I thought, yesterday late, I am going to try some Smirnoff. Like Poetin. You picture it, Mynski drinking white liquor. Als dat maar goed gaat. Hope for you all is well. A popular is a tree. A tulip is a flower. An ocelot is an animal. A nightingale is a bird. Europe is a territory. Life is a bitch, a bogger. Death is inevitable. The world of the gifted, new intellectuals, like the new rich, are popping up, like bird signs and moonlights. Now retrieved when dusted, whispered to, asked about, shine. We remained unknown to Dutch men and women in general, they do not see us. They do not look further than skirts and pants. And want babies all the time. The burger and burgeres becoming fat because of a lazy life, also known as comfortable. They think of as comfortable, as good, as something right to do. Their world. Not to confuse with planet Earth and seven billion people moving over it. This scape three is about brave hearts, a heroheroine, not Mus, Dutch poetry, Cats and Vasalis, a third character. A name: ITperson. Iterson, an Icelandic habit of namegiving, a temporary phenomenon, I before J, V after T.
A person. Can a person be a gift? Can someone be too good to be true? Is there something like truth? Is it all in the name or less absolute, in the naming? The creating. I wonder how far the imagination of the reader will follow the young lovers after they have been dismissed. The lovers who dream of writing, real writing, writing a blog with the name............. My young persons are influenced by the fall of the red lantern, belonging to a period when the acts were played. What do you remember of the first three years of your life? How? How do you know or not know, do you know? You will learn in time. Trust. Trust you. Or me. And me. Lets start with the three years just passed away. Yesterday, what did you drink on your porch, in front of your tent, in your favourite bar, on the in the wood something festival, at the bench in front of a TVmachine with red and green buttons, one alarming, one cooling, calming. Looking. Looking, for what exactly? Spending time. Waiting, waisting whipping seconds, hours, days, weeks. One year? Time is going so fast, time, a construction, a word,
something someone introduced one time. Was there a time when there was no time?
From Russia with love, Just Bond, licensed to kill, once upon in a time in Great Britain.
A person. Can a person be a gift? Can someone be too good to be true? Is there something like truth? Is it all in the name or less absolute, in the naming? The creating. I wonder how far the imagination of the reader will follow the young lovers after they have been dismissed. The lovers who dream of writing, real writing, writing a blog with the name............. My young persons are influenced by the fall of the red lantern, belonging to a period when the acts were played. What do you remember of the first three years of your life? How? How do you know or not know, do you know? You will learn in time. Trust. Trust you. Or me. And me. Lets start with the three years just passed away. Yesterday, what did you drink on your porch, in front of your tent, in your favourite bar, on the in the wood something festival, at the bench in front of a TVmachine with red and green buttons, one alarming, one cooling, calming. Looking. Looking, for what exactly? Spending time. Waiting, waisting whipping seconds, hours, days, weeks. One year? Time is going so fast, time, a construction, a word,
something someone introduced one time. Was there a time when there was no time?
From Russia with love, Just Bond, licensed to kill, once upon in a time in Great Britain.
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