FAKE & GAY.

1. "Augustus had taken the helm, and I stationed myself by the mast, on the deck of the cuddy. We flew along at a great rate---neither of us having said a word since casting loose from the wharf."

2. "She was just a seventeen year old girl living in [...] she was tormented by the group of people who had made everyone hate her in the first place, and she had to constantly avoid the boy who had raped her."

No.1 comes from a writer born in 1809.

No.2 comes from a writer a year older than me.

Passage No.1 contains at least 4 words I don't know.

Passage No.2 contains words every 4 year old knows.

Reaction to Passage No.1 : ... this must be about a ship.

Reaction to Passage No.2 : [...] "she had to constantly avoid the boy who had raped her". wait-whAt? AHAHAHAHAHAHA

1. I don't know; perhaps using difficult words is all that it takes to become a household name. Maybe the point is to write in a verbally complicated way so that your product of intellect will stimulate the imagination of future generations as they will all sit in circles, scratch their heads / balls and try to guess by homophony the meaning of each word, because dictionaries will be used as door stoppers. Or maybe I am the only one who does this.

2. It is a common secret that some of the greatest songs were composed by musicians who at the time were under the influence of drugs. Maybe more writers should do drugs too. Or their readers should. Or maybe some writers should be giving away drugs to people who are willing to read their WOBBLY, BULLSHIT STRUCTURE OF CLOSE-TO-MONOSYLLABIC, CAREFULLY CHOSEN-TO-BE-UNDERSTOOD-BY-SINGLE-DIGIT-IQ-HOLDERS, WORDS. What's worse is that I read the first chapter of the story the No.2 passage comes from and it suspiciously enough reminds me of another book. Actually that's good because with a beginning like that, it could remind me of dozens of books.

A rose looking like other roses is nifty. A rose not looking like other roses is rare and quite possibly unique. A fucking Brussels sprout trying to look like a rose is nonetheless eaten.

I have a myspace account. These social networking sites are almost like an asshole now. Everyone has one. The problem is that everyone ends up looking like one too. I seriously can't tell one user apart from the other. Everyone has uploaded photos in the same style and fashion, everyone's names are something you have read about/ heard of/ seen trying to pass as genuine at least 15 times. What's more to having three Jokers and 27 vampires in your contact list, is that it doesn't matter what group you belong to -it doesn't matter if you're christian, metalhead, paedophile or vegetarian. Whatever you are you will look exactly like the others in your group. Perhaps a punk sticks out in a bus. But in a GG Allin concert they all fucking look the same. And then bling~ an iceberg melted in my brain and unfroze part of it. Not only did I remember where the battery charger was -after the defrosting took part-, but I also got the alarming suspicion that I look like someone else. Probably more than one actually. A whole bunch more likely. Shit, even Lady Gaga looks like someone else. She actually looks as if Marilyn Manson's experimentations with boobs finally succeeded. And Marilyn Manson looks like Alice Cooper. And Alice Cooper definitely shares the same genetic nose mold with Gaga.

http://www.lennardpromotions.com.au/images/events/nose.gif

http://primped3.hcdn1.net/images/uploads/zoes_blog/octnov_celebs/93312350.jpg

So... at the end of the day everyone either looks like Lady Gaga conventionally-unconventional or as familiar as your mom?

I seriously have no idea how to make ur mom jokes.

But that's not the point. The point is that every living proof that we don't come from monkeys, but monkeys come from us, woke up one day and sort of remembered to have to be an artist. Instead of writing crappy stories -I'll use as toilet paper if they ever get published- and oversaturating myspace teenslutland known for its ability to lull paedos to soothing sleep (and btw I think Tom is the numero uno paedo-stalker, rapist-smile guy), or -and that's even worse- believing that photoshopping your fat ass/acme-party of a face is an art, keep it to the basics: drawing, painting, writing, acting, dancing, making music.

Beauty is not objective. And all of these Arts serve Beauty. All save one. Literature doesn't offer you the option to suppose. It forces you to find out. It's not there for you to judge. It's there to teach you how to judge. Intelligence is objective.

FAKE & GAY. by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Greece License.

