savage!

savage

i like to bring a 20 oz genuine thermos to work with me, full of coffee or tea. i like to bring an genuine awakened consciousness, too, as this can be helpful in tricky situations. one goes with the other; if i go without coffee, i may not be completely with you there, and you may need to tell me things twice or knock on my skull and ask  hello? katya? anyone home? please gimme a reprieve! i am in my forties now and have lived through a lot of bullshit. i know nobody hardly respects their elders anymore, true, but aren’t i cute and nice enough to be an exception? if you decide not to show me leniency, okay, that’s what my nieces would call  SAVAGE! and then when my sleeping consciousness gets properly plied by your orange roughy, well, the savage will awaken in me from any depth of slumber and i will stand on my hind legs and make myself bigger than your ego and we can go UFC – MMA fighting where i shall take your ass properly to ground.

future mma star?

mix

martial arts mixed with supermodel moon

Good morning world, today it will be partly hysterical with scattered tear gas and a good chance of healing the narcissistic wound, by appearances, anti-Trump and replete with overenforcement of law, and disorder. the wild-eyed tatted up boy from Dublin will enter the Octagon in the square, Madison Garden, while a New Yorker agent of real estate assets makes moves on the Oval, the Office, bearing fruits of the violence of free speech, talking of violence and violence of talking, while the political correct find themselves bundled and floating, sucked slowly into space, drawn to the supermodel moon. the lights of civil rights are mostly white wandering place to place, eye for eye, martial arts mixed and in danger of falling from grace.