October 4, 2007


Lights that will eventually go out

I returned to Australia from 2 years of self imposed exile in Korea and I was told my best friend was dead. He wasnt exactly my best friend. Not anymore. There had been too much empty space. Too much distance. I didnt even know his phone number anymore. The last time I had seen him was years ago and we didnt know each other anymore then. I already had it in my head he was going to die. I just chose to ignore it.

I was told unhestiatingly and she gauged me carefully unsure of her delivery of news. I was surprised at my lack of shock or feeling. I guess I was expecting it, but I had pushed him out of my life so i´d never have to know. I was even thinking of going back to his house in Nedlands, the huge house where his wealthy family of 5 brothers lived, the house whose bedroom window I used over a hundred times. The house where i spent my summers in my late teens. The house where his mother banged on his door after he came out of the clinic and we were trying to snort ecstasy to make him feel better. That night his mother lost faith in me. That night his other friend warwick got thrown out of the window by Peter. Warwick was desperate too. We snorted what was left in a park later that night without bush and didnt say anything else too each other. Warwick died from a heroin soon after. Died or lost his shit and ended up in jail or something that erased him from Bush´s circle.

I first met Bush on New Years Eve. We took tabs of Acid and we bonded. We were so alike. He was so fucking smart. The smartest person I have ever met. He was enraptured by physics and found explaining it far easier than botheirng with lectures. He was also the kindest person I had ever met. He always thought of others back then. I guess that was because he was a little self concious. He had a healthy appetite for drugs too which helped with the self-conciousness.

On New Years eve we took acid and listened to music and got lost in philosphical pondering and Bush introduced me to real Indie Rock. He played me pavement. He played me Archers of Loaf. He played My Bloody Valentine. And we and others got lost in the cemetery and had a blast of a time. I felt for the first time comfort and ease. I felt like I had people who I could understand.

The rest of that summer we did a lot of acid and smoked a lot of weed. We would come back from parties and talk way late into the night, expounding theories, playing music and when the drive became too much we´d wander around nedlands or go over to Julians and get some more extascy. It was a fucking great Summer, that 96/97 one.

We started Uni together in the same course a year later. On orientation day we missed the Deans morning speech as we had some speed and Bush shot up in the English dept stairwell. It was the first time I had seen anyone use a needle. I was a little shocked. It was about now that Bush´s intake of drugs gradually pulled far ahead of mine.

Later he got a presciption for dexies and we consumed a lot of them. We werent enjoying uni much and didnt go as much as we should. Dexies made allnight papers a matter of routine. I think I learnt most of my courses by consuming a bottle of dexies in the two weeks leading up to exams. I had decided by that time I needed to go.. I needed direction... and half a year later i took my savings and went to Europe for a year.

Bush at this time had finally a girlfriend he loved. Things were happy in his life. Girls had depressed him beyond anything else and he was more afraid of not ever having someone than anything else. 4 months later I got my first and only email from him. He´d fucked up.

He was getting wasted late at night with this girl Marjle who hed once had a fling with and her boyfriend and ´they were popping valium and wine. At about 4 the boyfriend ( who was in the process of trying to kick smack, as was his girlfriend) had an argument with Marjle and stormed off out of Bushs bedroom window. Bush tried to comfort her and one thing led to another and soon they were fucking. An hour later the boyfriend came back through the window and saw them naked together. He went crazy kicking and screaming. He kept kicking Marjle in the stomach and he pushed her out of the window. Bush was trying to pacify him. He kept saying it was his fault. A friend of Bush´s big brother came out to help. He tried to pull the boyfriend of Marjle and he bit his eyebrow off. Took all the skin off. He needed a skin graft for his ass after that.

With Bushs brothers friend screaming and marjle crying on the ground, the boyfriend ran off sobbing and jumped in his car and drove off. He crashed into a tree 5 min later. Marjle and her boyfriend were to be married in 2 months he found out later.

Bush debated for a 3 days without seeing her if he should tell his girlfriend. He knew he would never do it again, but he also knew he could never lie to her for the rest of their relationship. Against Marjle´s advice he told her the truth and she dumped him never to speak to him again. He took it badly.

After I reurned from Europe a year later , i was a far wider eyed man. I seen the middle east. Id camped alone in deserts and run pubs. Id grown up a lot. Bush was different. He was fat again, like he was in highschool before I had met him. He had depression and he had used heroin.

