You do not know what does on in my head.
You do not know what has been said. You have not known what stands by my side. Whether it be kindness or madness, is that what I hide? Turned faithful as friends or foe to the end. No one can send a mammogram of what has been become bended. Of sight and to set a wind that has spent. For seeing the foreseeing bend be bended. No one can see tragedy fore-coming, send-ed. Is it cause and effect that has become perfected? Or what is the cause that you have corrected? Doubled down deeds and sent messages of threat. Can you now not see as you have spent this test, tested To the true real reason why you have become beheaded? The forthcoming of being bended, straight, now rested. I see, now, you have come bested, now see, now, what there has been twisted. Can you not see now the reason for this end? To send your graces down to a friend. To send, to send, spend now spend. In the greatness bestowed upon you, now to the finish, Now to the end? Mercy might not come up to harbor itself in many individuals' minds, yet the concept of a falsified reality tends to sway indifferently in the dark crevasses that exfoliate not sensibility. However, the ideology to suppress a nagging skepticism of the ones around itself tend to be quiet fully prominent. The credibility to perfect oneself to the egos and darkness of others ironically forms and grows evil inside. That residual imbalance then expands itself to consume all reason within that vast space. Vengeance is then what comes pounding on the doors to Action's quarters. The itch of response and then the eventual coming of the happening. Revenge is a common trait of the ones that have no sense of patience and hope. It shreds its claws upon the inner walls of the mind, leaves great, deep-long gashes imposed into its interior container. It wishes to leave, unsettled by the bright enjoyment of positive images of friendship and comforting peace. The snake-like need to cause destruction and mischief swells its tormenting oceans to engulf all the strangled air and land left within the internal workings of the calculating head. Explosion and then action. Tragedy of misfortune ensues. The need to express dominance pricks inside that slush that weaves its confused struggles of inside emotions and strangulations. Torment is mine, it should be yours. The pressing pressure to blame and then release all Hell captivates the mind to push on. To sink into maddening frenzy is all to easy to keep from sparing and setting free. Threat, danger, to see the contorted blank furry of fear in the eyes of one held to lowly in your own. Aggression commenced to bend the disobedient to your command. Fire, they will all burn away into ash and feed the existent as they have no standing to just be. A tweak here, a suggestion there. Soon they will all come to bow to their knees, acknowledging their savior. I have mercy, not I? Them whom may come better in the way of my hands, hands that play God? I bring both hardship and ease. I will captivate you to wish to study yourself into knowledge of correcting your instigating ways. Suffer, suffer and you are lucky if you ever receive. If blessing are chosen to be thrown, none will spare like the heavenly of one so perfect. You have contented me with your suffering and as king I say, "Rest" to mere toy theater puppets. Celebrate such gifts with a ticking reminder of a diminishing life. What life left a scoundrel chooses to proceeds with advance with paranoid and terrified caution. Whether a beast will stir again, is only the first of a frenzied mind. Tread carefully for the rest of a stained existence. Be gone, heathen. I wish to never see such a face as is yours. Be gone, demon! Vendettas are something that come across in everyones' minds. To proceed with it is the real question, and to find enjoyment in it, is another. The question of mercy is something that many falsely mistake as a gift given from themselves. Lowly to they, as whom ever convince themselves that the decision of such a thing, such things never came from them. It can from a higher power, the same one that has put into place their understanding of status in the beginning. Mercy has never came from Man, as such a beauty was never conceived in such a filthy creature. Hideous, ugly, waste can never pro-create solid perfection, as trash needs to become washed and cleaned to reveal all of its treasures that it has hidden. You never have spared another being when such individuals show mercy to others, another being has shown you mercy as it allowed you to follow through believing in beauty. Mercy was never created by you, someone has given it you to follow through with its spread journey. It is queer to think Man has right over all things, when he, himself, understands not what has made the things he has owned. Lies and illusions are all that Man tends to perfect in unique tales to themselves. Every fancy, a thrilling venture, as cause that brings utmost perfection. Skilled are they that lie to their own lusts. Do humans not take warning? -- Shawshanked I think I know what is becoming of the older generations of good individuals. The need to constantly revise and edit our new generations has been a growing silent threat. Many might not realize it, but to train our later staff of people to do great things, choose the correct choices, and be there for each other in the later times of our century has been dwindling--and I have always wondered where those experienced individuals have gone. I may know the answer: abandonment by their young offspring. Why and how you might ask, simple: if you are able to neglect and elderly in their most sensitive and needing times, you have effectively sought a path to kill them with no effort at all.
