I finally know why cant i get ... well ... along wif gals around

Ed Miller: I was with a girl once. Wasn't a squaw, but she was purty. She had yellow hair, like uh... oh, like something.
Dick Liddil: Like hair bobbed from a ray of sunlight?
Ed Miller: Yeah, yeah. Like that. Boy, you talk good.
Dick Liddil: You can hide things in vocabulary.
Ed Miller: Maybe you and me could writer her a note, send it by post?
Dick Liddil: See, all you gotta do, Ed, is predict her needs and beat her to the punch.
Ed Miller: Well, this girl, she had a real specific job.
Dick Liddil: Specific?
Ed Miller: We's only together once. She's afraid of lightning. She came up into the wagon and just cuddled right up to me. She gave me a kind price, too.
Dick Liddil: Well I be! That is specific.
Ed Miller: Yeah, sure, she been with other people. But the kinds of things she said to me, people just don't say unless they really mean it.
Dick Liddil: "My love said she would marry only me and Jove himself could not make her care, for what women say to lovers, you'll agree, one writes on running water or air."
Ed Miller: My God that's good. Let's write her that.
Dick Liddil: Naw. Poetry don't work on whores.


See?

Naw, jus kiddin.

How can we explain mind as matter,
when we know matter only thru mind?

I think i got the answer...

astron...

haha..

Romping the sky on its edge
Vexed i'm,
vexed...
"Who are you to put yourself cache?"

What possibly deprived me of you...
Slues.
Slue like the world derailling,
derail it from its derangements and blues.

The sky's flat out a little,
its vermillion crust,
its rosy claret,
its the red i hunt.

Oh Iseult ,one Iseult!  You may well cure my frowziness.
Sky may well be sheen-dark,
its grey,
its then all mixed up.

Then let yourself out,
one day,
let yourself lose,
a bit from that glacial-heartedness.

Girl, 
oh girl.
The air is too nice,
Too nice to hide in your frigid, cavern-fortress.

No one
no one could possibly know u for who ure.
And i've been askin for the non given.
Is that so?

睇左.

病左.

Thats not somesort of sickly repentance,
i was much too ready to say it.
I do it , may be , again well out of spite,
whats then , soap hobbles and inertia.
Downtrodden inertia.

I'd have them foisted 'round afterall.
They'd never get on their feets,
thats why... ha..
But i'm not positioning any thing impudently swindled, or aint i?
I've been catching tales lately about fathers and sons being flogged,
like an 19th peasant did , so that it hurt, but
they use no persistence now and then,
veritable anger, and pricks foams,
to hell with it.
everybody, everyone were terribly critical at times,
they blithely goes from doors to doors,
pissed,
and swith their seats, hows intelligent is that?
And what am i looking for again?
Pure spite and nothing more!
Even that i'm not so sure anymore.

Blisters, i let thee saw my nature so vile.
Fathoms, rathe compast thoughts deep, thoughts nightly rented.
Soundings, withe love's like clamber tires and love cricks.
Wailers, hands tied hissed and fasted.

But nocture bell rang,
goes to wide rounds vervent tees.
Neither slander or fair acceptence nay.
Whilst glidings bounteous,
hearts fell, nature makes mean'so.
You are my guide , you're the muse, you have my sky inhearsed.
You 're dove-cote, no more vestal and nursed.
Upon on my knees, you're weightier judgement i attend.
Sullen and once, once for death, weight cant mend.
To overcome feverish, i alone wait for thee's credent.
Have all my loves, my love, Iseult, to whom i 've sent.

水素今朝戴眼鏡

嘩!好想快d有波踢.

May i be so bold
and
still need someone to hold

That shudders my skin
Their sparklin

Ur world is nothin more
than
all the tiny things
u left
behind.

i hate so
being thrown harborless
many a times i come out brash
but u cant feel nothin


因此

我激情恆常

Just dont push me too far,
dire base, i had found and be sated within me,
it keeps everything sane to one boiling moment,
and its just about to burst,
right lane.

I don wanna be like hail mary retarded sort of thing,
"We've got to dumb it down a little bit for the people,"
"These people, caus, they work long hours in walmart,"
"I dont work in a fucking walmart,"
"Why would he want to yell 'ver a lancet?"
"Out of spite,"
"So on the whole hes out of no way, not a spiteful one, is he,"
"Yes. Thats what you can say he is,"

He has a complete rethink of it later,
surprisingly it seems he would still be no less spiteful if he was to,
ye know, smiled faintly, get the work done, exaltation, then staggered violently out of the shit,
not quite the case, however, or is it that insolent? He blown up the whole thing.

"Talk me out of this."

Yes , we're not over yet.

The dawn was yet to break, but soon it would be.
The boy went along the lane, sinking into inches in mud,
mumbling to himself, some convictions maybe.
He knew this side of town like the palm of his hand,
but the Station was still a long way off,
it was late summer
and it was starting to chill a bit in the morning,
usually his spirit would get lifted by the swift current,
but he was not.
The boy emerged from the deserted port into one of the greasy,
pied highways. It was past five. Not only the
streets were empty, not even a single car could be spotted.

When at last the boy reached there it was not yet six,
it took him much shorter than he thought. He went inside a lift,
without directing his cabin.
At first he seemed not noticing it,
but soon the awkward serenity gave the boy a jolt, or may rather be a derision.
The boy took a step forward , hesitated, as if by far still understanding
nothing of the situation, a farcically stupid expression mounted his face.
He stared down for well a minute, clucked, then finally set off for the platform.

Strolling round without a sure purpose he kept watching the time,
he had wronged nearly everything throughout his wretched, short existence,
should he made anymore mistake on this again,
he'd have take himself out.
He'd been thinking of shooting himself ,
he'd could have done it just because of his malicing indifference.
He could have been the legion of ideas and deeds,
he'd been Shigalov himself,
he could have made his convictions all the more nothing to him just as before,
but...
he had found the sisyphean in himself,
he is the Kirilov without Kirilov's magnanimity,
he could have pretend that too,
but then not, because it'd made no difference to him,
he had lost touch with his land,
but was too conscious to lost himself,
he saw her.


Yes , mischief ruined him.

So,

Against that time, if ever that time come,
When i shall see thee frown on my defects
Whenas thy love hath cast her utmost sum,
Call'd to that audit by advised respects,
Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass,
And scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye,
When love, converted from the thing it was,
Shall reasons find of settled gravity,
Against that time do i ensonce me here
Within the knowledge of mine own desert,
And this my hand against myself uprear,
To guard the lawful reasons on thy part,
To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws,
Since why to love i can allege no cause.

31-07-09