Demon Inside Crying

Falling from grace requires you to have been in a state of grace in the first place. Falling from grace and entering what I wonder. Grace is the quality of refinement. So, if you lose the fineness, the beauty, the excellence ... what have you become?
Something dirty? Something impure? The other one. Always the other one. Not the one who is your friend, your son or daughter, your loved one. The other one. The neighbour perhaps. Why do people like kids? Not everyone finds babies cute, but apparently everyone finds baby animals cute. Why is any life form considered cute when it's young anyway? Because when you're a small shit no one expects anything from you other than to eat, be excited, run around, get dirty and break things. Well, newsflash motherfuckers: I still like to eat, get excited, run around, get dirty and break things. Only now, it is unnatural. It's unnatural because now I'm supposed to only be excited about the things others want, run only after what / whom others think I ought to, not get dirty * cough sexual activities * and not break anything * cough law abiding citizen *. I have respect for other people's well-being and by no means am promoting a kill, maim, rape and pillage the village attitude. I'm not a fan of Chaos. BUT. I'm a fan of my own, private and personal chaos . It's so easy promoting shit like carpe diem -seize the day-, "there's no you can't, only a you don't want to" etc. and whining about "young people not being the way we were back in the good ol 'days". What? WHAT? You don't expect us to seize the day. You expect us to seize your dick and suck it. All this you-can-be-anything-you-want-to is BullShit. Sure, you can be anything you like son, but it's gonna be better if what you like is what I approve of. And actually, if it comes to the point where what you like is not what is generally approved of, that means I have failed as a parent, you have disappointed everyone and you will fail in life. Fallen from grace.
This isn't about parents. Parents aren't supposed to understand; What was right back in their days of glory is probably a bit outdated now anyway. This is about becoming an insecure, fucked up individual or lobotomizing yourself either by giving in or by giving up with the aid of psychotropic substances and forgetting all about what you really pursued. If someone is making you disappointed at yourself, that's "helping" you self-destruct and not motivating you to become better from my perspective. I have known so many people doing drugs or becoming drunk stupid on a regular basis that witnessing such situations seems kinda ludicrous now. Since I am not like mommy Society, I am not disappointed due to their "potential for success being shattered". There's no such thing as potential. The greatest retard can succeed if they pull their shit together and do a few basic things right. What I am disappointed about is that no one seems to realise that destroying your life is not a decision. It's not an action. It is a REaction. People DO kill, maim, rape and pillage. Only it is themselves they are doing it to. If it was an actual choice, I would be a supporter of that lifestyle. Hell, I'd even join all relevant facebook groups there would be for that. All the drug and alkohol appreciation societies. I'd throw a party everytime someone died of an overdose. Destroyed kidneys would be as glorious as battle wounds. Sadly this isn't the case. In a few words, what bothers me is that we are not being fed with the tools to make our dreams come true. We are being force fed with drugs and mind-numbing methods so that we can all fit in ~ The Bigger Plan ~. The ones who press the self-destruction button in a more definite way than the rest of us, do this because of all the seize-the-day hypocrites. This IS a law of the jungle society and YOU ARE KILLING us the moment you start suspecting we don't exactly share the same ideas with you. Drug cartels and dealers are not killers. The ones who make people end up doing drugs are killers. It's not about telling you what you can't do. It's about telling you what you have to want to do.
FUCK THIS. I 've never taken any -ahem- illegal substances and I don't drink pathologically. Actually, I have little patience with those who do. I understand why they are doing it and respect the fact that at the end of the day everyone has the right to live the way they like, but I also have the right to consider them weak and not want weak people near me. When it comes to being bullied by *external factors, I choose not to give in. I choose to throw shit back where it came from and not at myself . I'm not going to make myself a vessel for what is appropriate OR inappropriate according to the regular standards. I am going to make myself the PART of society that backfired and either changed or destroyed something and created something else. That's what's hardcore. Not drinking till you throw up cause Life dumped you. If life is a whore, I'll pay her to amuse ME. And any fucker who tells me what I should be has it coming. I am only seizing the day after all ...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rBXiKxxzG50

* Emphasis put on "external" -anyone who has read previous posts knows I AM in fact self-destructive when it comes to inner mumbo jumbo emotional knots.

