Post 450.


I like to think of myself as graffiti, a culture collage, embarrassment, and New York. It's all so urban, city-chic, so cafe on a street in Paris, or Boston, or a beach bar in California and the statue of liberty, so New York City Cab or London Taxi.


I just want to travel.


It's so hard for me to express myself in Chinese. I'd call it experimental, the way I dab about in stuff and breeze over a mediocre essay. It's simple - I merely don't care. It's like I don't give a damn because I know I have my sweet English to hang on to, when all else falls, but I still don't trust it because I haven't tested out every bar of English yet. I could just, like Mufasta, hang on to the wrong type of hope and collapse anyway into the stampede.


But I shall stick to English, and photography, and dancing, and singing, because if I still have my pen, my camera, my feet and my voice, I shall enjoy life to its last breath till I dance on into death, or heaven, or -god forbid- the next life.


Now, that's an interesting thought. Life dying, instead of us dying.


Fictionpress Romance is crappy because it's all mediocre writers. It's rather rare, if you find a good, decent beautiful non-cliche story that melts or freezes all your emotions into one place and keeps it there, and when the story ends the ice all melts and it's like your emotions are newly born, bare to the world for the first time, and to relish the novelty of it, it all starts pouring out and maybe you start crying.


Manipulation isn't all that difficult, but it's not easy either.


Wannamaker had his dreams, and I have mine, and they're not fragile, so don't worry.