Breaking To Pieces.

Beautiful. One, two, here we go...

H-I-A-T-U-S

I thought these would enteratain you for a while.

Code : Thank you for the template. Where do I send the vada pav?

Rex Venom : He can stimulate every bit of what you can call yours. Be warned, you will be back with tight nipples and a craving for more exoticness

Transience : Her legs are wide open but you could never touch her. Just a-w-e.

Ashes : A head-trip in a 24 year old body.

La Surrealiste : Every bit surreal, every damned bit.

Zofo : You ought to check the words once you finish admiring the pictures underneath. And thats where all the words come from, right-down-there

Dlak : He could tell you what could be a potential name for a band.

The Saturnyne : Wicked coffee-drinking funny guy.

Vikas Kaul : The current-affairs man. Makes up for all the newspaper politics you didnt read.

Esoteric Wombat : All you would want to about Yankees and he's got an amazing comic linkage on the right.

Tim : Makes Hegel seem right with his simplicity.

Anil : The icing always cometh the last here.

RUSH

It grew in the arms of lavender tinged bubbles and red glass bangles-a beauty that only stupid stupefaction could appreciate to full extents. And on its tiny fluctuations a hand fell, its curious little fingers tickling the innards till they broke their own fragile bodies breaking to uncontrolled, shrill laughter. And then the beautiful glass bangles broke into ugly red stories, unwanted progeny of mesmerizing magnificence…

His webbed fingers pointed at the sun-smeared sky with a threat to break it just the same way; a vile promise. And then he began with the daily business of whispering to the statue with restlessly moving eyes. His goggles covered over half his face and the other half he forced to unending activity, the old pink lips moving with a fish-like rapidity. The skin and bones statue would not speak, his mouth surrounded by a white stubble trying in vain to hide his secrets-sorrow of not being able to earn for his family, a parched lip pouting with the need for food and the stiff upper lip cut to half its size on being charmingly honest even deep under this pit. The pair of dark glasses stared at me; unfocused and almost there, my eyes stay still, threatening for a next move from under their half mast behind fogged frames when the siren announces the end of the war, even before it began.
Red lips move closer to my ears, wafting with them a putrid smell of decaying fishes before my eyes ward them away. Her cheap orange lipstick opens and closes ricocheting words, which my curled brown lips promise to pay no heed to. She smiles her whorish smile, her ample breast jumping up and down in amusement or need for attention. The apple enters her mouth and she sets about masticating with a primitive manner, the orange now smeared on the white innards of the innocent apple and beyond the confines of her huge lips, a poisoned purple now sickly growing under the coats of sunlight lips. And then I let my eyes close, a million voices to play from yesterdays notes, promising myself never to stay awake travelling second class.