GIVEAWAY JOIN IT :) MY FIRST ONE ENDS 3/1/14
Whats being given away you ask? Look above or just keep reading along.
- IPhone 5s (Space gray 16gb)
- Galaxy S3 (White 16gb)
- Xbox Live 3 month gold card
- IPad Mini ( White 16gb , no original box sorry :C)
- Casio 15k Gold watch
- John Green books (Looking for Alaska, Paper Planes, he fault in our stars, A abundance of katherines)
I’m giving these away because these are no use to me anymore since I got a note 3 and my brother got the nexus 5 and we just don’t need these. Reminder these products are used expect the 3 month gold card of course. But every product here is in great condition
Must be following me I will check so don’t play
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That’s pretty much it. ENDS 3/1/14 I will put every single name into random.org and the first one on top will get it. So yeah. I’ll announce the winner on the 2nd of march.
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I feel the air turn to a dense bag around me.
I long for the air around me to turn to ice,
Just so the space between us could feel like fire.
I wish for the air to turn to water that can drown me in your scent.
I want to be intoxicated in your essence until breathing without you near feels like drowning.
I want your fire to breathe warmth on my face.
I want to burn in your inferno until im cleansed.
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And I would never say it to you.
But yours is the face I imagine when im ready to give up.
It’s the one that allows me to push further.
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I actually spent more time saying this than I did singing the songs with the crew.
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I’m not a tweeter, nor a photographer on any point between social to professional on the scale. (I honestly use my phone camera only so I can remember what I did while drunk). I do not back scroll enough to re-blog and my family is so boring I fear information about them will shut tumblr down at the source. I am not a musician and my singing voice is something once used in Guantanamo bay. The only two things I am of any use to this realm is a writer and comedic genius (from my previous modesty, you know I am telling the truth),
So I suppose the question I should be (and have been) asking myself is why am I not writing comedic gold of biblical quality, or at least writing. In my mind writing comes from few places. One of them is retelling events from your actual life and what occurs within it. Though my life is mundane I few that it’s details would also cause tumblr to shut down. Here is a brief overview to prove how boring my week is:
Tuesday: Work placement
Saturday: actual work
Rinse and repeat.
So nothing, and I literally mean NOTHING interesting happens worth nothing, as you may have gathered by line 1 of this fucking pointless post.
The other main influence for writing is emotion, usually for me happiness or sadness but again, due to my boring arse life, I don’t really have a strong emotion one way or another, All I really am these days is tired, and not like cry for help tired of everything kinda thing. Literally “I want 7 more hours in bed” tired.
My third type is creativity, but due to boredom, tiredness and lack of inspiration from aforementioned week. I have NO creativity left in me whatsoever.
I want to make it very clear that I in NO WAY see the conversations I have with people as boring, these are the highlights of my days, the only things that stop me wasting 24 hours of my life in a mundane cycle of hell. HOWEVER, I do not wish to write about these things, or think about anything else other than the conversation in the moment. If I only get 2-3 hours of genuine enjoyment in a day I want to 100% involved in those 2-3 hours. These moments are my escape, and I do not want to make them into a cause of stress by making them anything more.
So not that anyone wanted or needed to know, but I thought I would let y’all know cause the walking dead season 2 is downloading and I have fuck all to do until it’s finished. If you read this far you have won a crippling sense of longing for the time you just wasted where you achieved absolutely nothing.
good day all, and remember though it might not be at this moment.
My wit, sir or madam…
is indeed, legendary!
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The one time I don’t take that extra five minutes… The one fucking time.
That was pretty much the last reasonable thought that went through my head while this cunt in the ski mask held a blade to my throat. He had the point on my Adams apple, twisting it round, toying with me. All the while a “Nixon” was cutting the straps to my bag, making an effort to cut chest slightly, he made it clear I was in no position to fuck with them.
Just 5 more minutes in bed the next twat to walk under this bridge would have been the mark.
"Slice-and-dice" was all i heard in my head as my bag hit the ground. What a stupid thought, comics, of all the things that should be going through my head.
I guess I figured I would react the same, egg them on, taunt them back, do something stupid in the hope they either kill me quickly or pussy out. But every fiber in my body knew it was stupid, I actually tried it but couldn’t move. Despite what I thought I do fear death.
I find myself begging for this to be a twisted nightmare.
I guessed they figured my bag had nothing of real value cause I was slightly aware of them grabbing and pulling on every pocket I had, where again, they found nothing.
Ski mask had the blade just under my jaw now, he was shouting in my face but I couldn’t hear a word. I couldn’t hear anything over the fear. I could barely see him standing 6 inches in front of me. “Nixon” was gone, apart from his hand coming out from the blackness trying to pull Ski mask away.
Any minute now my phone will ring, asking why I’m late.
But he was having none of it. He knew he should just walk away, find a new spot and wait for the next mark. But he was furious beyond comprehension, especially his own. He needed to draw blood, and I was full of it.
I’m still waiting for the smell of burnt toast and bad coffee.
I feel my eyes force themselves shut and when I open them again all I see is red, though I can’t work out where from.
The milkman’s bottles clinking against their steel cage?
I break my nose as I hit the ground, I can taste the Iron and I start to piece it together.
The seagulls are usually fighting loud enough to alarm me…
I feel no pain, no panic, no urgency.
My subconscious screams to be awake
I feel only fear, all consuming fear…
Nothing at all.
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I have seen the smiles of those not yet reborn in misery, and I have wondered when they will be baptised in the waters of disappointment.
For, you see, my prophet is one of false hope and deception. And he serves the holy spirit of misfortune and cataclysm.
I see these people and wonder how long it will be until they become lost in their anguish, trapped in a storm of turmoil
I wonder what my false prophet will promise them then,
I wonder how long he will keep them in dismay,
I wonder of they’ll have the strength to see the light
I have seen the smiles of those not yet reborn on misery, nor baptised in the waters of disappointment.
I used to consider warning them of what’s to come, but their happiness seemed so genuine.
And, after all, ignorance is bliss.
…And it wouldn’t save them anyway.
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Chicken wings get cold. You stay hot
N, digging himself out of a hole with T. Like a mother fucking legend.
YOUR SHOVEL SIR, IS LEGANDARY!
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And you should all shower me in praise and odes.
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