Sup guys, it's William.
I'm a 20yrs old medical student here in Milan, Italy. Got lots of hobbies, even though I don't really have much spare time to dedicate. Just to name a few: graphic design, reading, programming, surfing on the internet, playing poker, wasting days on that damn ps3, having fun at nyt with friends, etc. Well, at least these are a little portion of what I enjoy most.
I don't know anyone up here, so I'm willing to bond with some peeps across the hub big time.
Pleasure to meet you, and thanks for visiting my profile.
-William
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It is said that with time everything fades. Knowledge, ambitions, wishes, love, dreams perhaps.
After having struggled with everydays life, by the end of your path here, the only thing you're left with are memories. Memories that will leave you attached to this desolated land. Alone. Prey of your mind.
What matters in the end, I truly can't tell.
It is easy to see why each man kills the things he loves. To know a living thing is to kill it...
To try to know a living being is to try to suck the life out of that being.
The temptation of the vampire fiend, is this knowledge.
The desirous consciousness, the spirit, is a vampire.
D.H Lawrence
Belief is the crooked cane of beaten people
Curled lips, doormat eyes, and a vacant existence
I’ve waited in green woods while the steeple sleeps
Rubbing stained palms above golden eyelets
Spent all of my days watching and wondering
The cross shines, pale as regret, its countenance
Offset by the devastating symmetry to the sacred heart
Yet, men are no longer burning, it always was dead
The herd approaches, hooded glowing eyes
Filling my guts with fire, uncounted reprise
Their pockets beat freely, a pulsating chime
As the Sheppard approaches, counting in time
Reprieve is the poison of the dead
By wine, by destruction, by whatever is said
I still wait in these backwoods, bottled fire aching
To set aside all distance and begin its creating
The smiles grow harder like a costumed face
Then the storm arrives, freed by disdain, its winds
Given in to spirits pulls at my flames.
They dance and sing, useless songs
In cult smeared circles, holy books dusted
With grime. They began to immolate like a lepers
Desire, to be held and be loved, while surrounded by fire.
Such is religion and such is restraint.
From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.
Edgar Allan Poe
Silence, my brothers, is the ultimate music. When silence is broken, life has to be taken.
Feel free to add me, if that's what you want. I'll make sure to return your favors.
-Will
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