A reader's feedback on this post included the following question: "Who's more retarded -a kid with down syndrome or the person judging them?" My answer is: both are; I represent the third party in this situation-> The kid's retarded, it's not his / her fault, but I don't want retarded friends cause cruel as it is, such dynamics just CAN'T work for neither one of us. Person judging is retarded, but this is different cause they are being retarded by choice and based on the belief that they are soo much better . That's the kind of person that deserves getting fucked up cause they have it coming. That's the hypocrites who run this world. That's what bullying is. Judging drug addicts not because you understand what they have gone through, but because you will sleep better at night knowing that you are above those "society's parasites". I have empathy towards those "parasites" and that's why I don't have any sympathy towards the ones who judge the "retarded kid". And yes, maybe those with self-inflicted troubles -and all of society's les miserables generally speaking- shouldn't have let themselves be influenced in the first place. But then again, some others shouldn't have been pricks to them.


Demon Inside Crying by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Greece License.

EXAM PERIOD

Studying for exams feels like...

Student + dying = studying after all...

Finally, passing exams is equal to...

..and converting back to your parents's religion because apparently there is a God.

The EXAM PERIOD by The Schismarch governed by the license Creative Commons Petition origin; noncommercial use similar - 3.0 Greece .

There's a Miss America, a Miss World, a Miss Universe and there's that girl I MISS. And she beat them all...

There IS one kind of alien species inhabiting the planet. This is something you have been taught as a first grader and should never forget. Depending on what's in your pants, either boys (blue, triangle pointing down, star wars) or girls (pink, triangle pointing up, the ones who get to wear the opposite sex's clothes without being called gay) are intergalactic travellers. Of course things get more complicated when what's in your pants starts craving for what's in other people's pants, but the idea is that there is not a more absolute contrast than the one of male vs female. And really: moral judgements like good/bad are outdated. Once upon a time, stealing someone's wife was bad. Now eating sugar is bad. Go figure. The whole light vs darkness concept when taken literally is not much of a big ass dramatic conflict either, cause when something's been scientifically studied for a long long time that basically means it can be controlled by human. So yeah, switch off the lights and -oh my- you have darkness. Boring. The old vs young opposites? Just predictable moments lost in a timeless cycle. No mystery, no charm. But. Every other antithesis has been used to describe Male vs Female.
Once I was asked what love is. I think I gave almost every cliche answer there is mainly because I didn't know the person very well back then -and didn't bother coming up with something remotely original- and also because I had no fucking clue what it is. The same way porn industry makes people have high expectations from their partners, romantic films/songs and all that jazz make people have a Titanic-like image of true love in their minds. It'd be reassuring to say that this is only till they get used and abused and do their part of emotional rape as well, but I think that deep down everyone has a utopian idea of the "real" deal. The same way getting fucked over (but not really letting it get to you) is not even close to as bad as getting mindfucked, falling in love is waaay better than falling in lust. States of mind are always more powerful. Still, the classic definitions like "unconditional affection" don't seem too legit to me. Nothing's unconditional. If you hate someone you demand them to hate you back and be a prick. If you love someone you demand them to love you back. Extreme emotions are all about giving and receiving or else they can't last. Even if you just love yourself, you have high expectations from yourself; expectations that justify your narcissism.
Sexual attraction is the first step. Attachment is when we really start getting at something. There's an unbelievable diversity of the meanings and uses of the word "love"and a huge amount of complications that are based on each individual. Complexes nurtured by social environment/ experiences that we all drag around. So, the attachment phase is the most problematic. Yes, we all are superduper sex machines, but I dare you to look at yourself in the mirror and say that you are not afraid of falling in love. The moment you start caring for something, the probability of the whole situation backfiring becomes a possibility. If you care, you get hurt when something goes wrong. And something going wrong has to do with what's right in your head. What YOU think the other person should be like. What YOU think the relationship should be like. Can anyone be objective about what or whom they like?
When the party's over and the first rays of morninglight hit the scenery, things don't look as shiny or fresh as they did when you were living la vida loca. Yet, even if when cranky and with bloodshot eyes someone's there to help you with the aftermath, the cleaning, that's what it's all about. Love IS the one who stays after the party is over. The one who looks equally as shitty as you, but will grab a mop and bucket to help while bitching for the lack of coffee. Life's a party after all...

