the essence of idea is the invention of want. When I am alone it is my thoughts and time that be the only consistent companions to my ire. It would surprise you that my genius, if you will be kind enough to grant me the title for a short while, is the culmination of a putrid heart and mind capable of a guilt free zone just once in a while and long enough to be useful.
I am such. I am corrupt, capable and charming. These three will take you far, but the real glue comes in the education to be able to know what to do with it all. And I refuse to sit down and think to myself foolishly that I am as great as I ever will be. That statement is rarely true and as I keep absorbing new information and ideas, I keep perfecting my craft, even if it's a corrupt piece of entertainment. There's no denying that it is entertaining or that it has a certain taste it can leave in one's mouth. Lord knows and the fates chuckle on more than one occasion when I dare to visit my own writ at a later date to find I ask myself just what the hell I was thinking. And the other days when I know for sure I hit pay-dirt in a sense. Tonight I will lay my head down and allow my mind the disturbed thoughts most shun and awaken refilled with new inventions and creations of disdain or joy (we both know which one I have the most proclivity for~giggles) and will present to you another hilariously dark look into the chaos that is the mind of mobiuschic (your mobe)...~mobe's love to her all and her all to her loves.
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