Ông thúc giục thủ tướng, người đang có chuyến thăm Hoa Kỳ, chấp nhận nhà nước.
Đây là lần hội kiến đầu tiên của hai lãnh đạo sau khi họ nhậm chức.
Sau cuộc hội đàm nhắc lại sự hậu thuẫn của ông đối với kế hoạch hai nhà nước song hành tại vùng Trung Đông. Ông nói, Hoa Kỳ sẽ gắn bó với mục tiêu này.
Golden Boys "Whiskey Flower" digipak CD
• 12" LP by Lord Fyre w/ handmade covers
• KB da Kidnappa (of Street Military) "Ghetto Raised" 12" EP
• 12" 45rpm EP by Country Teasers' sole lesbian The Rebel called "Tarscoffsky's The Snacrifice"
• 12" LP by SanFran sickos Rahdunes entitled "Meeting You Is Like Sucking God's Cock"
• Grey Daturas "Owly Claw Hammer" 12" LP
What about black male buttsex and Oklahoma? Thanks for the friend request. If you're ever looking for new talentless acts, I'm still searching for a label to put out my shit! Get in touch, inappropriately like.
What's up Emperor Jones Records? How it passes there and back again like a tear drop glistening in moonlight. I relentlessly desire cotton candy lollipops. Your sweet voice is like the application of aloe vera upon a sunburnt back. Entranced by the sweet harmony of your lips, I gaze beyond reason to find the oasis of your brilliant soul. Your beauty is equal to the smoothness of a polished gem. Your essence is equal to the beauty of a galaxy. You breath as delicately as vapors flowing towards an attractive flame. I keep searching for you between the cushions. How beautiful is the snowshine in your eyes, so directly current from the static in your mind. May you be as vivid as your hallucinations. The music that flows from your instruments overwhelms me with creativity. You ever remind me of the enigma of happy thoughts I once forgot. Your hair sends forth a sheen remniscent of golden sunlight winding through shadows. A starfish's lifelong hallucinations of gelatin pools and of actuaries floating upon the foam and reciprocal ohm.
Now I tell what I knew in Texas in my early youth; (I tell not the fall of Alamo, Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo, The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Alamo;) ’Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hundred and twelve young men.
Retreating, they had form’d in a hollow square, with their baggage for breastworks; Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemy’s, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance; Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone; They treated for an honorable capitulation, receiv’d writing and seal, gave up their arms, and march’d back prisoners of war.
They were the glory of the race of rangers; Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship, Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate, Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters, Not a single one over thirty years of age.
The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads, and massacred—it was beautiful early summer; The work commenced about five o’clock, and was over by eight.
None obey’d the command to kneel; Some made a mad and helpless rush—some stood stark and straight; A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart—the living and dead lay together; The maim’d and mangled dug in the dirt—the newcomers saw them there; Some, half-kill’d, attempted to crawl away; These were despatch’d with bayonets, or batter’d with the blunts of muskets; A youth not seventeen years old seiz’d his assassin till two more came to release him; The three were all torn, and cover’d with the boy’s blood.
At eleven o’clock began the burning of the bodies: That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men.
