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Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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hey keep this as a secret between us but i think yr cute 😳😳😳 - you'll never guess who this is
mfkdhshsh I wonder who this could be from 🤔🤔
it’s a frickin blizzard and the temperature is plummeting into the basement this evening (-14C ish, expected windchill about -27C) so Atlas only got about 45 minutes of wrestling with a friend in the softball field BUT i was a smartie who froze some peanut butter in his kong so now he’s got his second wind but he’s Occupied with that so i can Relax
Those other Objectivists ...
I filled myself with the world, but my blood ran dry - like the rivers, and my atlas hands crumbled into hurricane firsts. I felt myself collapsing, and my oceans rising - like global warming pressure, or tsunami tears. So I turned to what was manufactured - concrete and metal, the cities and their whir, and this was easier to control - to compartmentalise. Yet the ground still shook so I began to crumble, and the old deserts swallowed the buildings and spat out broken parts - until I appeared like a sink hole of all things forgotten, and partially consumed. So it seems that when I filled myself with the world, I emptied out my own structure that stood on shaky ground and wavered, but never collapsed - and my ability to swim evaporated like the water. So I had no resolution, just an eternal collapse. Which means that if I fall completely, it is because the world has too - as it is all so finite. I suggest that it is okay to know yourself and the world as separate entities, and conflicts - where one should not be replaced with the other.Â

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Beautiful fan-made 'Catching Fire' trailer featuring Atlas by Coldplay.
Perfect album for how I'm feeling right now We're born with nothing and we die alone
Been thinking of my grandfather, whose wayward brilliance skipped my father's generation. Once, he showed me an aquatint of a certain Siamese temple. Don't recall it's name, but ever since a disciple of the Buddha preached on the spot centuries ago, every bandit king, tyrant and monarch of that kingdom has enhanced it with marble towers, scented arboretums, gold-leafed domes, lavished murals on its vaulted ceilings, set emeralds into the eyes of its statuettes. When the temple finally equals its counterpart in the Pure Land, so the story goes, that day humanity shall have fulfilled its purpose, and time itself shall come to an end. To men like Ayrs, it occurs to me, this temple is civilization. The masses, slaves, peasants and foot-soldiers exist in the cracks of its flagstones, ignorant even of their ignorance. Not so the great statesmen, scientists, artists and, most of all, the composers of the age, any age, who are civilization's architects, masons and priests. Ayrs sees our role is to make civilization ever more resplendent. My employer's profoundest, or only, wish is to create a minaret that inheritors of Progress a thousand years from now will point to and say, 'Look, there is Vyvyan Ayrs!' How vulgar, this hankering after immortality, how vain, how false. Composers are merely scribblers of cave paintings. One writes because the winter is eternal and because if one didn't, the wolves and blizzards would be at one's throat all the sooner.
David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas