I buy cartons full of this stuff and sip a bit of it everyday, works especially well on a windy saturday morning stuck inside in the rain.
You can thank me later.


Record from Interstellar SpaceLong before Space and time, A single lonely and endless entity produced a record. It was to be heard by all walks of life in the universe. At the end of time, when the last of stars would collapse and the fabric of existence itself will tear itself apart, this record was set to be played. It would reunite all the beings left in the universe, one last dream, one last kiss, one final moment. That day, When the crimson skies of giants scorched the surface of everything habitable. When research and discovery was at it's senior and immortality seemed near. When million yRecord from Interstellar Space


Translation inAs children we played a game of Tag, the "it" is the uncertainty, mystery, and danger. the "base" is the fallback, understanding, comfort. What is the best strategy in every game of tag?Translation in
As adults we play a game of Tag, the "it" is the hard times, the enduring, getting up in the morning, failure. the "base" is our closest friends, whom tell you everything is ok, someone to talk to deeply even stupid shit like.
Floss A1 HP Sauce Beer or Women Life Feelings
There are no social norms, no strange moments. no


Interview w Flightless SeagullAn Interview with a Flightless SeagullInterview w Flightless Seagull
So JC, being a part time writer, how do you feel about it?
It seems as doing this writing thing is getting harder and harder to do. These thoughts dance in JC’s mind like Native Americans nestling a day’s kill with a big kettle of Buffalo stew. They don’t last, and like stew, they both get eaten or get too cold to be eaten anymore. They also remind JC of bunny rabbits, or whack a mole. How JC long to grab hold of that mole and take it out of its hole to beat it within an inch of its life. Writing is a stranger to JC, and always will be. In all of it’s


204020402040
Sipping peppermint laced tea, At the corner of the Umericas. An odd kid recollected fusion in his brain of the bygone. Mother once told of him the Rock star, the magician, the pro poker player, Dumprey Bogart, Jonathan Wayne, the heartthrob of Baileywood.
The boy sat and looked at his hand, My god, what a magnificent sight! He would play the violin or more, Perhaps at the street corner, Perhaps at Carnegie Hall, his tender fingers skip and dance across a finely tuned zebra road, and thousands cheer. Chopin, Beethoven, Mozar
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Omne ignotum pro magnifico est.
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stock photography ~binghamton wallpapers ~the-egg-wp
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Practice doesn't make perfect, but it does help you to become slightly less shit..
--
"I've taken enough walks alone
to know how real nothing is."
~dystopian-dream-girl
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Devoted to musically and lyrically inspired art, we are the *Lyrics-Community!!
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Ford's in his flivver, All's right with the world. -Huxley
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Ford's in his flivver, All's right with the world. -Huxley
--
"I've taken enough walks alone
to know how real nothing is."
~dystopian-dream-girl
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