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Bio
Hello everyone! This is my beautiful room, a universe of love created with a magic energy. There is not reason anyone should be alone today. I broadcast here while I study. So you can be enchanted by the silence, the music, the dance and of course a hairy pussy. I like to do things I enjoy. Check my menu and send me a tip note. Regarding myself let me tell you that I love sharing time with my family, I love studying, I love kind and humble people, I love traveling and good restaurants, good vibes...I love people who are generous. Sorry, when I broadcast here, I just show some parts of my body and I don't show my face. If you want to support me, just tip me. Note: I have a tip menu with a specific set of ta****ou can always tip more with a tip note for the request. Thank you so much for being here, I appreciate that, I hope you like my company. :)
[left]Where is Illyria? Ancient Kingdom of Illyria was a historical region of Europe; a territory that today forms part of Albania, Croatia, Serbia, Bosnia and Montenegro.[/left]
[left]Why Illyria? I have gone into voluntary exile. I am a 20-year-old princess who has fled his father***ingdom. What I am trying to do in this place is to find out what is my role in this world.[/left]
[left]Who am I in Illyria?
I am an undocumented immigrant, without freedom, without a homeland, without certainties. I live in the shadows of a city that does not claim me, that does not see me, that fears me. The weight of not existing on paper ties me down, marking my every step, every breath. I cannot go out without fear, I cannot walk without every glance reminding me that I am invisible, but also dangerous. And yet, I offer myself. I offer my self to the world as hand ready for anything: to clean up the traces of dirt, to get rid of what no one wants to touch. I will take care of piranhas, wash buildings, chase rats or deactivate leg-breaking mines if that means being able to continue breathing. I put bootons on life, change broken light bulbs, take care of pensioners in the final days and make masks to cover the poverty that consumes me. I read the letters to those who are looking for answers, I read the tobacco for those who fear the future, I dye the hair of those who dream of another skin, I shave the armpits of those who forget what is to be human. I have nothing but my body, my time, my hunger. Everything else is in the air, flying like the birds that don´t know if they will everget home. But still, I am still here, in this forgotten corner, wiling to remain invisible, willing to continue searching, between the cracks of the world, for my place.[/left]
[left]From Neurons to Neighborhoods:[/left]
[left]''We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time'' —T.S. Eliot, from ''Little Gidding''[/left]
[left]''I am not frightened. I am not frightened of anything. The more I suffer, the more I love. Danger will only increase my love. I will sharpen it, it will give it spice. I will be the only angel you need.You will leave life even more beautiful than you entered it. Heaven will take you back and look at you, and say, only one thing can make a soul complete, and that thing is love.'' —Bernhard Schlink, The Reader[/left]
[left]My thoughts for you:
To be alive together, on the same earth, at the same moment of eternity. I have never seen the man and I have loved him in secret. I have adored and desired every part of his body. I have longed for his presence, the air that surrounds him, the earth where he moves, but I cannot leave my cell. I want my love to work miracles and my desires to be fantasies of both of us. I am even afraid to think that I will no longer feel his spirit and the noise between us will break. Love, death and so forth. —Sèfora, CHAT time[/left]
[left]i understand
In my eyes, the shadow of the light of an endless day,
and my body, broken by the echoes of broken promises.
The weight of what I have lived rests on my shoulders,
and my soul is lost in the mist of the artificial night.[/left]
[left]My hands tremble when they touch ******in I no longer recognize,
and my sagging breasts, tattooed with the name of the one who has taught me oblivion,
have become symbols of the death I did not choose,
silence that whispers what I cannot say or understand.[/left]
[left]In front of a mirror that reflects the synthetic light of a world I no longer understand,
I lose myself,
drowned in a reality that collapses in shadows
and in the distance of a time that is no longer measured.[/left]
[left]Pain envelops me,
there are no words that can save me
from the darkness I feel growing inside me.
I don't know if my steps are my own or the echoes of others who passed before.[/left]
[left]My body has been a refuge and a condemnation,
and sometimes I wonder,
if in the end, what I seek is not to be seen,
but simply to be understood.
—Sèfora, CHAT time[/left]
[left]Sartre
You don't love someone who becomes an object,
nor to those who submit under a pretext,
as Sartre says, in the love he describes.[/left]
[left]Whoever wants to be loved must know,
that love is neither a possession nor a duty*** is an act that arises in the space of freedom,
where every soul can fly with clarity.[/left]
[left]A love is an echo that resonates,
and in reciprocity its strength rings*** is not a loop that traps, nor a wall that encloses,
but a bridge that crosses the sincere soul.[/left]
[left]To love, it is necessary to be free,
from freedom is born that fire so pure,
which cannot be had without being secure.[/left]
[left]Love is woven in the genuine look,
where each being, the other, is fascinated.
Whoever wants to be loved must understand,
that love cannot subdue another.[/left]
[left]Only in freedom does one grow,
one gives,
and in reciprocity love will live. —Sèfora, CHAT time[/left]
Bluebird
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say, stay in there, I'm not going
to let anybody see
you.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I pour whiskey on him and inhale
cigarette smoke
and the whores and the bartenders
and the grocery clerks
never know that
he's
in there.
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too tough for him,
I say,
stay down, do you want to mess
me up?
you want to screw up the
works?
you want to blow my book sales in
Europe?
there's a bluebird in my heart that
wants to get out
but I'm too clever, I only let him out
at night sometimes
when everybody's asleep.
I say, I know that you're there,
so don't be
sad.
then I put him back,
but he's singing a little
in there, I haven't quite let him
die
and we sleep together like
that
with our
secret pact
and it's nice enough to
make a man
weep, but I don't
weep, do
you?
—Charles Bukowski
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