.
Inje, the spoil of my career, chest out again to kiss sunsets and show-subtly, of course, how frail I am, what I'm puny ...
And wonders of the modern world oh brother, are illusions that a little too on-time are becoming flesh, and see what they do! Bacteria are becoming carnivorous meat, turn my insides and fuck with my brain cells to make me feel incompetent, weak, subversive of myself and cowardly.
No, no, no. There is no loss whatsoever, nor book to read or a booklet.
I am here, as I always do, to expect that those clusters that roam the halls of power is just one grape: the sweetest, colorful and inedible grapes. Fruit that looks, touches, but not tested. I came to her to drink some day that I bring to my table or the legs of my bed, he ... but not today, not today.
Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow everything, then anything is possible, nothing stops me, everything is highly probable, I laugh and then yawn, I, and then Tues I look FUTURIT so hard that is to come, always come, I run at his heels but never stop reaching. I move from here to there but never passing by now because the now past-present twists my guts and eating my nerves and my nerves I eat slowly. I saw it coming and that was today, she was and is, yes it is, but wine will be in my cup just the day after tomorrow.
Inje, I've seen naked, covered in statistics, mathematics is ... yes, our life is cold, calculating mathematical calculations and I cold peace rob me, but I stretched the glory. Oh, my dear ... you'll be mine. Some day, some other, later, sure then why I can not now, not ready, do you think now, don? I lost my sandals ... am sure ... or the weekend.
But there is something great and overly celestial firmly keeps me even thinking about next spring, "is hardly the figure walking the halls of the fuckultad abandoned as soon as the baby starts to melt in its own beauty, I can not do anything more than to nail in those torture timing for its passage in front of my nose. And here I whispered again: if you continue to crucify me that way, I will not be ever. Oh, Inje ... Boludez
But what exactly this phrase comes from as boluda source: Tomorrow never dies (someone please tell me that was not invented by the director of Bond). Never dies, tomorrow is there, always waiting to be crossed, but running as we walk on his heels. Tomorrow never ages, never dies. Tomorrow I'm living my past laughs watching and wither. But today, wicked woman! Bella, only in waist and soul of the party souvenir of this moment, cruel woman! Walking through my mouth smiling in my legs and plays, from time to time, my stomach tickle of-touch-you-do-ta-ra. More than that, never mind: a baby ... Today ... from here and with eyes that are just waiting to see the step that will give the next evening.
Inje, Strauss, Meliovetta. They are all my sons, and his mother is waiting at the door.
And wonders of the modern world oh brother, are illusions that a little too on-time are becoming flesh, and see what they do! Bacteria are becoming carnivorous meat, turn my insides and fuck with my brain cells to make me feel incompetent, weak, subversive of myself and cowardly.
No, no, no. There is no loss whatsoever, nor book to read or a booklet.
I am here, as I always do, to expect that those clusters that roam the halls of power is just one grape: the sweetest, colorful and inedible grapes. Fruit that looks, touches, but not tested. I came to her to drink some day that I bring to my table or the legs of my bed, he ... but not today, not today.
Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow everything, then anything is possible, nothing stops me, everything is highly probable, I laugh and then yawn, I, and then Tues I look FUTURIT so hard that is to come, always come, I run at his heels but never stop reaching. I move from here to there but never passing by now because the now past-present twists my guts and eating my nerves and my nerves I eat slowly. I saw it coming and that was today, she was and is, yes it is, but wine will be in my cup just the day after tomorrow.
Inje, I've seen naked, covered in statistics, mathematics is ... yes, our life is cold, calculating mathematical calculations and I cold peace rob me, but I stretched the glory. Oh, my dear ... you'll be mine. Some day, some other, later, sure then why I can not now, not ready, do you think now, don? I lost my sandals ... am sure ... or the weekend.
But there is something great and overly celestial firmly keeps me even thinking about next spring, "is hardly the figure walking the halls of the fuckultad abandoned as soon as the baby starts to melt in its own beauty, I can not do anything more than to nail in those torture timing for its passage in front of my nose. And here I whispered again: if you continue to crucify me that way, I will not be ever. Oh, Inje ... Boludez
But what exactly this phrase comes from as boluda source: Tomorrow never dies (someone please tell me that was not invented by the director of Bond). Never dies, tomorrow is there, always waiting to be crossed, but running as we walk on his heels. Tomorrow never ages, never dies. Tomorrow I'm living my past laughs watching and wither. But today, wicked woman! Bella, only in waist and soul of the party souvenir of this moment, cruel woman! Walking through my mouth smiling in my legs and plays, from time to time, my stomach tickle of-touch-you-do-ta-ra. More than that, never mind: a baby ... Today ... from here and with eyes that are just waiting to see the step that will give the next evening.
Inje, Strauss, Meliovetta. They are all my sons, and his mother is waiting at the door.
N. Infova
November 12, 2004
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