I simply can't believe it. Someone on Xanga seemingly cares enough about me to assume a highly suggestive identity-trapping of mine (my last name, Schwelgien) and go on a mission directed from God, or as least, the Blues Brothers' Mother Superior, on my behalf.
What mission you ask?
Well, take sonotcool's read on this:
What can I say?
1) I deny nothing.
2) I admit nothing.
3) Those who have ever had a need to know, always knew firsthand from me personally.
4) Those who never had a real need to know...
a) knew anyways because they were either
i) psychic, or
ii) attuningly ever-so female (same thing)
b) didn't know, but probably didn't (and don't) care anyway.
What constitutes 'a need to know'? Ha! You might better ask: Is life better served or enslaved in being bound to the exigent continuum? Or: If a beautiful question doesn't have a beautiful answer, is a better-than-a-bad-boy-answer an appropriate improvisation?
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