Someone told me that love and all that it connotes is NOT THE MOST IMPORTANT THING EVER AFTER ALL (I believe a "for fuck's sake" was added for emphasis too). Even though that person sounds suspiciously enough like me, my approach to this is actually a bit different. Love may not be Alpha and Omega, but your behaviour in all of this DOES define you as a person. It IS an important enough category to indicate your success as an individual. And quite frankly, it should be the easiest one to succeed in weren't we all brainwashed about what's to like and what's not. That being said, I personally have a ridiculous list of standards. I have always dated good-looking, smart and either funny or amusing people. The point is that each relation's ending was a spectacular kaboom of emotions and shit like that blowing up and semi-handicapping all parties involved.
I think that for a relation to be successful and satisfying for both parties two things are basically necessary: Liking and disliking the other person exactly as much as they like/dislike you and respecting each other. For whatever reason I never like the other person as much as they like me. Or maybe it's just that my way of liking someone is fundamentally different from what's common. I don't call three thousand times. I don't care if the other person doesn't call three thousand times either. I don't need to be with them every day. I don't care about the other person cheating. In my words "if you think it's worth it, then do it". But that's not healthy. It just means I don't respect them enough to take offense or care enough to give a flying fuck about what they do anyway. Never caring for anyone means never depending on anyone only when the way you care is abnormal anyway, still this lifestyle works for me.
I realise all this sounds too dramatic and naive for a 20 year old person, but frankly I don't see any older and more "experienced" people doing any better. Actually, I think that getting fed up and disgusted with all this bullshit and reaching a state of apathy -that's very useful as basic survival skills- at a young age is a plus. People who still don't know what they're looking for and still get disappointed in their 30s, 40s and 50s are pathetic. Sure, it's possible I might fall in love two days from now and be embarrassed about writing this. But what's a fact is that I don't know anyone who either was or is in a relationship and didn't have to be spoonfed incredible amounts of shit. And yes, there is love in many of those cases. But in all of them there is torture. LAWLZ.
My generally speaking not caring about a lot of things has its roots in too many factors. Demystifying too many things too early for example. I used to want to somehow fix a fucked up situation. Now watching it go kaboom amuses me actually. And that's why it's relatively difficult for me to be seriously interested in anyone right now. Love is not fighting against things, like I do and always have been doing. It's fighting for something. And I don't believe enough in it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zRVrQsdWDds

P.S. Still, if you look good enough we can play monopoly or something. naked.
P.S. This shit's retarded. Next entry's gonna be about SEX.


There's a Miss America, a Miss World, a Miss Universe and there's that girl I MISS. And she beat them all... by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Greece License.

Self Image Industry Ghosts

In many ghost stories you have to stand in front of a mirror and start chanting stuff in order for spooky whomever/whatever to appear. Ever wondered why? It's because seing a freaking ghost is the easy way to imply that coming face to face with how you perceive yourself through a link between the conscious and the unconscious (mirror) may make you become directly aware of certain truths about yourself. The whole idea of looking into the mirror and seeing something spine-chilling is the blunt projection of perceptive versus actual self. The mere realization that what you think of yourself (=what you think you want to be/what others have convinced you you are) is in fact very different from what you really are (=really want to be) adds the creepy factor. When weird shit related to mirrors happens, you don't get to see naked fairies. You get to see ugly, dead motherfuckers. When you start realizing you have been misinterpreting your own motives because of what you constantly are taught to look up to, you get to have the spectacular epiphany that ugly, alive motherfuckers you can't even name run your life.
Unless one lives under a stone, they must have internalized the global codex of what is appealing and what isn't long before reaching adulthood ( which means that the "individual's" perception of past, present and future selves depends on external stimuli). Actually, the whole idea of what the self is/should be depends on external stimuli. In reality the value of any claim is determined by the community in which it is uttered. For those of us who live in the ambitious white world that means we are walking self-conflicts since we lose sleep over bills, yet believe that the meaning of life probably has to do with something deeply philosophical and polysyllabic, have plans, but don't have goals (or vice versa), "know" that "outer beauty is only skin deep, but inner beauty is to the bone", yet count calories.
This is all very nice et cetera, but it sounds like philosophical blah. So I'll be more specific about the multiple personality syndrome we all have to a degree:

