are bought in my dream last night. Now what does that tell you dear Mr. Freud.
With a certain football player seeking aid from me, to guide him through the streets, in order to obtain a top up.
Clearly my thoughts revolve over nonsense. As wiser men would dream on far better catch. Like riding a horse over the calamity of the sea. Reckon that would mean something for Freud.
No one wants their dreams to come true, no matter how marvelous the stories are. Especially when idiot ghosts keep on terrorizing your time of sleep.
Hate the beach but love sands. Hate the heat but love the water. Love the sight but can't stand others' enjoyment of it.
Seeding money so I can go to Texas, and watch idiots trying to tame angry animals. And eat good food with good company.
If there's any Texan out there, willing to give me a place to crash, hit me up because seeding money isn't as easy as we all wish.
Bleeding Red?
I was asked by an odd man on the reason for the passion I have for Liverpool Football Club. Such was prompted immediately when he saw me rolling my eyes to United fans boasting shits.
and so it goes something like this.
This year marked the 10 year anniversary of me being on the ship of relation with LFC. It started rather apparent.
Growing up with boys, football had always been a part of me. However, it was more of our action and secretion of smelly water, rather than the rage and passion of indulging in others' actions. The first game I had watched was a Leeds United match. It failed to enthralled me, as I was only the spectator to a good match. I believe after a while LFC came about. Cannot vividly remember the very moment of captivity, though I can put a finger on the feeling I had upon watching the boys played. It was rather sensational, akin to the feeling of riding a pig (meaning it was mental). For a girl who grew up in Man United/Leeds United culture, one would wildly rejects the possibility of the child to developed a mind and heart for Liverpool. And so she did.
What I can very well say about LFC is that, unlike other teams/clubs I have known, it exhumed a different kind of reactions. It is very difficult to express the feeling - it almost seemed like it exists in a different form. Beyond comprehension. LFC had gone through the tunnel to triumphs, Hillsborough tragedy, the age of disappointment, and the turmoil within the club itself.
I was not the one who chose Liverpool Football Club, but in a twisted event, it chose me. I would have been another twat supporting Manchester United if LFC had not shed a light on me. I myself had no direct remembrance or collection of the process in seeding my being to LFC. A mind-boggling nonetheless, but people always say, never disrupt the natural occurrences, as it might fucked up your life real bad. Hence, I cannot really put words on how and why I became a kopite, but I can honestly admit that being a small, tiny, non-influential part of it has made me the person I am today. Lessons learned from the waves that were ridden, not only by the great eleven, but also by the souls that stood behind the men.
They preached that the red men will never walk alone. Behind the shadow that diluted the belief, there is something that hold us together, ensuring that we will never walk alone. Perhaps not in a physical form, but always in the form that cannot be conceived or felt or yearn upon. As I have portrayed a manic appearance due to the lack of sense I have put on these words, it is conclusive on the basis that it is fairly impossible to share the infusion you have admitted. It is conclusive that whatever it is that is going on with LFC, it always cling by the heart that will always bleed red.
and so it goes something like this.
This year marked the 10 year anniversary of me being on the ship of relation with LFC. It started rather apparent.
Growing up with boys, football had always been a part of me. However, it was more of our action and secretion of smelly water, rather than the rage and passion of indulging in others' actions. The first game I had watched was a Leeds United match. It failed to enthralled me, as I was only the spectator to a good match. I believe after a while LFC came about. Cannot vividly remember the very moment of captivity, though I can put a finger on the feeling I had upon watching the boys played. It was rather sensational, akin to the feeling of riding a pig (meaning it was mental). For a girl who grew up in Man United/Leeds United culture, one would wildly rejects the possibility of the child to developed a mind and heart for Liverpool. And so she did.
What I can very well say about LFC is that, unlike other teams/clubs I have known, it exhumed a different kind of reactions. It is very difficult to express the feeling - it almost seemed like it exists in a different form. Beyond comprehension. LFC had gone through the tunnel to triumphs, Hillsborough tragedy, the age of disappointment, and the turmoil within the club itself.
I was not the one who chose Liverpool Football Club, but in a twisted event, it chose me. I would have been another twat supporting Manchester United if LFC had not shed a light on me. I myself had no direct remembrance or collection of the process in seeding my being to LFC. A mind-boggling nonetheless, but people always say, never disrupt the natural occurrences, as it might fucked up your life real bad. Hence, I cannot really put words on how and why I became a kopite, but I can honestly admit that being a small, tiny, non-influential part of it has made me the person I am today. Lessons learned from the waves that were ridden, not only by the great eleven, but also by the souls that stood behind the men.
