated for me - I really don't know what amount of moisture will ruin a grape - but I've come to realize that if one simply drinks enough wine one knows what is crap and what is not; among those which qualify as good wines, the onerous classification of aroma and color and whether it be fruity or "reminiscent of Morbier on the palette" is all that distinguishes between them.
I also remember racing to see Correggio, quickly skipping through the galleries, Macy too shy to hurry. Having to stop and wait for him so many times, I was afraid the gallery would close by the time we got there. Luckily, we did get there in time and I asked Macy which one he preferred: he said Ganymede; I said Jupiter and Io.
We stood there for a very long second, I pointing, my body huddled together by the recoil of the pounce, my head back, face stretched with the promise of amusement, eyebrows lifting, eyes wide, my mouth still in its open smile. We were very close, and despite the fact that he looked nothing like Luke, looked much better in fact, it took me surprisingly long to bring myself to awareness. In that very long second, I took in the sharp lines of the boy's face, the symmetrically modest nose, the tender growth of a few days' neglected shaving, and yes, in that sense he did resemble Macy, but I was not aware of that, nor of the implications, and only near the end of that very long second did I begin to realize I was absurdly positioned and in no way ready to explain my behavior.
Sometimes I felt I was the only person he was really mocking. As long as he neglected me, of course he was not mine; he was unwilling to amuse me alone and this was the seed of my jealousy. When his stories would offer a sober judgment, breaking the spell of amusement, I would not distinguish his honesty, the proof that he was never simply pandering to taste, that he was perfectly aware of the things he was doing, the effect he had, the minds he swayed.
I looked through the window. The shadow of trees-immense, floating, rustling things-terrified me. The feeling grew. It stretched towards me like a tube of darkness. It burst through the window. It skewered me. In vain, I grasped at the door. I was pulled into the middle of the seat.
LESBIAN: It's a haka dance developed by the Maori people of New Zealand. I didn't know Aussies could appreciate it.
LUKE: It's me old school chant - thanks to the junior rugby union.
GREY GOOSE: Your husband's been teaching it to me.
ALICE: That's what you do together. I thought you drank.
– ACT I, lines 371-380
GREY GOOSE: That's not what I want to hear.
KOKOMO: I'll do my best.
GREY GOOSE: You're a fine girl, Kokomo. Nobody can know about this: not Fletch, not the guests, and certainly not my wife.
KOKOMO: I get it.
GREY GOOSE: Go to my farmhouse. Wait for me there. I'll follow.
– ACT I, lines 246-250
LESBIAN: I was in Goroka - in the highlands of New Guinea - in September, I believe - for the cultural show. There I saw the Mudmen.
MS. JACKSON: Who are the Mudmen?
LESBIAN: The Mudmen make these clay masks - some big, some small -all of them hideously grotesque with giant noses and sharp, pointy teeth.
MS. JACKSON: They dance around with these masks?
LESBIAN: With mud caked over their entire bodies: from neck to toe.
ALICE: Are they naked?
LESBIAN: Of course not: they're wearing masks. In Rabaul - on the island of New Britain - I saw the famous Baining fire dance. There they wear masks that are made from bamboo, which they cover with tapa, a kind of bark cloth. That makes these masks very light. Naturally, they're even bigger.
I thought the old man could've done it. I knew things were bad. Men at his age have mid-life crises. I also thought it was possible my mother was making it all up. She's crazy. She's proven that. Attacking her own son.
I had to go. The attack on Barack was the last straw. The news claimed all the attacks were coming from one bad boxing club. It couldn't have been true. I was seeing skinheads on every street corner. I begged my friends at the university to help. I just wanted to leave the city. By the end of the week I was staying at a friend's dacha. In the middle of winter. With no heat. I had to borrow a small furnace and forage for wood on my own. I was happy. I was safe.
I learned later that the headman of the village had asked that I be replaced. He had claimed to the Ministry that I was crazy. That I talked to myself. That all the parents in the village were afraid to leave their children with me. I proved him wrong. If not for Putin and my three pupils, I would've been packing my bags for Moscow that very weekend. I would have lived in the village for all of two weeks instead of almost twenty years. I would never have stayed to teach a community of children how to grow up. I would never have married a local Russian girl. I would never have become the village headman. I would never have run for mayor.
Na celu promowania demokracji, silny musi opróżnić się jego siły. Słaby musi być przyznany szansę na rozwój siły. Nie możemy wymusić koniec patriarchatu. Takie postępowanie po prostu utrwala feudalizm pod inną nazwą.