I have never believed that there will come a time where the young with look back at their olders and think about how "ridiculously" awful they are to be existent. How dare they live to give me spite for the reason that is so, because all others look down upon me for I have to tend towards a baggage that promotes me to life with such ridiculing mockery? For them giving me such a name, I shall abandon them to fend for themselves in a world so strict with apathy. Yet, the youngers do not see that if they where to only do the deed that was brought upon them they would have helped nurture a life seeded with compassion, with action of keeping such alive within the form of their elders. But misfortune is brought upon such that care for the new, as death grips them in painful tragedy, scouring their hearts for every last shred of love. They then die wondering why such a world was turned so cruel when they have invested in it with heart and soul. Where has it all been taken, and where has it all been sent? Was it all futile and fruitless, did any of it have reason? What has God sent? I will now die cold and neglected when I once have brought into the world warmth from producing another life. A painful death, one of the most rigidly insane of tortures conceived by Man has now been place upon my leaving body. How ugly has everything become? Where are the old that have given once life? They have all been sent to the gas chamber to slowly die from the void of senselessness from the ones that have been given life. Dissatisfaction, selfishness, and greed: all such are friends, now, of the awaiting dictators. How a species can enslave itself is clear: control the young and you control the future of the world. How daunting is the task to fix such a tragedy? The open answer is never easy to receive. One has the answer, but will it reach all? And then slowly it all rots as there is no one to hear of such words. To give such an answer is never clear. The fear of the damages that others can do but perpetuates this life. To be silent is to be safe. How a crude oxymoron exists, is beyond me. Will not one think that they will be able resist such animosities? The images that the young see are all too real. The lessons of dissatisfaction and of surreal destruction are all too real. The young are learning how to live life not, while they grow up into empty shells never realizing the truth behind the illusions. Whom are the parents, now? Is is the indifferent production of satisfaction of the slices of glass illuminating upon their faces fantasies greater than real life? Is it the solidly cold resonant object that whispers to them "do and I shall be commanded to produce"? The seductive look of things oh so elegant, "perfect", free of worldly bonds that humans have been bound to? Whom is better? Whom deserves affection? Whom is it that deserves my pleasure of compassion? The block that sits idly in that room responds nothing for yet the most highly repeated time. That unwavering restrain of compliant silence. A joy to behold. Anger. Why is not anyone else able to do such things? If not they should do so and listen to my commands! Rebellious appalling disgust! Have I not been ever so merciful? Whom is charge? Its silent calls to mold others, breathing, into such devices is then manifested. Tricked, ever so tricked into receiving a "just cause" into their own corruptible behaviors. Children are now the slaver handlers of their parents and so will become a the slave once they become older. No such slavery was ever conceived to in such patterns, before. How it got so has been linked with various many ways. Those the truth in never so much open. The negative images of greed, violence, apathy, false strength, and more, is always thrown around, illogically. To feed the young putrid filth is ever becoming a growing issue. No need for humans when there is the need to always become feed with the invisible "reward" of others obeying my every signaled command. The young are taught to become dictators and dictators are ones that are the best when it is not what they understand that is being taught. To follow blindly in arrogance is the core formation of such oppressors, yet at the same time, the oppressors think naught that they oppress. They are only doing what is "expected" of them. Society lavishes the one that brings strong order into the world, and so I must do what is "needed". The expression for the need to correct past mistakes and incorporate strong held values of justice, sincerity, compassion, understanding, patience and all that is to teach, to be the primary visuals and signs that the young must become immersed in. To fill the environment that surrounds them with peace, tranquility, resolve and connection to the good that is in the world. The need to be in place of the inanimate device is a much needed as the surgical removal of a malignant tumor from the brain. There is no need, and should be no need, to replace the position of the adult with a system that understands not how to regulate itself for a falsified benefit of the regulated, but into a honored position to