Runes#1

Like time, it guided in in its accentric monophonic pace unchangeing to where i thought wuld come a slow motion, or someone looking behind the wall to make sure i am there, that belive and trust missed in my crafted tales. It is sadistic on nerve to ponder sensuality, too oten the aroma of skin smeels like a wet cloth, running just over the cocain despite yelling out sense into my empty head.

SO said the sage, bloody idiot divided ampathy further praised ritious path, availing the wrong for just that little while when i tensed up in my class cuz i was dreaming, but i knew the cources well to ignore her tutoric blunders. It not a hard block if you know how to fish, sometimes you are just not born with it

I sent an e-mail to myselvz one day scarping all postings that bore intelectual recitals, devotedly with a proud look it shone off high brass and hallmark dictations. Silly me, why should i care less about it, its just that obsession delivers a low pitch on life, i dont like low pitches in voices, its like a dark gloomy room, probably a hotbox, i cant remember, and the rave provided under lighter heights.

All is good, despite Rhambhrant died we have been holding onto arts closer than holier testimonials, our books of thought of freedom, freedom to live and love, the exticy jazz, the girls, the tale, she just spoke in her gusg, she moaned as sacrificing sins, my woman.

Telling of fact, posting letters to public have tested some wit, poolish! the others aint just reading rites :D.....