| it's just what I do |


Blue Monday '95Initially, Damons complaints are ignored by his bandmates. His voice is lost in the blustering gales that swirl about the trees and accelerate about the buildings, sending clusters of leaves dancing desperately up and across the grey urban pathways and summer-green grass that shimmers with dew in the dawn sunlight. Primrose Hill. It is not an overcast day, far from it in actual fact, with the early morning sun arcing pleasantly above the foggy outlines of distant buildings, immersing the sweeping green landscape in a ludicrous, deep pink. The band is takingBlue Monday '95


Conversations in EdenIt is a well-known fact that a man, newly arisen from slumber and stumbling about the bedroom like a drunk and clad solely in his underclothes will admit to having absolutely no recollection of the previous nights escapades in technicolour detail. This has been well demonstrated over the decades, and in many contexts, too. However, this case, or specific male specimen was proving to be an entirely different kettle of fish.Conversations in Eden
Postcards. Blues, greens, greys and ugly, faded browns. One strung along a capriciously erect wall against a backdrop of urban bleariness; the
| it's just what I do |
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who could park the juggernaut in your mouth?
where are they?
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who could park the juggernaut in your mouth?
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who could park the juggernaut in your mouth?
what's your blog address?
I'm already following you
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who could park the juggernaut in your mouth?
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love l o v e love.
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