He has no principles, he has no innerness, he slides along and records sensations. I.K.
Mettalic in his objectivity, he abolishes all my emotions. Yet, I love that incongruous togetherness.
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- My feelings, emotions, sparks, personal lessons;
- There is no writing style or method and I’m not aiming to finding one;
- It’s an informal shrift or maybe an unidentified type of escapism;
- There are no time frame or particular topics that I follow;
- It’s where my smile goes when I re-read some of my old posts…
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