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loves: art, avoiding activity, black and white photography/pictures, pirates, fantasy books, mohawks, chocolate, wodka, animals, animal rights, second-hand clothing, livejournal, philosophy, cabaret, discussions, dreads, concerts, movies, ireland, irish punk, nepal, russia, tattoos, piercings, literature, politics, punk, ska, vegetariens, accents.. more
fightclub, the young ones, pirates of the carribean, sex and the city, will and grace, a clockwork orange, monthy python.. more..
I am the all-singing, all-dancing crap of this world..
dropkick murphy's, alice in chains, madness, coldplay, rancid, radiohead, tori amos, cake, flogging molly, guano apes, ramones, sex pistols, the clash, the distillers.. more..
I've met God across his long walnut desk with his diplomas hanging on the wall behind him, and God asks me, "Why?" Why did I cause so much pain? Didn't I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness? Can't I see how we're all manifestations of love? I look at God behind his desk, taking notes on a pad, but God's got this all wrong. We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens. And God says, "No, that's not right." Yeah. Well. Whatever. You can't teach God anything.