TERESA TENG CONQUERS JAPAN {and all points to the east}
In 2008 Teresa would've been 55;
Elvis would've been 73.
2 + 0 + 0 + 8 = 10
        5 + 5 = 10
        7 + 3 = 10
When Elvis died at age 42, Teresa was 24
When Teresa died at 42, Elvis would've been 60
4 + 2 = 6
6 + 0 = 6
Singers Elvis Presley and Taiwan-born Teresa Teng were super-stars and shared things from a numerological perspective:
Elvis Presley was born in 1935: 1 + 9 + 3 + 5 = 18
Teresa Teng was born in 1953: 1 + 9 + 5 + 3 = 18
They were born approximately 18 years apart.
...& they died approximately 18 years apart.
They died at 42-years-old.
When Elvis was 42
Teresa Teng was 24
When Elvis was 20
Teresa Teng was 02
Elvis & Teresa were born in January:
Elvis on the 8th; Teresa on the 29th
Elvis Presley died in 1977: 1 + 9 + 7 + 7 = 24
Teresa Teng died in 1995: 1 + 9 + 9 + 5 = 24
{Of course, reverse 24 and arrive at 42.}
In 2008:
Elvis Presley has been dead 31 years
Teresa Teng " " " 13 years
In 2009 Elvis would be 74-yrs.-old.: 7 + 4 = 11
In 2009 Teresa " " 56 " " : 5 + 6 = 11
And of course the year 2008: 2 + 0 + 0 + 8 = 10
In 2010 Elvis would be 75: 7 + 5 = 12 (2 + 1 = 3)
In 2010 T. T. would be 57: 5 + 7 = 12 (2 + 1 = 3)
Yr. 2010: 2 + 0 + 1 + 0 = 3
In 2011 Elvis will have been dead 34 yrs.
3 + 4 = 7
Teresa Teng: 16 yrs.
1 + 6 = 7

Little child, be not afraid
The rain pounds harsh against the glass
Like an unwanted stranger
There is no danger
I am here tonight

Little child
Be not afraid
Though thunder explodes
And lightning flash
Illuminates your tearstained face
I am here tonight

And someday you'll know
That nature is so
This same rain that draws you near me
Falls on rivers and land
And forests and sand
Makes the beautiful world that you see
In the morning

Little child
Be not afraid
The storm clouds mask your beloved moon
And its candlelight beams
Still keep pleasant dreams
I am here tonight

Little child
Be not afraid
The wind makes creatures of our trees
And the branches to hands
They're not real, understand
And I am here tonight

And someday you'll know
That nature is so
This same rain that draws you near me
Falls on rivers and land
And forest and sand
Makes the beautiful world that you see
In the morning

For you know, once even I
Was a little child
And I was afraid
But a gentle someone always came
To dry all my tears
Trade sweet sleep the fears
And to give a kiss goodnight

Well, now I am grown
And these years have shown
Rain's a part of how life goes
But it's dark and it's late
So I'll hold you and wait
'til your frightened eyes do close

And I hope that you'll know
That nature is so
This same rain that draws you near me
Falls on rivers and land
And forests and sand
Makes the beautiful world that you see
In the morning

Everything's fine in the morning
The rain will be gone in the morning
But I'll still be here in the morning

