Sellin self. [temporary title]

I'm sure of your ability to become my perfect enemy Wake up and face me, don't play dead cause maybe Someday I will walk away and say, You disappoint me, Maybe you're better off this way Leaning over you here, cold and catatonic I catch a brief reflection of what you could and might have been It's your right and your ability To become my perfect enemy Go ahead and play dead I know that you can hear this Go ahead and play dead Why can't you turn and face me? Why can't you turn and face me? Why can't you turn and face me? Why can't you turn and face me? You fucking disappoint me!

Outclass. Biting his lips with strawberry shortcake on.

How one can paint the town red, even after passed session, when one has to bear in mind that their high school is not a renowned one, neither is it a well-known, neither is it of good fame in its city. Therefore I don't see any point for to party exuberantly and to sport around with the fact that one has all signatures in their index happily. How derogatory. Another pitiful fact is that their celebrations are always pompous in style and exaggerated, like if expressing overwhelming willingness to show their indisputable, almost dogmatic right to do so and the why they do it. Write to a newspaper then. It concerns to the whole youth unfortunately. Personally, enjoy drinking some hight in percentage drinks, but not to an extreme degree of getting plastered and can't stand when somebody's pretending in any way. Otherwise the outing is not enjoyable at all. Ah, one more thing. Those huffy braggarts mentioned previously really,literally, suck in interpersonal squabble. Not only don't they know the basic rules of eristic art, but also when it comes to solving simple daily routine tasks they show a huge lack of helplessness, not even a scrap of commitment. Their only struggle is placing their snapshots on the only side onto which the nicknames are not artificial and fabricated. "Passport photo, an elastic past. Empty pockets. They think it's all, they think it's soul." Nevertheless, when the time for decisive moment has come where will have they gone? Mademoiselle M. Not to prolongate and slobber over many features of mine. Then, what does the mademoiselle do? Hides the fragile silhouette away from their thrifty claws. Assumed a stance of a philosopher, sneeringly observes the lame ducks' bungling crawling.

Enjoy translating Vogue, sipping cinnamon-apple tea with the accompaniment of E.Piaff spellbinding songs. Only the surroundings may not be appropriate enough, but, what has evolved into a beguiling proverb, it's a matter of time. They shall be on the picture above alike. You may take it for granted.

Mind-boggling rebuff. Flower flipping. Ectasy mixed with mushrooms.

Sittin, wonderin about these days, translatin by the way my Vogue. Right, those days, when everyone is gushing over a portal, I think, I lost something, or someone when it comes to me. Once in a blue moon I perpetuate such crime and peek at theze. Frankly, am not fond of thiz scrap of web, but when goin through partly brain-washed masses feel, no, not like an outcast, cos am not of the opinion, I lost something by not joining in 'em wicked forces, but like what I gained personally, the whole entirety I made with lace gloved hands is depreciating either the value and freshness, alas its appeal. Was I solely an elusive figment of [mine] imagination? Was I gathering, collecting pieces of me all the time, while they, maybe, were like asleep? Now, that the worst, heaviest part has been bashed out [read: 's become more spread all over] they, as if shitty monsters, ugly, muddling 'em selves up are reaching the masterpiece. Instance? Not so long ago, was I treated on the conditions of a persona non grata when claimed immeasurable adoration to Japan. Nowadays self's ears' been flooded hearing similar provided the same. Do they want to be able to grant em selves a name of the first, original, unique. If so, it everything 'll be "so called", never genuine in their performance. Pay attention, how splendidly the word 'performance' suits here. It emphasizes the sense of my statement. They are the pretenders nothing more refined. Am the man of refinement. I have no idea of how they can grasp the immense philosophy[?] I've built from the scratch. Now, what can they do? I dare say, they are nothing to do, but poke out what ihm not gefahlt. Meanwhile their sole commitment is to catch up with the latest messages on the portal. They ruffle my feathers. That makes the fur fly! Ludicrously, bracing my hands against saying "what am I to do if I can't have you/without you". It's the same like state about self that is unconscious about its value, don't know self's [life] aim, is helpless like Bridget J. what I sorely condemn, affronting. Intentionally lead to a three days 'quarantine', tearing apart, not even thinking about any forms of trying to break it from the other side initially. Surprisingly found myself in reconsideration of this matter. What happened to miss Independent? We know it's for a good sake for each other. Gonna see, eagerly what will come out. Finally came to a conclussion, that my fears are only phantoms of laziness , as its the result of free days. I'd better get to work straight away.

What happened to Miss Independent. Rebuff.

I wish, he wa still unmarried, an easy-going, careless young folk, so that I could travel, talk with him n observe those exuberant moves n behaviour. Some say he is controversial. Then, hah, perfectly, flawlessly matches with a mercenary bitch.