haha! ikaw nga ang naremember ko na anti-black webpage ko sa wordpress 
i loved it though, so i refused to change it. haha!
hi pampoy! nice site.. d na sakit sa mata.hehe.. i feel better now, but i won’t refuse an ice cream treat.. hehe!
hi pampoy! nice site.. d na sakit sa mata.hehe.. i feel better now, but i won’t refuse an ice cream treat.. hehe!
eh kasi mas ok dito. haha! wally pano pagkasyahin yung widget ko sa column?! ayusin mo naman yung cide! =p
bakit mo iniwan ang wordpress?
haluuuuuuuu!!!
haha. The Fray is okay. May mood ako na okay sha pakinggan. pag nilalamig ata ako at ayoko bumangon! hehe
test test.. haha
ok, add playlist.. i love ‘the fray’ kind of pop ba sila. hindi ako sure.. pero love their songs!
nice feel.. sige playlist nga.. you like ba songs of ‘the fray’ i love them..
@thea: haha static in motion pala ha. paghimo bai, mura ra mam kag nag facebook na mas specific lang ang use nya to post your art (writings, photography, music) =O)
bai, lingaw lagi, gusto na pud ko magblog! haha!
hi pam… heheh.. nahan ko sa color kay blue…
shoutbox! =p
“You are not surprised to see me.”
“I expected you tonight.”
She raised her hand, bending her elbow with a tight economy of motion, the bare minimum needed, and flung her hat across to a table. The hat’s long flightshowed the violence in that controlled jerk of her wrist.
He asked: “What do you want?”
She answered: “You know what I want,” her voice heavy and flat.
“Yes. But I want to hear you say it. All of it.”
“If you wish.” Her voice had the sound of efficiency, obeying an order with metallic precision. “I want to sleep with you. Now, tonight, and at any time you may care to call me. I want your naked body, your skin, your mouth, your hands. I want you–like this–not hysterical with desire–but coldly and consciously–without dignity and without regrets–I want you–I have no self-respect to bargain with me and divide me–I want you–I want you like an animal, or a cat on a fence, or a whore.”
She spoke on a single, level tone, as if she were reciting an austere catechism of faith. She stood without moving, her feet in flat shoes planted apart, her shoulders thrown back, her arms hanging straight at her sides. She looked impersonal, untouched by the words she pronounced, chaste like a young boy.
[Excerpt from The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand, 1943]
This is what I call romance.
Come. Find me.