.let's begin: i've been watching youtube haemorrhage over the past few years (4 / 5 in total) and... i do still enjoy the sort of cabaret weimar associated with criticalcondition when comapred to beanie hat tim pool... sorry: i just like a bit of cabaret, i know that comedy is translated in the western lands by stand-up monologues, but in germany and poland: cabaret is the toy assurance to compensate the justifications for theatre or opera... i like criticalcondition, trans-, ******: my my, how did the chemistry prefixes of attachement groups of a benzene ring overpower bio-realism? imagine a blocked toilet in terms of hinduism / buddhism in terms of the metaphysics of reincarnation... well: metaphysics by their great culinary understanding implies: a return to the same debacle, perhaps only slightly elevated... we have already reached a post- gott ist tot scenario of metaphysics... gott is quiet apparent, since the ancient greeks believed that "shamed" men would come back as women: now? the women did a shortcut... they said: tod ist tot... wouldn't that be the case? a blocked toilet, well... if god has to die first, then death itself has to die, ergo: tod ist tot! ha ha... imagine... to think of the glamorous concept of eastern theology as nothing more than a plumber's day-shift... looks like the toilet is blocked... since... men are not spawning into female form after death, instead, deciding to spawn back into male form with a female "brain"... who is that god of mischief in hinduism? oh... look! Aditi! well it's not an isolated case, is it? i once picked up a thai surprise from a park bench, played her some jazz, ****** her in the garden... bangkok ladyboys are the duran duran of 1980s electro-puppy-pop! once god dies, death follows suit... after all... death is (a) shadow of (the) god... blocked toilet metaphysics, all the brahmin as running wild, naked, psychotic: but the lesser men were not supposed to know they were reborn into female bodies, there was that safety net in place to: let them reincarnate with an amnesia principle! what's happening?! the women are raiding up the ranks?! contrapoints compared to tim pool? sorry beanie-boy... you're not the beastie... quiet... i'd love to b.j. that make-up off from contrapoints... problem being... i love when a ****** speaks so much sense... but... hands... i find a woman's hands too be the most ****** aspect of her body... 4/5... that's a fraction... for my five knuckles in terms of hand size, ***** "envy" and what my five knuckles look like to a woman's 4? you get the picture... there is also another fraction... 72 genders?! wha-?! i see gender in the 3/2 fraction... a woman can satisfy three men... the ****, the **** the mouth... a man... can only satisfy 2... the **** and the mouth... oh... wait... 3/3... someone can be giving him a b.j. while he's giving him a b.j..... it's still a blockage of reincarnation though... the greeks believed the lesser man was to be reborn in a "lesser" body... ****, i always forget how the ratio works... i always think: 1 man has 3 options of entry, 3 women have 1 point of entry each... but fraction is wonky though... in that... a woman can entertain three variations of entry: mouth, ****, ****... but a man has to entertain two points of entry and one point of insertion... so the fraction still stands at 3/2... which makes the islamic celestial harem nonsense... unless equipped with an exess of res extensa ****** to satiate the hunger of 72 virgins... a ****** gambit if you ask me... 72 virgins sounds more like a headache than what Solomon forsake in owning for the queen of Shēba... king! Solomon! after all the *******, enough wisdom suddenly trickled into his head, and he chose the route of the monogamy of birds! mind you: whatever wisdom king! Solomon ever had to begin with... i would still favor king David... i like a man with a distrust of women and having an unadulterated desire for music as second to none medicinal property to cure existential ailments; i tried *******, no good... sure, great exercise... esp. with prostitutes... but an in depth analysis of the perpetuated banality of life and how to learn to masquerade it behind a veil of seemingly banal? a harem will not help, but music will. even nietzsche understood this... criticalcondition: i do actually fancy him it her they... she does have that: je ne sais quoi air... weimar cabaret "revised"... not quiet the switz cabaret dada voltaire... but all i know is the number of holes of points of insertion and the fact that i have hands the size that could hold a basketball in one... and how... oh, wow! i really came late to the asian fetish party late... here, have some grenades! **** ying, cat meng, na mu han, you mi, ni ye teng, ai sayama, hoshina mizuki, ayaka noda, (l)im ji hye, lie fei er, (barbie) ke er... ergo? this whole asian fetish scene? am i looking at dolls? i'm not even sure... am i white, by comparison to these procelain babushkas?! i'm not white: orange man bad! i thought so too: i'm... piglet! the i'm not white: these girls are... and the funny thing is, the "funny" thing, is? i don't have to see much more beside the cleavage or the ******* or the thighs to... hey! i'm a late bloomer to this asiatic fetish... side-tracked by the european transgender ******* and the thai surprise ladyboys... what is **** what isn't ****: that, really depends on how much you rely on your imagination... if a sight of white, porcelain cleavage gets you off... who the hell needs the whole "show"... after all... even the niqab is a game on how to arouse the male libido... it's pretty hard to be aroused by a fully exposed female torso like some maasai ivory beauty... then the "said" objects are more functional and designated for feeding purposes... than ***** *******... aren't they?! oh i can see a revision of the niqab... imagine this in saudi arabia... both the eyes are not hidden from view, as isn't the mouth! batman 2."oh"... oh i don't like these new communists in the west... white... priv. who, that japanese?! i'm not white, i said it already and i'll say it again: i'm not a porcelain doll! talk to the **** about white privilege... they're the ones with milk veils... my "white privilege" is only associated to having blond hair, green or blue eyes... it has nothing to do with... skin!