I was working late at a restaurant most nights but Bush was desperate. He would call me up before work. PLease. Please come over. I need you. And I would go after finishing work at 11:30, Id drive straight to his house with some dinner for him and try to help. We d usually end up drinking. or he d pop a couple of valium or he had some dexies. Hed try and pretend it was just as before. I went along with it. But it wasnt.

But I was there for him.

He was very depressed. He said more than anything in the world we wanted to be normal.Cliched boring life of job, suburbs, mortage. That was his dream.

He went into Perth Clinic and I came to visit him. He joked about how crazy it was to be in there. I saw a teacher from my high school there too. Onenight awhile after he was out he begged me to come over very late at night. I was about to go to bed but I went anyway. He was in a bad way he poured his heart out to me and smoked halfn a pack of winfield blues. He then said he couldnt help it. He needed to shoot up.... And did I want any? I didnt. But I wanted to understand. I wanted to know who one thing in the world could make it better for him. So I tied my arm and promised myself never, ever, ever was I to do this again.
It smelt metallic. I didnt really get it. It was soft and tiring. I smiled. Bush looked at peace. I could understand how dangerous this was for him.

One time he came over my house, just before I moved out and a hundred dollars went missing. Earlier during the night the pixies song gouge away was playing and he looked down into his arm with pained look and pretended to inject himself. he didnt think I was looking.

I had got addicted to travelling and the next summer I went away To Indochine. When I came back he told me he had almost died on New Years Eve. He had overdosed in a car somewhere. His arms looked messy. We wnt for beers. I still came over, but I no longer smoked pot and we stopped doing drugs late at night. Only occasionally. I began to see him less and less. We wouldnt click like we used to. He went into Petrth Clinic again and I saw him again in there.He didnt tell me what had happened to send him in. His friends had begun to change. At his house there were people who were users I began to meet. People who would joke about how they have Hep C. 6 months later I went to South Asia for 6 months and when I got back we were more distant than ever.

He had otherfriends who now filled my roll. Not drug friends. Good old school friends. But I let myself slip anyway. And one day I realised I hadnt seen him in months. I guess I gave up. I gave up on my best friend.

And 5 years later he is dead.

I dont know if I put this down because I´m working through it or because now I have supposed reason to emanate deeply, seriously. To use my fucking friend for a cheap fucking story. But I dont feel shocked, and strangely I dont feel sad. Just like every drugaddict cliche I knew, he had died a long while ago. But what had died in me to be so strangley empty and reciprocal to such tragic news?

Posted by alex at 10:20 AM | Comments (1)

May 13, 2006

Be Drunk on Music

I have much to divulge and to finally release onto the web. It's been a strange couple of months being so unactive with the upkeep of this blog. As one can see from the poor layout I've yet to even invest proper time in working out why my blogs layout looks so incredibly hideous. There have been moments seeing old friends that have filled me with utter, uncontolled joy, places of great beauty and intrigue and times of anguish, insobriety and longing for souls residing half a world away.

And I shall get to such topics in due time.

For now however, it's nice to put down in pixels what a stellar last couple of months residing in korea has been especially music wise. Being visited by Mono and Guitar Wolf were certainly golden rays of light one doesn't usually encounter in conservative and contained Korea. However I've just been informed that a company is attempting to re-create the fuji rock festival in seoul, and at the end of july, Korea will embrace the likes of the Yeah, yeah yeahs, Franz Ferdinand, Snow Patrol and possibly Broken Social Scene, Mogwai and Clap your hands say yeah! (plus RHCP and black eyed peas.. etc..) Never before have the likes of any such bands visited this insular little pennisula. It feels like a good time to be alive in Korea.


In fact I'm coming to realise how blessed I am living in Korea at this particular junction. The country is going through somewhat of a musical revolution and it is one the cusp of something big happenning. Indie nerds, Noise artists, postpunk purists and IDm heads are crawling out of the woodwork and becoming a presence never before acknowledged cultutrally in this country. Bars and cafes specialising in art or indie rock are springing up in university areas, hidden down back alleys and found through a rapidly spreading word of mouth. Shows are being publicised and bands are being taken out of house parties and into clubs where they are embracing a more angular, abrasive or experimental sound. It makes me feel blessed that I did indeed choose to sign on for another year. I'm excited to see what will happen.