commemorate the culture of sheep herder protecting a flock not of its own wisdom. Doing such scouting protects the fort from becoming breached unknowingly, with all of its inner residents saved from endless slaughter of a near evident siege. Within the need to support safety to the young comes the added resolve to incorporate the added resilience of compassion to nurture the young into mirroring such lesson enjoined with the fevered motivation to release such actions into the world surrounding them. To be merely there in a ghostly aspect fills not enough for such young hearts to flourish into adequate function. Parents to be there to take up the role of being existent ever so much in their offspring's lives is a mandatory placement. Leaving a gapping, awaiting hole in the souls of the new, gives no content as they glide to and fro, aimless, in search of sustenance to fill themselves whole. A resentful apparition willful to uplift everything in its own path to obtain what it seeks. Nothing but destruction clouds the eyes as nothing dominates the urge to feel the tranquility of the heart. Anger and furry-filled confusion dictates the motives of the mind. The surging pressure to command the body to the addictions of the environment tells one to reclaim sanity. The continual immersion of an illusory world fitted to your every hollow need. Gutted empty by the pulling shackles of inner slavery from such unending torturous desires only filled by seeing the reassuring eyes of the older ones. The internal sanctity of the mind perpetuated by the kind eyes of admiration from the elders. To feel included in a universe that apprehends the softness of thoughts into crass destruction of values, values held so closely to a beings dreams. To feel the cool winters of peace and perfected settled content. If it not there within their own parents then where else will such get comfort? Turning towards conventional means is the next benefiting approach. If not that then artificial stimulus. Addiction. Neglected sadness and the foreshadowing of death. Hopeless loss and then self-destruction by horrifying finishes. This is not a matter of simplistic do or not do, it is a path of growth, nursery and effort. If no such caution is understood the loss of the youth is inevitable. Dismemberment comes only naturally in the wake of chaos that has been perpetuated enough fully. The youth are then fully adapted into inept reason to maintain themselves with kindness, let alone others around them. We all live in a world of destruction full of neglect and isolation. Is that the desire that would like to be passed on onto the next generation? The coming question will be: who is the one that will be keen enough to to decide what to choose next. Added chaos or the need to rebuild with peaceful coddling. If no path is there to have such needed revision then the most intelligent idea would be to create another path. Yet, where are the elders that are needed to bring about reform? Are they too immersed into the dramas of life. The flat screens that talk to them of a chance to an extension of their childhood? To be once young again? Are humans bound to pro-create the same mistakes over and over again. Is it just the lack of drive to cause one another to step to helping all or the want to neglect to save others that promotes this? Man is but foolish. To be a conniving mess, that is something humans are perfect in achieving flawlessly. The mistakes the young make, so do the elders. The many wonder how so such a world can rotate if all of the beings on its surface tend to not want to stir alongside with it. None the less, the travelers situated on it move against their wills to the Earth's intended direction. The cycle alway perpetuates itself, whom will it be that breaks such a rotation? There is is always a result to every cause. Whether one chooses to do nothing, the route of effect becomes manifest. The last and only question from here would be: what will the individual choose to do in such a time? Is there to be waste or benefit? What will be chosen? Here lies the greatest story or the hardest fall for one to achieve. There must be a reform for change or else our youngers are doomed to destruction. We all have to take the time to revise ourselves and flourish into something new. What will be your tale? -- Shawshanked Have you ever wondered what you could have been if you soul was never gutted hollow? If you were never sucked dry by the many atrocities of the world? You never had to understand poverty, war, death of the innocent, lies, slavery, racism, the madnesses of the world. Children die hungry in Africa while the rich throw out food not perfectly picked to suit their dinner tables. One does not have to learn of bribery and the cheating of one's brother from everything they own. To live in world void of hate, spite, of ill judgment and lies. To live not in world that entertains itself off the misery and shortcomings of others. A world that does not amp itself up to the trends that hype trauma and insanity. Of a world made of peace and understanding, is where I would like to go.