i’m suspicious of the ones that say: without telling the truth
we can moralise, by not stating the truth
we can allow ourselves falsehood in the prime
instinct to provide replicas of ourselves
without truth of two subject interacting,
but merely the truth of two objects interacting
reducible into the dwarf of darwinism
that speaks: over-sexualise and feel less encountered
by understanding the opposite!
so much is true in this era - with the english poodle
waggling in frenzies for the americans to spectate and applaud...
i’ve had to become a german in england,
the sort that might be liked by nietzschean arrogance,
but apart from that i’m working on how
certain people simply use words rather than letters,
how they can never use the shovels and pickaxes,
how this congregation of atheists at comic stand-up shows
is doing my head in: a theological mid-life crises,
this blatant take on theology using the logic:
from monkey you came, to monkeying you shall return...
now that trends like the crown all animals have,
all animals already unique do not need to replicate consciously,
but man is stumbling into wasting his conscious on replication,
on plagiarism... it’s so odd... so so odd! why would man
waste his consciousness to simply invoke replication?
where’s the self in that, the anti-frankenstein story so powerful
he does not wish to do anything other than marvel at
the connectivity of the bone to the nerve to the muscle?
the 20th century gave birth militant atheism -
the 21st century is labouring with a different kind of atheism -
the sort of atheism that says no barriers exist between master and servant
as between worm and pigeon - even though
the depression of the master is opposed to the servant’s depression
that he only spots analogues within the framework of
synonymity with other masters... ‘why are we so depressed?’
asked master a, ‘i have no idea,’ answered master b over lunch.
in the lower decks of the ship servant a says to servant b -
- ‘god, i rowed all day long, i’m so ****** tired!
no thought will keep me awake.’
- ‘that’s true, i’m knackered also, broken limbs of my effort
like a chestnut, no thought will keep me awake either,
lucky we exhaust the body.’
- ‘too true, with the body exhausted the mind is never disputed
never disputed by not having origins in thinking
but rather having origins in the body.’
- ‘verily, i rather our fate than the masters’ fate.’
- ‘why?’
- ‘as you said, our’s is the story of ****** demands,
their’s is a story of thought’s demands,
meaning they exhaust their mind in the accesses
thought provides, it’s like a secondary body we have no knowledge of,
they are exhausted by thinking because their body is not exhausted.’
- ‘makes sense.’
- 'hence their malady of melancholia and our as simple exhaustion.'
- 'where’s the buffer?'
- 'in the olympians, the discus throwers, the most positive lot, and due to this, the easiest
to break down from high positivity; they have no awareness
of complex thinking and are quickly undermined with all this sports’ psychology!'
- 'true to the burning tire... it's all dietary awareness and muscle bulk with them after a loss.'
- 'indeed, as our's is with aesop dreamily awaiting a freedom that’s an anarchy,as translated from aesop's fables into
spartacus' resolve.'
- 'ah yes, that old spartan revolt in the roman empire.'
so like i said, i do know that darwinism is the new super cool sensibility,
taking into account more than 10,000 years of history
and talking about it for 2 hours wishing that something
spectacular might happen tomorrow, or any other given day...
but like i said previously... darwinism just killed history...
outside the realm of journalism we’re talking millions of years...
so why would i give a **** if it’s a friday the 23rd of october in the imaginary year 2015?
well if you put crocodile into a pile of hyenas you’ll probably
get a a cuckoo mixed with a squid because of the beak shared by the two...
i know, atheism is cool, for now,
but when the quantum j provides the classical physics’ objects like jupiter
you’ll ask what the quantum of j is... and i’ll say... full-stop...
that’s because, perhaps, i never use language as:
copy - work - paste - with - copy - me - paste - on - copy - this - paste - one,
but rather...
w - grammatical arithmetic (g.a.) - o - g.a. - r - g.a. - k,
because no one can tell me that the letter j
is uniform in the context of i or k...
as the quantum phonetics of uttering the word
onomatopoeia... is no different from uttering the word bull...
so many variables of spotting the quantum physics
in pronunciation... so many varying levels of required energy
to utter j or k... onomatopoeia or bull -
so... what's the antonym of quantum - the maximum
amount of any physical entity involved in an interaction -
i know that poets speak of grains of sand = no. of stars
and that the mathematicians use the curtain of infinity
to digress... but finding the maximum will be harder
given that there will be no socratic knowledge to use as canvas...
i.e. nothing;
added to the fact that there’s a non-differential quantum
that makes ë and em almost identical in terms of the least energy used,
this humanistic paradox of bonding means there is no unique human
sound that doesn’t borrow another human sound to execute a phoneticism,
otherwise ë and em translate as eh and humming anti-treble of the lips, or finger licking mmm of kentucky.
actually... we have the opposite of quantum physics...
the body functions within an ~37ºC emission...
there are four seasons in a year... the earth's orbit is 365 days,
i just took all the known macro units
and consolidated them in the micro unit of joules undifferentiated
in terms of observable "energy."