Guitar Wolf

Posted by alex at 4:00 PM | Comments (1)

March 27, 2006

The aching and mixture of noxious elements

This body needs an overhaul

Posted by alex at 11:59 PM | Comments (0)

March 9, 2006

stumbling from foreign ghettos to dating and websites.

The area I live in Seoul is a peculiar little ghetto. Located next to Itaewon, Haebongchon sports a variety of foreignors. The area is an old part of Seoul (buildings 30-40 years old) and is the locale for Yongsan Military Base. The military base has been an important part of the residents lives with much of the business centered around catering to those living on and off the army base. The area has changed from a prostituion slum ("America Town") to a well developed red brick villages climbing up Namsan mountain with winding narrow alleyways. However, the imminent move of the base to a location on the outskirts of Seoul has the population in flux. Potential house buyers know of the great redevelopment that will take place once the prime land the army occupies is reclaimed. Nobody wants to buy into an apartment that may well be demolished in the next 5 years. This makes rent extremely cheap and it's proximity to Itaewon has made it the foreignor ghetto area of choice.

Along with high rank army officals, the majority seem to be the Nigerian community and long term English Teachers. The main body of foreignor teachers in this area seem to be have been here typically for a couple of years at least and are predominantly male. these are people who have found life in Korea to easy. The lax effort required work, the high pay and low pay make Korea an attractive location to while away a number of years. The country also acts as a convienient destination for social dropouts or deviants. Because most importantly to these residents, Korea is a haven for sex driven western men.

It's not uncommon to over hear conversations between white 20-40 year olds in Itaewons more glamourous parts about how many Korean women they have slept with recently. It seems it has never been easier for a western man to pick up girls and use them.... and funnily enough this is due to in part to the fact it is somewhat fashionable to have a Western boyfriend. I guess traditonally one could show off to friends the presents Western boyfriends would bestow upon the Korean girlfriend with their superior salary. With Korea's economic rise, money has become far less an incentive, but the lure remains, and it means a lot of English teachers do stay here primarily for Korean women.

It is curious situation as it seems both partners are trying to con each other. White boys are trying to hook up quickly and con korean girls into easy sex while Korean girls are perhaps trying to quickly con western guys into a relationship that will pay divedends in terms of gifts, status or possible commitment. I may be way off on this, but it seems it is more impoartnt to be in a relationship/married than the relationship itself. That view is changing, but it is a hang on that I think persists. In past times the union of marriage was celebrated far more than the love that may or may not be present between the groom and bride. At any rate it has meant an environment where white foreignors can think with there dicks and little else.

Such activity was brought to the fore a year ago when someone published a diatribe on message board instructing readers in fail safe method to get Koreans into bed instantly. A furor arose almost instantly and the media lashed out at the foreignor population, the relationship between the 2 already somewhat strained after a US army tank had run down and killed 2 school girls while performing army drills on the streets. The popular ESL job site was shut down and the korean govt spent a year implementing fairly useless policies aimed at appeasing the popular angtaonism directed at the foreignor community involved in such activities. Crackdowns on false university degrees in particular sent hundreds and hundreds of North Americans back to their home continent creating a huge void in possible employees.

This makes my current job search far easier for me. Which I must be off to now.

Posted by alex at 11:17 AM | Comments (1)

February 17, 2006

The joy of feeling foreign

There was an email was circulating recently amongst English language teachers which was titled something like " You Know Your Korean When..." and it listed some anomalies of the Korean lifestyle such as not looking twice when a motorbike mounts the sidewalk, or you start asking for corn and potatoes on pizza. Now, such little phenomenon maybe just skin deep mild humor, but it highlighted the fact that I have been in Korea so long, the little trivialities have no longer begun to amaze me. It's true I'm no longer shocked when friends tell me they met up with their girlfriends and played video games for 4 hours, or I don't think twice when I see a business man in an Armani suit passed out on the sidewalk. But these are the things I remember first noticing and being able to form into words. The alien feeling of difference and wonder which I couldn't put into words I now no longer recall which is sad, cause that is what the magic of travel experience is about.

It all points in the direction of elsewhere but surprisingly, I'm beginning to feel at home and as the end of my contract creeps up on the horizon, I'm still unsure of where to plant my feet.

