So you're riding in this car, and you feel this kind of feeling. Like the wind is softly caressing your skin as curtains drawn over a freshly opened window on a spring day, blowing in soft spurts up and down your skin, subtely undulating to the ryhtym of natures heartbeat in harmony with your own. At a stop sign, it's second nature to stick your cigarette out the window and flick, but at full speeds you should have known. You should have known that the sheer movement all in one direction would be enough to wipe that ash straight away, revealing a new and beautiful burning ember, bursting with life and oxygen, beckoning up at you with the long lost pleasures of your most recent inhalation of life into those black heavy lungs. You stop to think and realize that life, with it's many shortcomings and speed car races, is a mysterious enigma, with an ultimate prize when you solve the puzzle.



But that last puzzle piece, oh how elusive it remains over the years. Be it love? Or loss? Perhaps musical inebriation or an exceptionally deep relative conversation with a complete stranger. The kind that leads to dancing eyes and an incredible variation of ****** expressions that you hadn't even thought possible from the tiny muscles below your cheeks, pulling the strings from somwehere up above to show you the right complexion to wear at any given moment or pause.



I still think that love must have something to do with it. More intoxicating than the ripest wine from the most exotic vineyard. More majestic and mystifying than the school bus ride with your fresh smelling brand new pleather/plastic superhero backpack and matching shoes on your first day of school back in 1995. More powerful and tumultuous, yet unpredictably moving, than the first time it hit you like a ton of bricks remembering in mid adulthood that some place, some where in time, you had a real home, with a real family, with real holiday tradtitions to celebrate and commiserate about each and every year, but that's all gone and done for. Yes, love must be involved some how, the invariably escapable little *****. She must be hiding somwhere amongst the tree lines and leaves, the rivers and valleys, the shooting stars and comet tails brightening the dull black of night. Yes. She must be somewhere.

Maria Yuryevna Sharapove
Cuantos amore y tu?
De Donde eres?
Soy de Estados Unidos, un poco en la Florida.
Es muy bonita aqui, Yo pasar vivir en Tampa, FL.
Currente en Orlando, FL.
Sus ojos me gusto muchas.
El feo es muy beauty-full.
Las flores de unas manifestaciones have certainly done their NUMB3r on me.
Die.
Fur.
Ewigkeit.
eternity.
Everlasting.
eruptions.
Elliter­ation eh?
wet Yet?
I bet you sweat for a Poet?
I certainly hope you adore an actor.
I beumse you to be a mused by musicians musing over you alone.
Marriage isnt so tough when you I toughed it out this long.
Have Your Veins ever felt like Runaways?
Meow.
Me, OWWW?!
(;
peace//love
X//0
sugarpova?
sharapova?
more like supernoavs!
excuse me
supernovae
eh?
I could do this alllllllll day (:
Wuv youuuu
Lov u?
I wish I knew russian
Yuryevna is the only world I need to understand.
The sun swirled my whole life
Arent you the sun incarnate
and
immaculate of course.
we gloridifed all the benches
killed all the 'rockstars'
I Am augustus, antony, another one?
it goes on
ad infinitum.
I have a perfect soul.
So do you.

'I want you to notice when Im not around. You're so very specialllll :(

I wish I was Special

But Im a 'creep?
Your the creep!

Your the ******.
But its okay
I like 'Polka" dots.
Ill 'CRUCIFY' you wink any ******* time you want. BELIEVE ME.
Now
Testify

Run
Run
Run
RUŃÑŃ Uhm
Are we done yet?
Nope

"Whatever makes you happy, whatever you want, a child as soon as possible of course. Youre beaitful. The most beautiful princess a 'prince' of 'peace' could corrupt. (;

Lets Let Love LIE, Live.

Everything in its right place Maria.
I know Im a Tangential Thinker, diagnosed by Grace itself.

Ive been through prison, kail, solitary confinement.

and guess what

it wasn't all for you
but it was and i never knew

My lost lenore.
Quoth the Raven.
ALWAYS.

Miss Sharapova can groan
as loud as a fighter jet
today she made Henin sweat
but Roland Garros is still a no-fly zone.

I'd have Kyra Sedgewick's face as the face,
a combination of the bodies of Kathryn McPhee and Serena Williams as the body,
the wardrobe of Martha Quinn the old MTV personality broadcaster
Kylee Harting
the personality of Lucille Ball,
the character of Jane Addam, perhaps, the founder of Social Work in old time Chicago
the voice of Caila Ali
the sense of humor of Phyllis Diller,
the posture of Condaleeza Rice
the leadership ability of Elizabeth Warren
the lifestyle of either Monica the soul singer or Janet Jackson
and then name her Kyra Williams in honor of Kyra and Serena
plus the creativity of the know by some - black poets Nikki Giovanni
and the athleticism of pro tennis player (ex) Jennifer Capriati
with a little of pro tennis player Maria Sharapova

Why? Why do you hate?
A boy who works in the garage,
And a drunkard who comes home late?

And but Why? why do you love?
Sharapova and the glittering taste of all beautiful stuffs?

And but why? Why do you want?
To be so great and disprove your own little self?

And thus why? Why do you need?
To understand the very necessity of greed?
And there fore, perhaps to rectify the very meaning of grief?

And then why? Why do you live?
To gather the surplus production of rotten beliefs?

Have you asked yourself? To not to walk behind the blind?
Have you seen a clown all naked and shouting at nine?
Have you got drunk and washed your eyes to see and not to blink?
You must, and you should but ask questions to think.

Take the meaning of roads not taken,
Insert the potency of life and liberty.
And how would you do all these?
Would you Listen to the beatings of your heart, please?