Her dad was an intelligence operative. The plot for her assassination was finalized after she sang on May 27, '89 for 300,000 fans at the "Democratic Songs Dedicated to China" concert at the Happy Valley Race Course in Hong Kong on behalf of Tiananmen Square's democracy movement. She warned: "...never to compromise with autocracy, never to succumb to tyranny." Also, in '89, Teresa, 36, was paired with drifter Quilery Paul Stephane. He played a role in her declining health which would serve as the cover for her fatal "asthma" attack. The story was: At 5 p.m. on 8 May '95 Teresa Teng, 42, died in hospital. She'd been staying in the Imperial Mae Ping Hotel, Chiang Mai, Thailand. Given the gaping holes in the initial "asthma" story, the latest speculation (from "nothing-to-see-here" apologists) is that Miss Teng died of a heart attack precipitated by an overdose of adrenergic agonists (her prescription-strength asthma medicine).

Teresa Teng was a Kuomintang army spy, a spy for the Republic of China (Taiwan). Her father was a Kuomintang army intelligence operative. The plot for her assassination was finalized after she performed on May 27, 1989 for 300,000 fans at the "Democratic Songs Dedicated to China" concert at the Happy Valley Race Course in Hong Kong. on behalf of Tiananmen Square's democracy movement. She warned the people: "...never to compromise with autocracy, never to succumb to tyranny." Also, in 1989, the 36-year-old singer was paired with drifter/photographer Quilery Paul Puel Stephane, a 23-year-old French-born stooge for the Peoples Republic of China. He played a critical role in her declining health which would serve as the cover for, & lead-up-to, her fatal "asthma" attack. The official story was: At 5 p.m. on Monday, May 8, 1995 Miss Teresa Teng, age 42, died in hospital. She had been staying in the Imperial Mae Ping Hotel (Royal Prince Suite 1502) 153 Sridonchai Road, Changklan District, Amphur Muang, Chiang Mai 50100 Thailand. Given the gaping holes in the initial "asthma" story, the latest speculation (from "nothing-to-see-here" apologists) is that Miss Teng died of a heart attack precipitated by an overdose of adrenergic agonists (her prescription-strength asthma medicine).

