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  <title>If everything in life is an illusion</title>
  <subtitle>then I paid way to much for this carpet.</subtitle>
  <author>
    <name>shanghilil</name>
  </author>
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  <updated>2005-07-17T08:31:17Z</updated>
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    <id>urn:lj:livejournal.com:atom1:shanghilil:844</id>
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    <title>shanghilil @ 2005-03-26T05:21:00</title>
    <published>2005-03-26T13:33:22Z</published>
    <updated>2005-07-17T08:31:17Z</updated>
    <content type="html">In theory, she was the most selfless, self-possessing, self-composing, hypnotic and symbiotic individual I'd ever come across.&lt;br&gt;
&lt;br&gt;
So much so, that I left my famous folder of important information on
top of my car, for it all to blow into the streaming highway.&lt;br&gt;
&lt;br&gt;
To think, how I snubbed love. Snubbed myself into a comfortable
relationship with a very apathetic man, so apathetic that he didn't
even care that I was a lesbian. I was his little snafu, as he was mine.
&lt;br&gt;
&lt;br&gt;
I suppose I could rant on about this. I'm so terribly inspired by this
thing, this....pathetic thing. It's just a thing, just another normal
variance in&amp;nbsp; a relationship. Dear god, if I could sum up my life
as bare foot and gestational, I'd die. I would, to save you the
dramatics.&lt;br&gt;
&lt;br&gt;
I like color.&lt;br&gt;
&lt;br&gt;
So I colored. I fucked this girl senseless, made it beautiful. She had
kind eyes that people of all types were drawn to, despite her
steatypygas hips, her short and boyish hair, her lack of words. And too
many are inspired by her. As am I. Ha.&lt;br&gt;</content>
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