I hate how the Earth has just become a jumbled mess for the crazy. A place for the misdeeds to flourish. It brings me to my knees at times and others, it possesses me to carry out is destructive commands. There is no one there to warn you, "stop" or there to be the voice of reason. There seems to be none there that parallel with understanding and wisdom. Whom else hear your call for reason and calls back with standing resolve. There seems to be none there that can withstand against such odd evils of the world and correct its mistakes. Where are all the healers, the fixers, the seers with sight? I tend to see none around me, but all that are dead and gone. There seems to be no one there that settles with correctness and doing so brings you enemies. The good are oppressed while the evil go do their fancies. How else will I ever be able to spell it? Drugs, war profiteering, crime, lude behaviors, negative images, abandonment, conformity, political correctness, politics, military might, aggressive actions, nuclear war, destruction of society, deterioration of justice, entertainment of another's pain and misery, the list goes on. The death of creativity, the negotiation of modesty, the greed of hungry dishonesty, the death of integrity, the murder of sensibility, the destruction of self-control, the excitement of wasted energy, aimless quarrels over matters that have no merit, there is no sense in thinking without emotional aggression, the need to consume and waste plenty, however will I be able to say it? What would it have been like if you never had to live in world like this? To be free of neglect of the good and to be surrounded with positive actions? To be brought up into a universe that communicates peace rather than mistakes? What will everything be like? Sadness, or happiness? It seems like good fortune has come across the ones that are good; death has taken them away to better place of the world that produce no such disgust. -- Shawshanked The inner demons of one's soul always are there to voice their own complaints against your own thoughts of the need to change yourself into something beautiful. The searing sting of incessant chatter of things that believe that they need to commence your own downfall. They will never allow you to fulfill your purpose of finding solidarity in doing good in the world. Along side them are the choir of soft speech to become a wonderful thing of mercy. To promote integrity and proper unbias judgment within the world. To set things right is the utmost best you will be able to do to another different from you. The constant bickerings of lies and carols of the inner workings of the subconscious then rip each other at their throats as they both argue for their own need to cause you to do their bidding.
The decision to do good or evil are always perpetuating into a constant dance of erratic behavior. Once was light, was then dark, and when once was little, large. Like a gun to the head they both bicker about past events and form chaos for future ones. Neither one sleeps, but to awake and disrupt. Hot and then cold, quickly passing from one to the other. Are you really whom you appear to be, are you yourself a slave to the inner voices that perpetuate your every nagging decisions? Turn right, or left, pick it up or place it down, to burn or to freeze? Nothing would make sense for the subtle mind to turn around and then look up or down, side to side. That every constant need to do good or evil constantly breathing down your neck. To bellow with a one's frozen aspect of the future both solidified and then burned alive. Internally singing a forever tune of madness, do the tune to be of demon or angel, sing. Sight. Blindness. Sight. The sounds intertwine into spiraling noise, buzzing. To do evil or good, spend in the way of the senseless or sight-filled? No one will ever teach me and one one will ever come to say. The ending of such tales, no one has for certain. Whom will you be? Many have said if you lived a long life of being a hero, you might see yourself live longer to become the villain. Will that ever be true within the case that is mine? Whom is to say? To be good or evil constantly perpetuates in my mind. What will I choose in the end? To be saved or damned? Dead or Reborn? No one human will ever know. *Check out "Of Monsters and Men - Little Talks" if you can. Just a side venture for you all. Just an added bonus. -- Shawshanked Do not judge a book by its cover. You do not know fully what a soul may contain. It is better not to leave such expensive endeavors for neglect than from enjoyment of its wonders. To see into the future, not one is able, but to learn steady is an journey much softer with a much greater possibility of completion. To be hasty is one of many of Man's flaws. Let it not be a mistake that is done over again, but let it become transformed into reasonable caution to adhere to just sense of understanding: do not waste of things that could have been a mercy to all by destruction of such things there of. To waste a treasure, is to waste all of creations' wealth. You can not lead an opportunity to expire by unintelligent decision upon commencing with such action to exterminate a possibility of given gifted surprise. For a present to be beneficial or of waste is never in good terms for an individual to decide. The gesture should be enough to be a positive realization, and intuition of the matter, to be foreshadowing a peaceful declaration.
Spending in one's way to give to another is no need for alarm or spite. Only envy, perpetuates this doubt and kindles the mind to set fire to sanity. Envy makes way for disallusioned enjoyment of the destruction of things meant to bring peaceful respite. Envy and hast make friends with one another mocking each other as they walk side by side. To make a way with haste is to make away with false words; a lie to feed, with a tricked imagination, into a mouth. Envy makes way with a thirst for forming mischief into a situation blessed with the repair of evil actions. Make way with giving a chance to what might not be known, for no one knows everything that is not known. -- Shawshanked What is that one sees to polished openly? Is that an image, garnished to become the fruit of its labor, I do but uphold as I see? The mere meaning of perfection is stained on its lips as there come the setting sun blooming on the features of its skin. Nothing of out of place do I see this one harbor, but a friendly extravagant face. What is it all that you do but show, guessing reason, crossing bows?
