But, contrary to my expectations,

The devotion to sensual savors;

"His pace was unhurried. He had eyes for the different windows, the people out in the open, the old buildings, he did his best to remain interested. It was necessary to stay connected to the world, to rouse the senses continually or else he would fade out of existence, fail to exist, like so many times before. The point was to stay awake, no, engaged, to pick out the details so there was some feeling of control, the empirical hallucination."

I've been reading a book called "The Swing of Things" by Sean O'Reilly. Irish by the sound of it. And I so happened to bump into this paragraph on the eight page.

I'm curious now.

From the laconic to the verbose.

Let's play pretend.

Have you ever had one of those dreams, such a dream that felt so realistic, so natural, in such a way that it didn't even feel like a dream anymore?

You wouldn't even begin to realise that it was a dream in the first place. It would never occur to you, to grasp that single-handed idea that you were, in actual fact, dreaming. Being given the ability to perceive every single emotion, touch, thought so well that it feels exactly like being awake in reality. It's scary though, to wake up from such a dream, having to gradually comprehend that it was just a dream. Lying in bed, going through and remembering those distinct emotions, that specific touch and this exact feeling. The feeling of being cut, of blood flowing through your veins and running down your arms. Waking up to find your heart beating so fast that you could hardly breathe.

Yeah, it's sorta feels like shit. But kinda cool at the same time.

Sick of dancing with the beast.

Exams, I mean you.

We scribble in lines of successions.

Simply divine, aren't they?

All the work of Photoshop I have to admit. Nah I joke, I don't even have photoshop to begin with. They're more beautiful in real life, really.

The top one goes by the name of Kimberly. She tumblrs horrendously much. Her photos consist of mostly fashion and style. Just dreadful. Look, here's proof, The Vintage Scape. And the middle answers to Timur. She blogs about photography too. Fashion photography to be precise. An atrocious art I tell you. Evidence, Mod Disposition. The last one pretends her name is Alison. Don't be fooled. I've made no mistake, her picture really is there. It's just that she's so white, your corneas can't reflect her rays. She has a private blog. You can't read it because her posts are as frightful as a lion.

And that is why they are my absolute best friends. No shit.

Run with the lions, and you will live.

Look, a picture of an escalator. Could you tell?