I love the hate for my blogs and the attachment I have created for my Vans. The sound of classical piano, Boy George, the Philip Glass Composition and the sweet smell of burnt toast. The sweet smell of your skin and smothered hugs we share. From Teriyaki chicken sushi we share and the whorish outfits we wear. To the envious people with grave passion and interest and the, 'Album O'.

So much yet so little time..

Today, I looked at a vending machine. I had $2.30 and had to make a hard decision; Grain Waves with chives or salt & vinegar chips..

I'm pretty sure I'm in love with my Blogspot.
How've you been sweetheart? I've missed you, dearly.

I believe no body understands how special and vital you are to me, absolutely no body.

Wouldn't it be wonderful if you were to reach to your subconscious deliberately and tell the world what's going on?
Our brains can be taught so much more than what they are, dedicate themselves and make a new world perspective and knowledge.
So, why aren't we doing it?
But then again, the world wouldn't be as beautiful if we already knew what existed.

I said to myself, I'd never sing of love if it does not exist but darling, you are the only exception.