a few words On Combustion...

I'm signing a request for a strobol-outbreak. Just like absolut silence, in absolut madness one tends to take core turns in life. I find this to be true. Or maybe, -just maybe- the lack of something raw, something pure, something brutal and something honest, is a sole responsable for more derangement to arrive. How much longer can we really fake this? and, also, let me ask you this: who are we really fooling? honestly, is this fooling anyone else?

Where there's a storm there's a hallway... no matter how long the entrance takes, in the end you're facing a mirror, and this mirror thrives for raw, pure, honest... this mirror will show no mercy: "either you deal with me or you're fucked." What an upfront, cocky attitude towards confrontational distress... should we ever be so lucky to pull that off with absolutely no remorse if the choice lays on rather being fucked. Personally, I prefer to strip and slowly walk towards it, but of course this is not a statement or a rebellion call for my own uneasiness.... I just felt a big itch rising up my chest, and it was certainly necessary to just cough.