• If there was any chance I would get laid -despite having short hair- sometime in this millenia, I would definitely have a different haircut.
• If wearing glasses wouldn't immediately cry "fuglineeeess"/ "geeekiness", I wouldn't walk around with silicone-hydrogel stuck on my eyeballs.
• If I wasn't morally obliged due to my sex and age to fit into tight, suffocating death jeans I would eat SHITLOADS of sweets.
• If I weren't supposed to smile politely in all sorts of situations basically (you wait in line forever and then an elderly person appears: you smile and offer your place/you smile and don't offer your place; your parents give you a lecture on why you are such a failure in life: you smile and ask what's for dinner; you realise your socks don't match on the most important day of your life (job interview/date etc.) : you smile and pretend it's a fashion statement; you're watching T.V. and the commercials are that many that you have forgotten what you were watching in the first place: you smile cause your brain is fried anyway; you walk alone in the middle of nowhere at 5AM and are attacked by wannabe rapists: you smile and pull out your Beretta 391 semi-automatic shotgun (everyone knows ANYTHING can fit in a girl's bag), I would eat shitloads of sweets AND wouldn't worry about my teeth rotting.
• If I didn't care about successful socializing I would admit I don't like jazz enough to actually be able to name a Louis Armstrong song.
• If I wasn't raised to believe money is something like god -except you can buy things with it-, I would pursue a career in something artistic.
• For the same reason, I wouldn't mind being a starved artist.
• But since I am taught I have to succeed at all costs, I would actually mind being a starved artist.

The conclusion: whether we like it or not, we are passively shaped on many levels. Our rebellious acts are nothing more than reacting to what we already are in the path of becoming; nothing more than whatever original part there is left in us backfiring and ruining our chances of a carefree "normal" life. If you end up being a perfect, socially accepted "individual" you'll always have some "disturbing" moments you wished you were more like Marilyn Manson/ Lady Gaga. And even if you do end up like them, you'll have to go to the supermarket and pick the kids up from school eventually.

Ghosts have no corporal form. Even as disembodied spirits though they maintain an appearance because they have a certain image of themselves...

What is your image of yourself? and how unrelated to the social norms is it?...

Ghosts may or may not know they are dead.

Can you tell how alive your original, not-bullshit-abiding self is?

......

BOO!

Self Image Industry Ghosts by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Greece License.

I Love Soy Meat Balls-which-are-not-really-meat-balls-because-they-have-no-meat-but-saying-"soy-balls"-doesn't-somehow-sound-right.

There are some questions that leave a lot to imagination (like where a mermaid's vagina is), some that just don't have an answer (like what to do when seeing an endangered animal eating an endangered plant) and some that just can't be explained (like why is it that people blow and spit on birthday-cakes, yet everyone wants a piece). There are situations though, when you just can't remember a word/phrase or simply don't know it. If that is the case you either choose the full body language pack of retarded gestures hoping your sex appeal won't suffer major blows, or go like "hey-where's-that-long-handled-device-thingy-you-saw-me-holding-yesterday?"
"what, this?" (offers a spatula)
"no, I said the long one."
"aah, this." (offers a rave glow stick)
"no, the plastic one."
"ah, this." (offers a dildo)
"...WTF! No, the one I use to scratch my back with."
"aah, you mean the back-scratcher."
...(so that's what it's called)...

During this period of the year when you're supposed to be buying Christmas presents for your beloved ones and sending cards to members of your b-class social circles, I become somewhat lazy and stupefied by the horror of having to go to malls to battle crazy mothabitches for the last item on sales. So, getting out of the house means I'm either out of food supplies, or want to not contribute in the population growth and therefore do participate in a protected exchange of bodily fluids (SEX). Even though chances were that I would not encounter any english-speaking tourists (whose last hope to find whatever they want is me), while hovering around my house and finding a million ways to do nothing, my living space (old ass apartment) was recently invaded by a couple of friends of friends for a few days. Now, "friends of friends" means this ship is bound for shit in most languages when combined with "living with". But. I'm always nice to my fellow humans if there's even the slightest possibility someone else is going to do the washing/cleaning/cooking happy-servant (adult) chores.

