often trance

[2vt8c2p4]

few days ago, in the shopping space several friends read the article on the network, that makes sense. When returned to their own world, she felt a soft spot for the network are also considered, and some understanding and feeling.

you can do day and night and the network is relatively, but in fact you're just killing time and loneliness. Network this stuff sometimes like a bubble floating on the water is too shallow, can not touch the soul. Looking back three years ago, just access to the Internet, Chuxian Shi dazzling downtown, and then disperse light,dre beats, getting a little tired,beats by dre, because the network is too complex. All along, I do not like to chat online, often hidden the body placed on a song, and then go to the article. See other people,beats by dre, but also to see their own. Sometimes moved a little reflections on the left, just look at most of the time, was secretly comments.

on the network, you can see, you can think,beats de dre, can go to memory,Polo Ralph Lauren, can be to believe, but do not try to have. It was a world of nothingness, nothing really belongs to you.

network there are too many places to go, there are too many things you can do too many songs can be heard, there are too many games to play. But I do not want to. Where not to go, do nothing. Do not want to hear, not want to play.

why can I access it? While away spare time and loneliness.

Whether you happy or sad, whether you're old or young, whether you're bored, or full, you can go online. But you can not be alone.

network can make happy people sad, so sad people happy; also allows more happy people happy, so sad people are more sad. But it only makes people more lonely lonely.

I know, I read the article, whether online or write essays, but found themselves waiting or missed.

see the QQ space,casque beats, the blog articles are constantly updated, often trance, feel like ghosts, floating in a world not his own. It was a very complex world, it can not like it, it does not make me really happy. Although only one person can make a man sad, but only one person can make a man happy.

network is walking on thin ice, foam on the dance.

Perhaps, in the face of the Internet but not to speak against the heart, as long as that heart is hot, we have expectations. The desire to have hope, you will also lonely and alone? Because there is a love, will be accompanied by loneliness and desolation of life in the fearless forward ......

【幽默篇】一条错误短信引发的601个电话

6.公交车上




The driver clambered into his seat, clicked his tongue, and we went downhill. The brake squeaked horribly from time to time. At the foot he eased off the noisy mechanism and said, turning half round on his box--
"We shall see some more of them by-and-by."
"More idiots? How many of them are there, then?" I asked.
"There's four of them--children of a farmer near Ploumar here. . . . The parents are dead now," he added, after a while. "The grandmother lives on the farm. In the daytime they knock about on this road, and they come home at dusk along with the cattle. . . . It's a good farm."
We saw the other two: a boy and a girl, as the driver said. They were dressed exactly alike, in shapeless garments with petticoat-like skirts. The imperfect thing that lived within them moved those beings to howl at us from the top of the bank, where they sprawled amongst the tough stalks of furze. Their cropped black heads stuck out from the bright yellow wall of countless small blossoms. The faces were purple with the strain of yelling; the voices sounded blank and cracked like a mechanical imitation of old people's voices; and suddenly ceased when we turned into a lane.
I saw them many times in my wandering about the country. They lived on that road, drifting along its length here and there, according to the inexplicable impulses of their monstrous darkness. They were an offence to the sunshine, a reproach to empty heaven, a blight on the concentrated and purposeful vigour of the wild landscape. In time the story of their parents shaped itself before me out of the listless answers to my questions, out of the indifferent words heard in wayside inns or on the very road those idiots haunted. Some of it was told by an emaciated and sceptical old fellow with a tremendous whip, while we trudged together over the sands by the side of a two-wheeled cart loaded with dripping seaweed. Then at other times other people confirmed and completed the story: till it stood at last before me, a tale formidable and simple, as they always are, those disclosures of obscure trials endured by ignorant hearts.