Posted by alex at 10:53 AM | Comments (0)

November 16, 2005

Hills on Fire / Peppero

pep p fall

Warning:indulgent dull travelleresque post ahead.

I’m going to refer to it as fall. The American pseudonym for autumn, though somewhat more coarse, is far more applicable. The trees have begun to lose the excess baggage of a heavy and humid summer and their leaves are lit up with brilliant yellows and oranges... and sometimes even fire red. The last couple of days have seen great deluges of brightly painted leaves flutter like snowflakes over passersby covering grey cement with the illusion of yellow brick roads. The hills are a wonderfully unusual hue.

Yes, Korea may just be one of the most beautiful places in the world during fall. The heavily forested mountains are so stunning they are over run by hikers eager to make the most of the short season. I took the subway just out of the city and decided to climb one of the nearby peaks. Never have I seen such traffic on trails before. Every single Korean decks themselves out in a somewhat humorous hiking uniform which consists of a red sleeveless jacket overflowing with pockets, socks over books and a high tension carbonite walking stick… And this mannequin parade of identically uniformed old men and women all queuing to reach the summit. Frankly the idea of a national park for me involves something akin to the illusion of wilderness. When you are stuck behind a huge snaking line of red jacket pockets and pushy old women still a km from the peak, you wonder why anybody bothers.

I negotiated a some what unstable ledge and steered myself off the path and decided to head down the mountain on the opposite side. And then like magic there was nobody on the trail. Nobody had bothered with the other side of the mountain and then from feeling uncomfortable about my personal space being violated, I was alone…. Not another soul why the forest showered me in yellow and orange glitter making the path down the mountain picturesque but slippery.

Coming from a country where deciduous plant life is rare and dominated by the mighty eucalypt an experience like autumn in Korea is truly surreal once one enters the mountains.

What is also interesting about Korean is the holidays that have manged to bury themselves into countrys traditions. Every month sometime in the middle is a “special day?. Feburary is Valentines Day – when girls give presents to the boys they like, April is White Day – the reverse, sometime in the middle of the year is Black day – a Day for people who didn’t get anything on Valentines or White Day to eat Black noodles. There are others… I can’t recall them now.

But November’s contribution certainly takes the cake. While the western world is pinning poppies to their shirt fronts for Remberance/Veterans Day, Koreans are busy passing out chocolate covered biscuit sticks called Peppero’s. Peppero day might be the greatest marketing idea ever by an individual company. The day is simply a day to passout these chocolate snacks invented by this Peppero company to all your friends. I mean why not Fender Guitar Day? Or Shake n Bake Day? Personally I wouldn’t mind getting a haul of fender guitars from my students..

None the less, the wackiness of peppero day is certainly amusing. And everybody gets so fucking sick of pepperos that they don’t want to see them again for another full year.

Oh Les Savy Fav finally coming to Perth, a month before I arrive back home... bastards.

Posted by alex at 10:16 AM | Comments (6)

October 7, 2005



So I decided to give into myself and I put procrastination aside for all out failure and I turned my computer screen a little to the left and pulled it forward so it would catch the light. I surveyed the remains in my apartment of an ill-spent weekend on unproductive nonsense and wondered if this was the best thing I could be doing.

I’d made a point to myself, several times in fact, to start putting the stories down. The snippets that slip through the memory net yet can’t help but unsettle you at the time they are re-iterated. The kind of stories where the setting of place in which the story is told to you is just as important as the story itself and both dance together like drunk ghosts and at a failed wedding to send shudders down your spine. However you go home and you sway in front of the mirror and you sidetrack yourself with ideals, worries and the stale thought of pre-packaged dinner and all you can remember is the shiver.

The first thing I remember is her birthday. She was 31 and there was nobody to celebrate. Her husband was there, yes, but after 5 years on and off the outspoken Texan had little social adoration to show for it.

She’d been drinking all day.

She hates birthdays.

She gets pretty fucked up when she drinks.

She wraps her arms around me and steadies her self with one arm on the bar, thankful that somebody braved this miserable downpour late on a Sunday night. I looked around the room at the Americans drowning everything else out, at the Korean bartenders paid a 3 lousy bucks an hour, at the Korean girls hopefullying eyeing the room.

The place dying. It stank of rotting pasts.

Not that their was any smell to really detect, but it touched your nostrils and you grimaced. I pulled out a cigarette and turned to her. I had a beer but I didn’t want to drink.