One can not read the entirety of one's intensions just by the outward appearance or by the going of first impressions, but by perplexing need to see truth in of such facades. The need to see the actuality of a being comes not from the painting its strokes, but a clear cut genuine realization to become of "with no smokes and mirrors" or "fees attached" for the one that is to be observed. To be actual in the truth to send yourself out into the world with no lies, is a grand feat to perform. For there are few that are able to take the weight of those that taunt, pester and prick while it is hard to not become converted into another, within this falsified reality that all have to live in these current generations. To be lucky to be the one that held on the truth of itself is a rare species to come across. Never is it more of an importance, now than later, to have a self that can care less for what this illogical world considers sane. To produce a like that is similar in equation is an ever problematic event to come by. Few walk with such courage while others walk striding in a memory that is false. To be actual is a hard concept to come to form, to see it is a miracle. Do not hold, withstanding such progress to ones advancement, but see it as a marker to be of like mind into genuine actuality. To be true to yourself is a hard action to accomplish, to keep doing so thorough hard times and soft times, is even harder. Do you feel ready for the challenge? I hear it calling for you. Will you answer, "Yes?" -- Shawshanked Death does not mere mean a simple title. It can come of a sudden age to the the one destined to become subjected to its hand. Death does not need a reason to overcome the body, it just needs a simple "hello" before its initial response. The need to convey that one can outlive death is but a tragic illusion of the mind. No one may be able to life forever, and no one shall life forever without an end. Stories need to be finished and such stories, be it short or long, all come to their own conclusions. Death may be a friend or a foe, but it is certain, death comes and it never goes.
If one feels to become strangulated by such thoughts of an ending to their own tale, then it is for certain, death sees you as but a meal to feed it's ever growing hunger to digest the mischievous arrogant oppressor in way of freeing their held captives, their slaves. The ones that have become oppressed under your own hand is something that was of course needed to become corrected, but one may "see it fit" to progress with such mindless behavior. Consumed with fancy, many feel it the need to atrociously revel in evil, a kind of long held companion to pass the time away with many that do but train themselves to spread evil deeds throughout the world. Pain spread here, hurt spread there, all need be is some fighting and there goes a wonderful show ready to admire with growing greed to see others suffer. Laughing, oh laughing, then that awaited hour comes. Not a minute is spared by the ticking of the clock as the hands, dissimilar to yours, grabs you by every atom of your being. Then, and so then, it slowly eats away at you until you scream for more time. Sometimes, this happens quickly, sometimes never a moment feels like it is passing by, once death takes a hold of you. Sickening is the feeling to go from this world, never feeling any mercy as you have never given merit to gifting mercy towards others different from you. Flames then burn, licking at your decomposing corpse as you strain, pleading for your life. Your life is gone, what more is there to plead for? To others, death comes as a long awaited friend, promised to you to meet faithfully one day, again. It cuddles you in its arms as you see the passing world spin by, but you stay silent, washed with blissful understanding. The need to do nothing is what was to be needed next to allow you to rest from life's troubled, huddled and emaciated struggling journey. To rest is all that you need for your body to breath. Still sleep, calm sleep, a sleep to help you withstand the destruction of the world. No need for violence, no need for animosity, the need for rest is all that seems to over take you. A slight pang of regret, but you understand that you have tried your best. That is all that is needed and all that is seen. The need to become intoxicated with the world's mirages of a "permanent perfect life" does not call seductively in your ears. You become relaxed, no need to withhold the vengeance of instigating grudges to give one a false sense of security. You leave all behind as the world slowly fades to black. At times, other than these, many go swiftly, others go slowly, but it all means the same: you have meet with what you are able and hoped not to bother anyone with burden any longer. Death nods with a cool gesture as it picks up your soul into ease. It was as if you lived not to exist, but to die. Death may seem a foreboding villain or a fore-coming friend, the suitor is meet with the same awareness: death comes to all beginnings, and to all beginnings comes an end. A story that was once told, was now never said. It was as if things have passed alive and with meaning, yet, was there ever a beginning to begin with or an ending to finish receiving? It was as if nothing came, last, and so nothing came, before. What fits you more: to be social or isolated? No one can really correlate with each other upon like responses. The idea of isolation being of bliss and pain, that is also said for both social behavior. The two are opposite of such spectrum. They tend to mislead each other or harbor strength in each other's losses. The beat of the idea of solidarity within your own thoughts tends to become rather far reaching into interesting me in many ways. However, the need to become interconnected with other beings' ability to communicate ideas is a factor that is need for everyday tasks. The need to be left alone can both hard to uphold and can help. Yet the stationary sought presence of being the master of my own thoughts seems to press me into continuing wonder.
