Here in the veins of Europa, I hear only shrill shouts of Schumann, of the grandfather builders who surely baked a sixty-pointed ideal of the Old Continent, where ferments the birthplaces of modern taste, zeal, liberty, anarchy, and rule, foaming at the brim as the brunettes and blondes and black-haired copulate in an orgy of oratory of untested words and pubescent phrases, as if they made the etiquette of the world, determining war, food, animals, science, broadcast from the skyscraping pedestal of lauding self-history, because the heart of the west reaches its tentacled arteries out in its curious cultural wave chopping through crude conservatism and religion, forcing the saline ink dry from alcohol to struggle into the cavernous words “We believe” carved in Roman type into my skin.
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If you ask us, since the announcement of her twin pregnancy, Zoe Saldana can do no wrong. She’s stylish as usual, embracing her new growing bump beautifully. 71 more words