The guys were ace and the semi-decrepit dwelling of mine did not really suffer any drastic uncontrolled demolitions for the better part of our coexistence. Yet, there were technical difficulties. Basically, no one spoke each other's language. One thing we did have in common though, was that english isn't even our second language. I don't speak italian (one of them was italian, the other a half-italian who doesn't live in Italy), they didn't speak greek, shit was lost all the time and then found by accident, many curse words are common in italian and greek and YET we somehow managed to communicate by not swearing at each other (that would have been the only way to be exactly sure of what the other person was saying). Latin, ancient greek, italian-english, lines from porno movies, hell even tolkien words were used to make sure we all knew what we were going to cook and where we were trying to drive to.

I guess the moral of the whole experience is that as long as people need to eat/shit and socialize the means of communication REALLY don't matter. And yes, food will be burned, people might think you're not hitting on them (when in fact you are, but are saying "musical" instead of "good-looking") and work will not by any means get done. Human relationships are not grammar tests though: you might fail horribly in both grammar and syntax and yet pass the test. ;)

I Love Soy Meat Balls-which-are-not-really-meat-balls-because-they-have-no-meat-but-saying-"soy-balls"-doesn't-somehow-sound-right. by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Greece License.

Self Ambivalence 1.1

Self ambivalence. A fancy word no doubt. It means cultivating extremely conflicting feelings towards oneself. Basically, it means being so self-centered that you're your main reference to both cool and [insert stereotype] the opposite of cool.
I'm a cutter, a kicker and a smoker and hell, I don't even smoke anymore. that much.
There are many ways to play the game -what you personally consider important enough to be worth the trouble of trying to excel at- and of course there are even more ways to miss the point and start going downhill. In regards to my pretty knife, I don't see why anyone would relate to doodling with sharp objects and using a palette of various shades of red and themselves as a drawing surface. I do believe though, that people can relate to reaching a point where shit hits the fan with such incredible might that no matter what they do the situation is what it is and it can't be changed, which makes it THE WORST THING EVER (till the next shitstorm hits). After passing the initial stages of shock, denial, anger and depression, there comes the time you simply have to accept whatever unbelievable bullshit happened. That's the most problematic stage for me. Anger? I can excel at that. Depression? I am totally fantastic in it. But accepting the fact that I have absolutely no power over something that IS a part of MY life after all, just doesn't take place in the right hemisphere of my brain which ,in most cases, specializes in receiving and analysing information from the outside world. Once you decide that what goes on everyday is an euphemism for life, that people look like bad actors and that if Santa was real he would probably carry around a big bag of dicks to give to everyone, self-mutilation seems equally as colourless (and therefore "normal") as everything else does.
Both the slashing-yourself-to-ribbons and the thinking-of-ridiculous-ways-to-cover-the-wounds parts, are not a very productive way to spend the time truth be told, and do not offer much else than a gothic, bloody scenery. The supposed endorphins-releasing to your brain (a pharmacological activity analogous to the activity of opiates= they relieve your pain) appears to be plain bullshit as well. The whole process is painful while you're at it, afterwards, and while disinfecting the wounds (cause you have to take care of yourself of course). So... why do it?
Like any other self-destrucive behaviour, from banging one's head, pinching oneself and self-burning to eating disorders, alcohol abuse and drug addictions, self-mutilation is a sign that you are fucked up in the head because you never taught yourself how to properly identify and express your real emotions to others perhaps, and MAINLY to yourself. I would call it emotional dyslexia. Instead of staying up all night wondering if there is a "bog", you stay up a) cause you're too much of a pussy to figure out yourself, after a crisis makes doing so urgent, and b) ...cause the damn cuts hurt. It's a coward's way from beginning to end: instead of giving a battle (even -and especially if- you know you're going to lose it), you push the self-destruction button. That's one way of looking at it. An other way is that you spare everyone the drama and self destruct earlier than scheduled by the big cosmic penis.
So kids, today's lesson is that apart from developing an alcohol/drug addiction, self-mutilation is another great means of failing to deal with yourself. Another option is managing to somehow find the balls of metallic substance to fuck up an already fucked up situation, but at least be active and throw back some of the shit that was so generously offered to you.

P.S. My kicking habit is way too kickass -literally- for this emo post. So, I'll analyse it later (never).


Self Ambivalence 1.1 by The Schismarch is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Greece License.