I've known sadness. Tonight, I had something from my past thrown in my face . . . But ultimately, life is not happening to us; it's responding to what we do and how we go about doing it . . .
We welcome the Crowns of Belgium and Lesotho as referrees. Welcome to the official record of the ancient fight between ancestors. I am your host, Kote. Today, we will look into the innevitable historical clash between King Moshoeshoe I and King Shaka Zulu, which would have inevitably taken place as we explore below. First, a PSA. #PSAstarts "I am making my declaration of eviction serving notice arrangement public so that the IcA may cringe, because they know who I am, and how far I'm prepared to go # IsvaraParamAtma Bhagavan # PerTerraASangui neAdIdenti level magick on them." #PSAend. So, my name is attached to landmass in the minelands, where dwell 482 (growing estimate) grown ups who are my Grandmother's people, literally, because the landmass used to be a part of Basotholand until 1868, when our king annexed his cousins (my grandmother's grandfather # KoteJacobusMont oedi when he was a boyman of 5-8 yrs of age). Now, le...
In love, there is. This is the secret. To love is to be, and to be is to love. So be with love, said the snowman. The carrot just stood there. The oreo went twist, lick, dunk, and the whole wide western world stayed drunk. In the east, in the night, they found delight. In time, there is only the present. In the present, there is only love. And love is boring most times. And that's the best part. In boring times, you're challenged to get creative and find the very best that will come out of whatever it is you're bored with doing in the loving present. So be present. The words to describe how he made her feel were fickle, mumbled blubbering by a madman. There was never the right thing to say. Chris sat beside Crystal as she lay sleeping, wondering where her spirit roamed. His own soon wanders too; deep into his own cavernous pools of universal knowledge, through the fabrics of space and time, to a memory distant yet always within thought's reach. There had been anoth...
There is this movie; a movie about a man who wrote a book about a writer who found a book. The book which the writer had found was written by an old war-veteran; but he had not known this when he submitted it as his own. The writer of the book, the writer in the book and the old man all share one thing in common: they are all writers. Each had a story, and each story lead them to the craft. Each story began with love; and each ends with heartache and tears. I am a writer, and I too have one such story. It began at the end of an adventure I wished would never end. Like many others who had walked this path, I learned the hard way that love - the purest and strongest source of inspiration - can also be the most cursed. I fell in love with an idea; and the idea was beautiful. It was the idea of laying in bed beside the woman who kept my heart beating. It was the idea of waking up to my favourite dream every morning; the one where it's her lips that breathé life into my own at every ...
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