They preached that the red men will never walk alone. Behind the shadow that diluted the belief, there is something that hold us together, ensuring that we will never walk alone. Perhaps not in a physical form, but always in the form that cannot be conceived or felt or yearn upon. As I have portrayed a manic appearance due to the lack of sense I have put on these words, it is conclusive on the basis that it is fairly impossible to share the infusion you have admitted. It is conclusive that whatever it is that is going on with LFC, it always cling by the heart that will always bleed red.
No Oakley
Picked up a proper rifle with live ammo for the first time. All 10 shots on target, contributed to a sweet 82%. It's enough to make me happy, since it's my very first taste. 22. long rifle isn't as hard in handling as other rifles, in my opinion. Hence, my skill wasn't really the contributive factor to the result. Mother was well proud, and so was the men in the range. Goes to show how well I am as a boy, if I ever were a boy.
Ain't no Annie Oakley, but was better than the idiots who were screaming each time the shots were fired.
If I get good result for the next exams, I can trail along with the men on a hunting gateway.
Ain't no Annie Oakley, but was better than the idiots who were screaming each time the shots were fired.
If I get good result for the next exams, I can trail along with the men on a hunting gateway.
Little Chump
Little chump got mad when left for a week. Little chump wouldn't be even more mad when left behind for another week. Little chump would be terribly mad when I have to go back to Uni and only sees little chump on fridays and weekends.
So sorry my little chump.
As it goes
Apparently I have Vertigo.
Never pay any attention to it, since U2 practically torture the name.
Never pay any attention to it, since U2 practically torture the name.
Oh No Ono
Listen to your breathing, Listen to your child breathing, Listen to your friend breathing, Keep listeningYoko Ono
I am pretty sure a psychopath would say such thing. Or a demented person collecting a mental tape on others' breathing.
Not sure about Yo(cuc)ko(o) but it's not an interest of mine to listen to a person breathing. In fact, it's rather annoying/tad a bit scary. Yeah women, I have nothing better to do than listening to myself breathing, or anyone else's for that matter. Surely she'd say that such memories are pertinent, when handling the loss of the person who you have listen to him/her breathing.
I miss a friend, and the thing that keeps me alive is the sound of him breathing. His breathing calms me at times where I would long for him to be near me. The playing of mental audio of him breathing allows me to rejoice the moments we had.
Unless myself, a child I haven't have, or a friend is battling with a breathing disorder that requires constant inspection to avoid fatal occurrence, then I'd be glad to lend my ear. Otherwise, I'm not a psychopath you mental head, or a doctor.
On a serious note, this women has been suffering from neglect. Given the constant twattering on whisper or tell a non-living/intangible object something, as the object will take it to the other objects or the end of the world. Obvious clue there eh. She leaves quite a number of them, lack of passion, lack of love, lack of everything.
for more, feed your mind with her nonsense Hiyar
"...they couldn't tell me who Pearl Jam was, not a single one of them..."
and they keep on upsetting and disappointing me. Really, how can you not know who Pearl Jam is. How can you not know.
We have players as gold as 30 plus, how is it possible to not even heard of Pearl Jam. They'd probably have shits like, I don't know, shits on their music player.
This calls for my mission to possibly lurk inside their lives and turn their heads around. Feed them with proper music and not current top 40.
You dear Sirs have officially acquire the distressing look from me. How could you be so square, or chavvy, or that daft to listen to top 40 without accepting any proper music. Pfft
88
If once I could be seen in colours you'd like. And to exist in eternal memory. Walk on the endless path. Tremble to the never ending noise. If I could be seen in form you'd like. We'll be ghosts. Lost inside the faded memory. Lingering on the path we'll never find. Shivering on the careful silence. If I could be seen. By the eyes outside.
....................................
The beauty of internet. When you don't look hard enough, you'll look like an idiot. Even an internet palm reading services/wacky mind reading people could figure me out instantly.
So if you look hard enough, you can find anything you're looking for. Even the structure of my being. Quit hacking me accounts or pretending to do such because I lie when filling out the information columns. Unless you'd find my skype account, or you're that good, or you've been spending too much time on the net, or you're just mental.
Why bother looking for me. I am actually a 54 year old bearded man living in a cave with a fantastic internet connections, and I absolutely hate everyone. As Roy puts it, People...what a bunch of bastards. And you, bastard, there's a way to get to someone, called email.
Don't look for me. Unless you own LFC and everything else.
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