Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is you-er than you.
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You are a dream, merely a mote of dust suspended on a sunbeam, a piece of ash bounced between what is real and what is colourful
The bellevue troll
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Car sex just got a helluva lot easier.
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I have some of these things and find this retarded and condescending. “Your all SPESHULLLLL”
shout out to boys with thick thighs and stomach rolls. to boys with stretch marks. to short boys and boys with high pitched voices. boys who like wearing make up or dresses and boys who defy their “masculine” gender roles. to all boys with acne, eczema and any other skin conditions: you are all valid and worthy of love
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Blonde walks into a shop and says “I want to buy that TV” The guy behind the counter looks em up and down and says “Sorry, we don’t serve blondes.” The blonde says “that’s a ridiculous policy” but leaves and comes back the next day “I want to buy that TV!!” Says the blonde. The guy behind the counter looks them up and down and says “Told you before, we don’t serve blondes.” A ridiculous policy, thinks the blonde, they shall hear from my lawyer thinks they The blonde dyes their hair black and goes into the shop a third time. “I want to buy that TV” They say. “We don’t sell to blondes” says the guy behind the counter, without even looking at them. “How do you know I’m blonde!?” says the blonde. “Because that’s not a TV, it’s a fucking microwave.” says the guy.
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Sometimes I feel like I am burning And you'll be burning too Cos when one's gonna burn, the others burning too Sometimes when I feel okay I know I'm really not And sometimes when I write these things I lose traction whith what I thought
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There was always a subtlety involved. That was important to me. Or at least it once was. She would spread her legs and I would be quite happy indulging her. For hours on end if need be. It was nary the case. Truth is we were all lost. Lost boys, lost girls, losts of lost ones. Eventually we all found our way. But this isn’t about that. And you know it.
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I hate you, you hippy fuck, I hate you. Fuck you. I don’t want to hear her anymore, I want to end it. Fuck you, you fuck, fuck you -- Shakespeapolitan 1923
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