More Than Meets The Eye.

When the time is high, n I am of the same advanced age as you, I will also make my social life flourish. As far as modern times are concerned, will I follow a similar path, I guess. Your so popular with the crowds. It's anyone's guess, that when it comes to establishing new relationships your personae has become civilized. Let's give a try to marring with the mob, perhaps? Tell me, how is it? How does it feel to keep constantly on the tab? No rules, but lotta parties. Instead classes [as for now, without saying], more minx than one can shake a stick at. No doze for woze and profusion of limelight in support with barels o'ale, tanks o'single malts, stirred up with gimlets. More to the point [like G to the T], spruced attire sumpuously styled according to the almost vogue dictating city's paramount style. Beyond any inquiries, making sure not a boozed soul in the house's gonna turn up in dead-no part o'wardrobe which would include current fads. To say nothing of the allure n charm of the enticement you're spreading while having these on. While on the subject, what about the drop-dead, legendary almost, making every mademoiselle's head spin i.g.n.o.r.a.n.c.e.. Don't act abstemious now. It's an undeniable proof that your aim's been achieved, spotted. Wanna play GG scenario of intrigue? I can play that game. I'm its unacknowledged inventor. What for, should mine mind be aroused to query? To brand it with the company name "Your" plus the logo of your profile pic on FB added: your evening, your night, your dancefloor. Doing everything so that nobody hacks the eminence front of the proud cream o'the crop strut. It just radiates with a quasi-higher state o'mind, notably, your mimic, gestures n face too. Think you've stolen the first-mover advantage? You're right, just with the name slightly changed as it contraband is called. Look arund you. There's somebody catching with the latest too as you do. Not your way. More to the mine, greater pretending skills, dancefloor dexterity n people handling knack. Nothing short of, me acting as you do now, but with the finer skill. The difference lies in the order. Am sick n tired of all that farce. Although overshadowing bears not-so-lucrative results, in this case, it's all good that it's my wish, considerate wanted tactical reaction. Relentlessly keep mingling at the level of sleight of hands. Sure, it's not so visible. Cynical, Cheshire cat, sly fox style smile observations instead of showing off n revealing your loot for the ~ferocious mob stock exchange to invest in. No blue chips, whatsoever. Have you known me as the notorious mercenary bitch the mischief maker? More than meets the eye. Lounge lizard in the making. It's a no pain, no gain process, after all. Have you been acustomed with the painful fact that it's always the case of hugger mugger? You've gotta choose. Not to mention, it's the task for an escort agency. For now on am gonna stay focused on what my strongest suit is! Have you understood? No? Good, I've put my greatest [effort] for it to be this [precise] way...

Tailor Made Revenge

Come Back to Me, My Feather! Starting with this quotation, do I want to remark a very upsetting fleeting of a thought I had just before falling asleep, yesterday. Owing to my aforedoze laziness, I did not doodle it somewhere down what caused fatal dementia... All I remember is, it included some of the 'to good to be truth phrase'. NC Second in the row. Suprising as it may seem, boyish speck does the strike-o-backo strategy just the way I do it-my way. There's sth unforgivable, inconvenient one half commits so they take the pay-off just as they want it to be. The way they prefer it to be. Tailor made revenge.

Everybody's Indulged With The Rare Commodity A Choice Is.

Girls may polish off lotta things, bizarre ones as well. But that boys [no reason to call 'em men] swallow, choke, sup, swig'n'scoff EVERYTHING, struck me most. They don't cut the mustard. I should have known it earlier. Then, my life would be that lotta easier. The formula is: buy a car, serve beer n stick your bottom in the air. In a quarrel, they let a girl to verbalize all her arguments n thoughts n what-she-wants-to-say-abouts, spicing it all up with a solemn acceptance, adding a dash of humbleness n humility. The next step is to ask a fake-revieve question usu. concerning 'em, double su***rs. N from all the wisdom of the world they are really gonna believe in all the crap that she [the feminine particle]will have said, just as if they did not suspect anything biased after what they've just experienced. Like the girl's immerse willingness for an immediate finish of the bulllshit crap-talk wasn't blatant enough. Maybe the other girls don't do it this way. Maybe they don't make their beloved an inferon. Perhaps, they are not of this kind? Or maybe for the good sake of this argument let us suppose that there is a second, deeper bottom for such way of action. Yeah, yeah, let yourself indulge with conjectures, Maria. You already know which of the above is the right one... Then, there is a sudden thought crossing my mind: are all these thoughts real, worth fighting for, worth all the pain n battle dust, or are they maybe just exaggerated Ms. Proud Linguist thinking over doses? I embark on pondering then, whether my point of vistas is the rightuous one, the more true [or to the truth] than his. What is his opinion, the real thing he's hiding inside before me in his head, his reflections? Am instatnly down the sec I'm realising it that maybe there are some backdoors I know nothing abut he's used, nonetheless [what a beautiful n useful word that saves all wise n material girls from unappriopriate deductions], the very next thought, rushing with smashing speed, just roaring in my skull, destroying all the grey cells that dared to beautifully weave the afore thoughts - does he have any?? Or maybe it's suffice to say that everybody doesn't want to admit I'm following the right path which they are seeking but cannot damn find? The not-so scientific on day basis research transpires that I'm dooin it rite. Or pretend they don't see the obivious that's lying in front of their eyes? Or perhaps these are egoistic repercusions of being a spoiled, luscious girl? N who is to tell the truth? Will I, will we ever know? Or is everybody dumb for it being shout out loud everyday? Or maybe it does reqire a change to get to know the truth n in order to do that you have to bend yourself to the current standards of flatness seasoned with averageness? This, however, I will have not even give a try, cos not only does it carry a too dramatic change, but also nobody will ever believe that I have altered myself in their terms. Oh, n it must entail narrowing of one's horizons, what in my case is fckngly unlike doable. N ultimately: do the thoughts come out from outwhere? No, they have to be supported with sth profoundly thought-out. In the same vein, when I speak out all of it that has been generated in my mind loud , I speak the very truth of mine. If I never hear what you have to say in this issue, it feels like I don't have any insight nor bases for putting my trust in you, ur lika tissue. I think, to cut long story short, that's all for now. Just for the record: if you stayed over, I'd make it so sweet, from your head to your feet...