The masses say one thing, while the inner self displays another. You will never be able to mold yourself to be what others command you to become, for it is not their power to be strong enough to cause to you to change from your preexisting creation. You need to be whom ever you are is always there, hiding, inside you ready to fight for the purpose meant to be alive for on this barren planet, a planet void of understanding without oppressing. To be whom you are is to be the utmost truth you you and to all around you. The need to conform is an illusion of slavery. Slavery is brought to become far spread, even after the breaking of the shackles, as the shackles of the mind are far greater then just binds. Struggle and you shall receive your payment in labor. --Shawshanked There are many things that humans do not understand. The concept of infinity. The ongoing hate and reason to believe your own brother to be worse than the Devil. The need to show ones "greater position" to others, belittling them all. The human mind works wonders but yet falls victim to past mistakes, over and over and over again. The mistakes of humans are endless, all repeating once another one is born. More is seen. The need to establish justice can be what makes Humans falter, but can be what makes them strong. The need for control is what can be one of mercy to the mind or deafening concern to one's wellbeing. Each thing done, can be a method of peace or of relentless chaos to one's insanity.
Men are weird, just as how Women are. Children can become corrupted, just as how the elderly can become. The need to establish serenity is an ever growing need within the inner bowels and workings of the human mind. Yet others neglect such "ludicrous statements", thinking of such things being neither beneficial nor of commencing homeostasis. Humans desire to explode when they are always fighting to implode. Both are resulting contradictions that plague to rip apart humans and only found inner expression of thought tend to bring them back together. The need to become understood, the need to feel another's pain, is what all curiously drives humans to become consistent within the inner most ramblings of their brains. Lonelyness is what plagues humans to insanity and insanity always tend to hunt alone. The both may become friends, at a time, but neither tend to want to fully co-operate with one another. It is like humans were not built to understand destruction, but yet, they are fully efficient at perfecting its commencement. Humans tend to not understand each other, even though they are of the same species. I wonder, will a human ever be understood? I do not understand them, myself, and I am one of them. -- Shawshanked "No" does not mean an end to something. it just means you should take another path in your journey. "No" dose not mean failure. It just mean something else better will be coming your way. "No" does not mean destruction of previously held beliefs. It just means this is a new thought to show patience to, something else to give tolerance to. It only opens up your previous beliefs, not ruin them. To say "No" is not something deadly, on the contrary, it is something to build yourself up into a better person. Just like "Yes", "No" can become abused. The image of "Yes" refers to acceptance, understanding, achievement. While "No" means failure, dead-end, loss, or destruction. Sure, that is one scenario of validity, but the roles can become switched easily. Definition of the words do not give right to their proper use.
You are able to say "Yes" to an end to enlightenment, "Yes" to the need to ruin the advancement of good, and "Yes" to isolation of ideas. Does that not make you open to destruction of fulfillment, advance failure and idealizing self-centered prejudice, just by saying "Yes"? "No" may be used to instead to stop the need to become faltering from ones path, "No" to sustaining an end, and "No" as a halt towards a singular perception of ideas. The usage of either is in constant battle, everyday, to be used to achieve good or to promote the bad. Paths are taken either to ones side or the other in accordance towards their actions, not taken by their proposed merit. Many things can be said and many things done, but names are never accurate. The label of one is never ever a fact; it is only a marker, not an indented truth towards a completed understanding. To say "No" is not meant to become a detouring agent, it is only meant to guide you onto another path. That path is better than the one you proposed to yourself, but humans are not able to see past their deaths. If a man can not see what lies ahead of them in time, what make them think that they are capable of understanding the best course for themselves. Humans are only marbles in a sea: they do not understand why the tide ebbs and flows, and neither do they realize that they are being rolled smooth. To say "No" is nothing bad, it is only a new beginning for yourself. --Shawshanked |
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