There will be no updates for a VERY long time.


Form poem 1White the marbled torso, limbless, headless, flawless. The outer son, frantic and incandescent. 'Time is the fire in which we burn', to wit: 'Not even your bones the end of time will see, since time chose of nothing it to make.' I grieve for human warmth and the life of the living. Uppsala... Thing of all Swedes... In the nameless chamber, I return to the marble. Not even an echo will survive.Form poem 1


Ecclesiastes 1:8-10Ecclesiastes 1:8-10 (There are No Rules)Ecclesiastes 1:8-10
The tiles windowgossip air-filled sunrays through their precious grime, 'cause you ought to, through, see, see how he's watching you, and he bled for you and me and aren't you a naughty boy? (Not yet.)
Suntime, silly wet, waiting with a half-smile, yes we know it's hot out and genesis is (never) red, but she's sitting right across from me and I hate acrostic mysteries, (never) mention rosaries, we're only in this building 'cause I think that it's a Saturday and Sunday wasn't Holy Day, remember back to Living Day? His floating under-capit' 'T' lacks some of the severity I've come to
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mirc mirc indir sohbet film indir divx film indir
I'm back.
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Define me.
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The Admin oF that
mirc
mirc indir
mirc yükle
sohbet
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Define me.
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Guess what...i finally left BA!
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No artist is ever morbid. The artist can express everything.
We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely.
All art is quite useless.
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Define me.
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the quickest way to a man's heart is through his chest <3
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