Who Should Be The Next Straw Hat Member?

Pontault-Combault

You live in Pontault-Combault today and you, who you wanted to aquatic ballet, when I ask you, full of love, as before, what you do with your days, you'd rather turn my head and cry . I found that you're ashamed of what you've become and even if I do not know what you can do well, I know both you 're wrong and you do not listen to me.
You live in Champs sur Marne. You left a long time, you did well traveled, eaten whole, in both England and Spain, and here you are back in the family apartment that you had left ten years ago without you return.
Your parents have moved and you live in their former home. The dog has changed its name, your skin never recovered from the attack of acne that you crossed when I met you. You have traded your gear Hardos a suit and it fits you most.
You're gone for another, a real con that one, even if you do not concede that lip service, even if you've finally left. You're gone away and you'll come back. Who is the man whom thou hast made this child? I do not even know if you know it. I hope so. There is a wall covered with multicolored tiles that separates our skins.
You leave a book these days, the first and last hope to glean some bits of you that holds you so quiet in my life, you whose vocal cords vibrate generally talk to me or answer me my questions unanswered.
You live in Florida and you're not happy, because your heart is not. Looking for Alaska is always a postcard or perhaps real, I do not know which prevents you often have a beating heart at the bottom of your rib cage, but elsewhere, like hanging from a thread that is not yours.
I regularly back and forth in 2nd class and it is not tomorrow the day that I could buy me a car. Apart from that, I have a fulfilling sex life, but I wake up too often, as for too many years, with the unpleasant feeling that every street is like and that life is a perpetual non-renewal.
I'm not sure it is our fault. New towns have had our skin, that's all.

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Tights

It's true that it was not always easy to flirt, girls, when they had tights or leggings and Americana feet. Sometimes, we almost forgot that Karine was cute or that Stephanie was still quite a nice little ass.
I hated the 1980s, badges SOS Racisme and the obligatory fluorescent, but when I see today, fifteen years, we sometimes have to ignore the fact that the girl we covet tote her jeans into her boots as all the other girls in the class, you can not know how much I sympathize, then, in this escalator that takes you to Chatelet les Halles, little Kevin's suburban crap.

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Roommate

I received, my dear, your mail. the fact that you have not seen fit to propose to myself and your unknown friend of me hiding under the pseudonym of delicious "undisclosed recipient" to be your roommate fills me with joy and gladness. If
is a pleasure which I have never tasted, is one of the roommates, except to except certain times with certain people who no longer lived with me as usual.
I'd love to be your roommate, miss. Already and of course, because I'm not stupid enough not to know that one of the main advantages of collocation when you are not the same sex and heterosexual rather, is to provide pleasure to the potential map.
Before going further forward, I must nevertheless tell you that I must unfortunately decline your proposal. I am not free, even if I were, I doubt that cohabitation, a second week, with children aged 8 and almost 6, pleases you.
I may be wrong completely.
But otherwise, yes, although you knew so little, I confess that the idea of sharing an apartment with you and others probably would fill me with joy. Already because it is nice not to live alone, but in the company of humans, especially when they are pleasant to watch and heard. And then, too, because I visualized us, good friends, you a little tipsy and I bring you back to authority at home. What a great bunch we would!
I visualize small gifts that everyone would surely find regularly under his pillow. A disc, a book, a pair of socks to replace worn holes three times already, earplugs (to say "tonight, I'll scream loud because my wolf is sleeping. Forgiveness. Kisses. Kikou.lol)
Ah, the lovely little life of plenty, like singing Jeanne Moreau. Las
, miss, you knew me too old.
Or perhaps is it me who knows you too young. Although
Yours,
In

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November 11

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attempt to rationalize a silence assourdissant

I'm rarely on blogs in general, in recent months, and especially mine.
I could lie and say I have a busy life, I'm writing a novel or a musical. it would be so easy. You believe me, is not it? How to check. How do I know.
I moved. This is the fourth time in 2 years. I supped. I am sick and tired. I'm exhausted. But I have only myself to blame but myself even though it would be so easy to blame others. The others that I have not been threatened with death for me to be con.
discs I bought from a friend the other day. He sold his vinyls. I arrived after the battle. And it was better, I think. Because I'm dry and I would not have anyway embark half of what would have made me feel.
You see, when life looks like, this is not necessarily a good idea to tell it. Although this is a plot. And biased at that.

