the ginger beer made by the brasserie du Lièvre Mont-Laurier according to the Château Lausanne's original recipe is frankly excellent. it fits the present moment like a glove. i just came out of a math exam, which i can appropriately say i raped, and this beer's clean, simple complexion is a just remuneration for the two (sic) grueling hours of study i had to endure in order to deliver the aforementioned treatment to this math exam.
laurent can be seen to the far left. he is hairy. very hairy.
try this beer after something mathematic. it will fit, i promise.
it's been about a month now that at any given moment in dorm, an incessant, nagging noise can be heard originating from the arena below my window. imagine a guy trying to start an old buick on a really cold winter day, never actually starting it: only getting the crappy ignition noise. then imagine someone mikes that noise, runs in through an amp plugged to 4000W speakers, and plays around with volume and pitch knobs. 24-7.
i might hate the idea of being financially engaged to the multiple components of the automobile industry by means of ownership of a motor vehicle, but subconsciously, that noise really makes me wish i had a car. that starts.
and if i had one tomorrow, here's the first song i would play on the speakers.
Tive razão Posso falar Não foi legal, não pegou bem Que vontade de chorar, dói Em pensar que ela não vem, só dói Mas pra mim tá tranquilo, eu vou zuar O clima é de partida, vou dar sequência na minha vida E de bobeira é que eu não estou, E você sabe como é que é, eu vou Mas poderei voltar quando você quiser. ô ô ô ô ô ô ô ô, lá lá lá... Demorô vai ser melhor
ou (traduction chancelante) : J'avais raison Je peux parler Ce n'était pas cool, pas bien Oh quel désir de pleurer, de penser au fait qu'elle ne viendra pas, ça ne fait que mal Mais pour moi, c'est ok!, je me fâcherai L'atmosphère est au renouveau, je continuerai ma vie Et je ne suis vraiment pas puérile Et tu sais comment c'est, je partirai Mais je peux revenir quand tu le voudras ô ô ô ô ô ô ô ô, la la la ... Plus tard ce sera mieux...
a day is so only what you make of it so lose the gunned ashen pallidness and indulge flow light into strangled corpses so as to make them shine with a bulge
a moment is so only whether you grasp it shake it like a tree full of dead leaves and decay so as to hold the rain of indifference yours and gather the mulch
watch for great gusts of illusory free will they'll carry you o'er the cockamamie watch for sweet ladders of love, but still...
a day is so only what you make of it so lose the gunned ashen pallidness and indulge flow light into strangled corpses so as to make them shine with a bulge
