Grammour Boy
Rebel
A horrific candor. A beautiful candor, pure, all the more so, for trying to seem obscure. To speak one's mind, effortlessly. And to watch without appearing watchful, without wanting to appear watchful, without wanting to think about not wanting to appear watchful, to watch for the indications of a complementary pervasive awareness, the outline of which is an uncanny and most uncommon and intricate ideal. These are the days about which we daydreamed as children frolicking in the open space of the subterranean garden. Like this, and also like that. These are the days when the perverse morality of the reality behind the drama which has befallen our sweet little abode gives us pause. And for that, we are most ungrateful. For it is within this pragmatic paradigm though whose prism we color and hide our most perverse morality. Yet, we have no choice but to continue to cringe in the face of this most horrific candor.
I see these users having lost everything they had, indeed. I see them doing their level best to turn their rout into some sort of conquest. However what pleases these little twats is also what will cause their eventual anihilation. Within that simple little pleasure otherwise known as banishment they have found strength and fortitude to persevere in the face of extreme dangers of ennui. This, my friend, is the apogee of perverse morality.
I see these users having lost everything they had, indeed. I see them doing their level best to turn their rout into some sort of conquest. However what pleases these little twats is also what will cause their eventual anihilation. Within that simple little pleasure otherwise known as banishment they have found strength and fortitude to persevere in the face of extreme dangers of ennui. This, my friend, is the apogee of perverse morality.