Essay On Men.

About a man. A prudent, smart, classy woman ought not to be jealous or envy about him. She should follow her own interests, stick to her career path, climb up the ladder, do what she's best at and by the profound dose of enthusiasm makes her most happy. She should not think he's not gonna go after a bit of skirt. Of her unprecipitously wise mind, should she consider that, if he's ever to desire an other woman to get her laid, he's just gonna do it, magnetically. The, so to christian her for the sake of this post, first woman attracts her [or not necessarily] man simply due to what she herself has built, all mental style possessions. Owing to what established was, what has absorbed been by her. What she, as the very precious, rare entity, is in her very own self. Any deviations or let it be divergences from what she is admired for, will only result in a fiasco. This is because it's hardly possible to be somebody else contrary to the all what she's built for the whole life as it is sth totally different. To give a brief example: one woman is a prominent linguist whose ideas are always brilliant and her talk can make every man into what she wants them to be. The other, or the second one, as it more preferably will appear here due to the fact, the first term bears rather positive connotations which we, in this case, want to avoid. Back to the core, the second one is, let's presume a model. Beautifully carved, exuberantly caring about her externals, not that I'm implicating her intellectual inferiority 'cos of that, not on Earth, but she's different from the first one in this issue, for sure. The first one is not stuck up, selfish or vainglorious. Too serious to be keen on what to wear. Like she did not like fashion or beauty stuff or whatsoever. It's not the thing. The first woman will chiefly not allow her mind to think, even for a while, that the second might be a threat 'cos of her otherness. All she has to do is be aware of her unique value. If she showed any hesitation over how she's like on the in n outside, revealed longing to such "form" of femininity [which she is not, cos she driven by else matters driven was] she's lost. Literally. For the fact, men adore firm, self-conscious, self-confident women with passion, first n foremost, [that is]. Consciousness is the greatest power, n it's advisable to one [talking about woman here, solely ] to be aware of the surrounding diversity but never perceive it as, so to call them, 'threats'. To infer that nothing unpredicted happens if one sticks to what one is best at n excels at, being happy of it, strong, independent, perhaps ignoring the other ones, equals a peaceful state of mind and relationship. On the one side, at least. Ignoring, by the way, is a very sly n mercenary course of conduct. Men love bitches after all. From here on we are indisputably driven to the conclusion that: you know you love me XOXO

"I Already Have A Wolf."

Oh the werewolf, oh the werewolf Comes stepping along He doesn't even break the branches where he's gone Once I saw him in the moonlight, when the bats were flying I saw the werewolf, and the werewolf was crying

Cryin' nobody knows, nobody knows, body knows How I loved the man, as I teared off his clothes Cryin' nobody knows, nobody knows my pain When I see that it's risen; that fool moon again

For the werewolf, for the werewolf has sympathy For the werewolf, somebody like you and me. And only he goes to me. All through the night, until the light of day, and we are doomed to play.

The Power Called Consciousness.

Sometimes I catch myself on repeating the same lexeme or sequence of morphemes over n over again. I explore, then, the echolalic features. It's just now that has stroken me that it's sorta hearing native meaningful sound strings like I'm a foreigner.

Imma Hundred Dollah Bill.

God gave us imagination to make us feel we can enter another high dimension. Why? To cover up what's even better, what lies further. He gave it to us to make us feel we have "it" n that there's nothing more, nothing behind. To acsertain us that we have it all, to suppress us from exploring. Such a fake impression, that is.

I guess they know I'm bad.

All I want is everything.