ever wonder what the dichotomy of
a private "life"
    and a public personna looks
like,
             while having the "problem"
of having had *** in
a brothel: because of
            the monopoly stinge of anglo
****-**** (as lady gaga whimpers
out the words)...
     and al fresco ***?
               there is a point where
flirtation becomes a manifestation
of sadism:
    on the basis of tempting
with the casual,
               but never having
invested in
                     the long-term...
      then again, i don't mind the latter
scenario being dealt with
   as a solo "adventure":
   it's only the temptation by
an illusion of casual consent
that bothers me,
   as if the too could ever be
                                 translated.