The few that are brave live to see their wants come true. Dreams are the subconscious, the uncontrollable self we suppress. The helplessness, the bizarre, the erotic, the terrifying, they are a mystery as to why we think of them, but we do. Some of those dreams are so vivid, to feel the heart pounding as you strive to run clumsily away from what it is that chases you, or the air rushing on your skin as you hurtle through the atmosphere to feel your body judder at that shock landing, so real that your body slams the bed. What we need is a want, the better part of a dream, the optimistic fantasy we hope God, Allah, Buddha or Lucifer will grant. Some may loudly there is fate or destiny deemed by these supernatural figures but by the ones behind the massive desks swivelling on their chairs wondering where to eat. In some cases it is true, and it is a tragedy that some have to live under the boot of another. We start as idealists wanting a future and the present like a fairy tale, a journey of good deeds done and rewards of wealth and love. But the tales begin to fade, mired by the figures on the paper prescribing the requirements wanted to reinforce the banality of modern existence. The age of wonder is scoffed at by the calculations of the pompous and bitter mind that was dealt a crushing early life. What will become of us? Will our future be as indifferent, less curious, and less wondrous? Less reverential? We forget to look the past with gravity, how we learnt to survive our mistakes and honour our achievements. It is a shame that we now gain our needs through unfavourable acts. We need heroes, those willing, those few who remember those around them, to bleed for them, to chide them, to inspire them. We are at a time when we need those noble few, the brave.

Once in a while, talk of the old days.

Watch 'Porco Rosso' by Hayao Miyazaki

From forth my brain shall spew forth thou crappiest pieces of cognititve words to begin my sojourn into the ultimate form of bricolage: Writing. To form words into immortality on pages which will be whispered on the lips of those who choose to emulate, be inspired or emphasise. To whit,To when , To whom, these word that are written will be locked int the electronic realm lodged in the digital consciousness. Sweet.

Disheartening Things: Stale Doughnuts, A cold chip.

Words of insult: You Homunculus!!! You Ignoramus!! (Ignoramai for plural) You Ninny! You Nincompoop! You Imbecile!

reconstituted tree pulp a.k.a paper

Here's a nifty idea, Apple with ginger crumble and lemongrass custard

Is there remuneration being a cartographer in Kazahkstan?

Pizza: A cooked half sandwich

X-men 2: My main query and annoyance: Our heroes are trapped struggling to maintain the blackbird as the dam at alkali lake crumbles. Jean Grey sacrifices herself and telekinetically propels the jet to safety. Aboard the plane is Bobby Drake a.k.a Iceman, who has the ability to freeze the moisture in the air and conjure such things as ice slides but of course in the film he doesn't because that wouldn't seem real, or to be honest, because it wasn't economically feasible. So tell me this, what couldn't be more moist than water? Are you telling me he can create a 13-inch block of ice out thin air yet can't possibly freeze water from a lake? HMMMMMM?
HMMMMMM? EHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH?

Azerbijan is fancy parmesan.