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Je te dis au revoir

Last night I could not get to sleep. Too much work, too much to think about the brain can no longer be put off mode and that, despite the constraints and major blows on the switch, stubbornly refuses to die. So I told myself it was probably a good evening for you to say goodbye.
Love stories are so inseparable from my life that end up being my very life. You, for years, you ignore me completely. Nothing surprising about that, you've always cared a fig for those who love you. I admired you from afar and you shone a thousand lights. I finally get close to you, live at your side, never knowing the bottom if you really loved me.
You're noisy and silent. Tonight I went out to see you and you are to me quickly, from the earliest moments of our reunion, appeared distant and reserved. You must surely know that life inexorably me away from you, our steps were more rhythmic and if that soon, I'll go away, far enough not to see you, but enough so that our lives do intersect as often and as intensely as before.
Then I do not want it separates on tiptoe, without speaking, like thieves. I wanted to feel and smell you, give you the opportunity to take me and take me into your belly one last time. It was tender, but that was all.
course, this is a goodbye, because we can not live without each other and you know very well. You shine for others, this evening, however, and if your lights me warm again, they are remote. I am no longer at the heart of your life or yourself in the heart of mine. But for all that you gave me without me taking over, I wanted last night, beating single tone keypad, Paris.

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Dan le Sac vs. Scroobius Pip

Thou Shalt Not Steal if There Is a direct victim. Thou shalt not worship pop idols or follow lost prophets. Thou Shalt Not Take the names of Johnny Cash, Joe Strummer, Johnny Hartman, Desmond Decker Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix or Syd Barret in vain. Thou shalt not think that any male over the age of 30 that plays with a child that is not their own is a peadophile… Some people are just nice. Thou shalt not read NME. Thou shalt not stop liking a band just because they’ve become popular. Thou shalt not question Stephen Fry. Thou shalt not judge a book by it’s cover. Thou shalt not judge Lethal Weapon by Danny Glover. Thou shalt not buy Coca-Cola products. Thou shalt not buy Nestle products. Thou shalt not go into the woods with your boyfriend’s best friend, take drugs and cheat on him. Thou shalt not fall in love so easily. Thou shalt not use poetry, art or music to get into girls’ pants. Use it to get into their heads. Thou shalt not watch Hollyokes. Thou shalt not attend an open mic and leave before it’s done just because you’ve finished your shitty little poem or song you self-righteous prick. Thou shalt not return to the same club or bar week in, week out just ’cause you once saw a girl there that you fancied but you’re never gonna fucking talk to. Thou shalt not put musicians and recording artists on ridiculous pedestals no matter how great they are or were.
The Beatles… Were just a band. Led Zepplin… Just a band. The Beach Boys… Just a band. The Sex Pistols… Just a band. The Clash… Just a band. Crass… Just a band. Minor Threat… Just a band. The Cure… Just a band. The Smiths… Just a band. Nirvana… Just a band. The Pixies… Just a band. Oasis… Just a band. Radiohead… Just a band. Bloc Party… Just a band. The Arctic Monkeys… Just a band. The Next Big Thing.. JUST A BAND.
Thou shalt give equal worth to tragedies that occur in non-english speaking countries as to those that occur in english speaking countries. Thou shalt remember that guns, bitches and bling were never part of the four elements and never will be. Thou shalt not make repetitive generic music, thou shalt not make repetitive generic music, thou shalt not make repetitive generic music, thou shalt not make repetitive generic music. Thou shalt not pimp my ride.
Thou shalt not scream if you wanna go faster. Thou shalt not move to the sound of the wickedness. Thou shalt not make some noise for Detroit. When I say “Hey” thou shalt not say “Ho”. When I say “Hip” thou shalt not say “Hop”. When I say, he say, she say, we say, make some noise… kill me. Thou shalt not quote me happy. Thou shalt not shake it like a polaroid picture. Thou shalt not wish you girlfriend was a freak like me.
Thou shalt spell the word “Pheonix” P-H-E-O-N-I-X not P-H-O-E-N-I-X, regardless of what the Oxford English Dictionary tells you. Thou shalt not express your shock at the fact that Sharon got off with Bradley at the club last night by saying “Is it”. Thou shalt think for yourselves.
And thou shalt always… Thou shalt always kill!

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