Sunday, October 10, 2004

in a bit of little time, with coarse rock salt dreading next to aimless pattern, while the friends indicate the rapture pose, possible sanctity in a language comes from growth, it's a bitter little time of voting haze and collaborative greed, judging from the system tank, all the dozing love slips from 1967 into an ether-informed purple chute of ringing sounds until you vote again, a gain in sight along the branch water breath, sleep after the all over, what's this suppose to mean?

Good post
Bon jour. Le temps amer que je vois.

Chercher le temps et quelques comment terrien ici.

Blog agréable.

Je devrai revenir plus tard.
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