She was a Kuomintang army spy, a spy for the Republic of China (Taiwan). Her father was a Kuomintang army intelligence operative. The plot for her assassination was finalized after she performed on May 27, 1989 for 300,000 fans at the "Democratic Songs Dedicated to China" concert at the Happy Valley Race Course in Hong Kong. on behalf of Tiananmen Square's democracy movement. She warned the people: "...never to compromise with autocracy, never to succumb to tyranny." Also, in 1989, the 36-year-old singer was paired with drifter/photographer Quilery Paul Puel Stephane, a 23-year-old French-born stooge for the Peoples Republic of China. He played a critical role in her declining health which would serve as the cover for, & lead-up-to, her fatal "asthma" attack. The official story was: At 5 p.m. on Monday, May 8, 1995 Miss Teresa Teng, age 42, died in hospital. She had been staying in the Imperial Mae Ping Hotel (Royal Prince Suite 1502) 153 Sridonchai Road, Changklan District, Amphur Muang, Chiang Mai 50100 Thailand. Given the gaping holes in the initial "asthma" story, the latest speculation (from "nothing-to-see-here" apologists) is that Miss Teng died of a heart attack precipitated by an overdose of adrenergic agonists (her prescription-strength asthma medicine).

The one who survives by making the lives
Of others worthwhile
She's coming apart
Right before my eyes
The one who depends on the services she renders
To those who come knocking
She's seeing too clearly what she can't be
What understanding defies

She says I need not to need
Or else a love with intuition
Someone who reaches out to my weakness
And won't let go
I need not to need
I've always been the tower
But now I feel like I'm the flower trying to bloom in snow

She turns up the light
Anticipating night falling tenderly around her
Watches the dusk
The words won't come
She carries the act so convincingly
The fact is sometimes she believes it
She can be happy with the way things are
Be happy with the things she's done

And yet I need not to need
Or else a love with intuition
Someone who reaches out to my weakness
And won't let go
I need not to need
I've always been the tower
But now I feel like I'm the flower trying to bloom in snow

Reach out, hold back
Where is safety
Reach out and hold back
Where is the one who can change me
Where is the one
The one

Reach out, hold back
Where is safety
Reach out and hold back
Where is the one who can save me
Where is the one
The one

I need not to need
Or else a love with intuition
Someone who reaches out to my weakness
And won't let go
I need not to need
I've always been the tower
But now I feel like I'm the flower trying to bloom in snow

I feel like I'm the flower trying to bloom in the snow
The danger and the power
Friend and the foe

Her dad was an intelligence operative. The plot for her assassination was finalized after she sang on May 27, '89 for 300,000 fans at the "Democratic Songs Dedicated to China" concert at the Happy Valley Race Course in Hong Kong on behalf of Tiananmen Square's democracy movement. She warned: "...never to compromise with autocracy, never to succumb to tyranny." Also, in '89, Teresa, 36, was paired with drifter Quilery Paul Stephane. He played a role in her declining health which would serve as the cover for her fatal "asthma" attack. The story was: At 5 p.m. on 8 May '95 Teresa Teng, 42, died in hospital. She'd been staying in the Imperial Mae Ping Hotel, Chiang Mai, Thailand. Given the gaping holes in the initial "asthma" story, the latest speculation (from "nothing-to-see-here" apologists) is that Miss Teng died of a heart attack precipitated by an overdose of adrenergic agonists (her prescription-strength asthma medicine).

we is no kind *** we lik de nazoos
dewinch cakle esz wbi pnik hedponesw are chool in mi book
hoorecane irmia no es divertido., we here at buzfeed tink we no wot u are dooeng
mnanspred is de goood teng ti do evri dai
dundundunduncdundunduindunduindundundudn
pie.


gavery is dood cor my vanes

I'm full of inkles
and spitz
and the neighborhood
zinkles
are having ruzberry
fitz

They teng
and they weng
on the bridge
of oh-seng
and just past the cardon
we all go ba
zeng

it bangs
and it clangs
when your zing
rangs a zang
an' oh uh lo
blankling
and crankling
we go

Phonetically speaking.

it’s a precursor game
for a real event being
practiced in Nt Korea.

Kim’s no fluke, got a
nuke and Uncle Sam
is fit to puke.

Been there before did
not do that, its Vietnam
encore, rat a tat tat.

Yellow ribbons is what
we got GI blues it seems
our lot.