Lost in the Woods....

'm sitting here listening to slow jams from RICHARD MARX and STEVIE WONDER and i'm just daydream...about what? just picturing one of these songs in a movie having one of those really sappy and breathtaking scenes : )

I'm real sap...bare with me (hope you guys aren't freaking out lol)

But ya...I sometimes picture myself in a movie and then out of nowhere I bump into my true love...kinda like a Romeo and Juliet moment...errr i'm really getting weird : S

Ya i'm going to stop there. If you want to hear more about this with me, talk to me about it hahaha you'll laugh your head off but *sigh* oh how romantic : ) i'm still waiting on my boo : P

"and you and i were meant to be, and you would know, i was sure by the end of this song"


But if you want to learn about 'true love' read the oh-so-famous chapter about love, 1 corinthians 13.... and I guess I have a lot to learn. Don't get it twisted! Love ain't so real until you read this chapter.(thts wat a wise guy says) Love your parents, your friends, and everything God has given to you. Don't take it for granted.

Later shorties. I'm out.

1 cor. 13:13 - "And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."

Ripped Jeans...

Karl Marx’s dad was a banker. He loved the mark, adored the dollar, pondered of the pound. His main interest was the interest rate; he could hardly contain himself when he counted up his capital. Karl, the son of a banker, banked his all on a capitalist fall.

It never came. A socialist science doesn’t need to theorize greed. Motor-sport; who owns it; what makes it run? Remove the cigarette money, and the wind no longer puffs your sails. Associate smoking with risk taking petrol-heads, the speed-demons of the track; ‘Smoking Kills’ is now inhaled for the thrills and spills. A fast life requires an expensive habit; a certain style needs a specific brand.

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v600/krsnafreestyler/jeans.gif


Weathered jeans worn through on the factory floor; skin peeking out, breeze blowing through. ‘Excuse me, would you knock some money off these jeans, they look to be in a pretty bad shape?’ Thin at the knees, weak at the back, falling to bits on the changing room rack. ‘That’s the look Sir, the high prize of fashion.’ Your next motor will be at the cutting edge of fashion, delivered with a bald tyre, to match that worn look. Go on, smack through every fourth wall in your house, rugged and weathered is the style.

Do we beat our parents through rebellion; accept cancer as a friend, and follow a defective trend, just because we must.

“Every generation laughs at the old fashions, but follows religiously the new.”