Proxy kinda feeling


The requested URL could not be retrieved

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And what if I feel other things are incorrect too, who do I contact?
Snooze all the time, especially at night.
Could I secretly bring my book to work and read it hiding somewhere?
Dismiss a bunch of lovers. Keep no one but the sense of love itself.
And what if I continue feeling this bitter-sweet-sad-joy for months, even years?
It’s the price for tasting opened items, forbidden reefs that I shouldn’t lay my eyes on.
Björk sings to me: 'to go into this only to enjoy', but how can I achieve such thing?
Gibbons says, “To do what I’ve got to do, don’t misunderstand him” paraphrasing her.
Is it correct to post one question and one answer, one after the other, endlessly?
Please contact your service provider if you feel this life is not really yours, while I dream about broken proxies, computer knowledge I still have to learn.
Are they smiling and are those sounds of a laugh?
Because all I will do is to watch and not touch, my hands will reach surfaces no more.
Should I dive into the dark ocean between the pieces of my so-called strong heart?
I am the patient walk of a lazy ant. I am the lost path of my own life.
Why am I writing in bloody English language?
Fool, love, dummy, love, grey red, cloudy, fool, silly, grey skies, tears some days ago.
Is one question just one question?
The view of the oasis from the top of the dune and the optical illusions.
Have you ever read a Wender’s script?
Keep feeling the love and the lack of it as well.
Was I rejected for not increasing the ratio?
I am the one that makes fruits disappear.
Do I like it here?

I am through the morning, the job, the cheap love, the expensive life, the scorpion rising over the horizon line. 15 minutes to meeting, 3 missing parts of a movement and 6 degrees between my poor idea of you and me and the wasted feelings of 2 fools trying to rearrange our private world. Our story is most common, pure melancholy coming down form the pale skies, repetitions.

How many questions am I allow to ask? Is there a limit to my anxiousness; is it a day to come when the intensity becomes so powerful that we finally will melt in the sun just like another tiny piece of wax making the great nothing greater?

10 hours to take off, 10 minutes to get ready, 10 seconds to see the faces you do not want to forget. 12 dozen of misspelled words. 5 acts. 11 light reflections. 25 years in a jail. 5 perfect still pictures. 3 fingers pointing at the moon. 1 odor of 4 marihuana’s smokes. 1 person alone. 1 world in the lost and found shelves of an extra size garment. 108 strokes in a blood pool. Time to stop in 3 seconds. Willing to stop in 2 seconds. Actual stop in 1 second. Now the rest.

Taken from the translations between the Internet navigator’s output and my British superstition.

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