Memoirs of Kal-El

 

Lex Luthor: Clark, you can't save the world. 

All you'll end up with is a Messiah complex and a lot of enemies.

Clark Kent: I saved you, didn't I? That turned out all right. 

 

Caught Offside

He: Looking at you right now, it’s only fair to bet that the player you once were is elsewhere.

Me: Ever since I mastered controlling things around me, football fell victim to my own rigour.

He: Controlling a football is only possible on the field, not from the sills of your airy castle.

Me: A margin of preference is what left to decide the discourse of action and words, eventually.

He: You talk of preference but my halcyon heart knows better than to buy your words.

For the very own sake of it

Clearly this is not my lineament. The ad-lib ideas and spontaneous kinks are far from something appropriate to be “blogged about”. Thence arrive to the finale where I offer my blood in exchange for foreignness to my own practices, in cases such, Blogging. What’s with blogging anyway? I’m certain to be comparatively better at snogging and hogging instead.

Stained history permits me to spoil even more desires, even more wells; so it ought to be safe to unleash this shrimp of a claim that within myself, as presumed, I find naught of any treat to anyone. I, therefore, rightly reckon to stick to Plan A, best players for best positions, and consecrate my humbleness to poetic mirage only, yes? *wink*

Poetry, I can ace any day but prose… drat.