She ordered some shots then berated me for not doing them with her. She yelled about her best friend, about the state of her affairs, her place of work. Life was misery. But better than home.

At home she’s capable of anything. She’s run with a rough crowd. She’s been jail. Old habits die hard she says.

She was carjacked twice. The first time she had a gun put to her head and he told her she was a fucking bitch who was going to be raped and killed. She still has nightmares. She’s scared in America. That sort of thing doesn't leave you. The second time she was stabbed. She looks me in the eyes and says fiercely “I did everything right…?

She was put in jail for 3 months. She drove a big Mercedes and shipped coke, pills and pot around the state. She reckons she was a player. But that’s not what she was arrested for. She drunk drove and broke probation. She made some friends. But when she got out she was scared of what her life had become. She came to Korea. Many come to here to escape.

The alcohol dampens her fire....

It all collapses soon. The tequila high, her beer spilling across the counter. The looks of uncertainty from those further up the bar. She slumps back in her stool and slurs she wants to go home.

We exit, her head on his shoulder. Some american playing pool walks up to the bar and checks my empty pack of cigarettes. He picks up her half finished morose beer sniffs it and walks back to his table.

Posted by alex at 11:32 AM | Comments (0)

September 24, 2005

Korean Lotto - A small irk, a useless entry

Why do lotto ads always feature middle class families in nice expensive homes going nuts over winning lotto? They look like they've already won the cash and spent it on their house, clothes and a nice slice high quality MDMA.You think it would be a little more important to your average struggling family trying to make ends meet.. I mean, i know it's a ridiculous question. We all know lotto ads show rich middle class folk cause they are capable of spending far more on lotto tickets. It just rubs me like money is so fucking important you can only be happy with that much... and if thats the case it's a sad fucking existence for the majority of the population.

Everyday, in front of me as i wait for the line 8 train, flashing the same sad ad of middle class Korean utopia.

Posted by alex at 3:24 PM | Comments (0)

September 19, 2005

Punk Rock, Gentials and the Hardline


For some, like myself, music is an integral part of ones life. It becomes a range of differing things from an outlet or obsession to an ethos. This can mean demanding the right for self expressionism and uncensored commentary. In a Confucian country such as Korea, punk rock in particular faces a number of obstacles. Distorted guitars, pogoing, mohawks and a DIY ethic are attributes not readily accepted by mainstream Korean culture. This is country with deep traditional roots that are still embedded with strict social mores. But the flashing by the band Couch on prime time has bought this too the surface showing the strict authoritarian mindset governing the Korean people and landed 2 young lads in prison for 2 hard yearsl.

More than most other genres, punk has a loyal and growing fanbase spread across South Korea. And Korean Confucian society represents a more repressive and ideological ethos than Thatcherism or lassier-faire economic conditions. This is why young Koreans seem to identify so well with Punk.

One late August Saturday, legendary punk band Rux were performing live on MBC (A Korean version of MTV). Some of their friends from numerous other bands were there to support them including the very popular band Couch, whom I have seen numerous times at Skunkhell. At 4:15 the singer of Rux backed away from the stage and 2 members of Ouch came jumping about on stage with their trousers down, Gochus a-swinging.


A mere 4 seconds of footage of 2 men half naked jumping up and down was all it took for half the studio to be fired, drug testing implemented to all Skunkhell bands.. (because despite the fact that drugs are almost impossible to come by in Korea, these kids have to be on something…), and what looks like jail time for two 20 year old kids.

“Incensed viewers said an apology was not enough and the broadcaster should be punished. Some asked how MBC proposed to compensate teenagers, the largest age group watching the show, for the emotional shock they sustained. The two Couch members were arrested, as was the RUX lead singer for inviting them on stage, and are being investigated for violating public decency. “


In order to deter repeat performances the prosecution has called for the harshest penalties available and pending appeals, it looks like they will be serving the full time.


Posted by alex at 7:33 AM | Comments (2)

September 12, 2005

Our First Gig


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September 4, 2005

Tear up a mountain just to turn around and come back down again

I’m just full of love right now. Or full of it. It’s difficult to tell at this stage.. Other things I love? Well, Wolf Parade has cast a spell over my humble full-of-it self. What a wonder to be struck so unconscious by a band so suddenly.

wolf parade.jpg huck.jpg

And Huckleberry Finn, what a treat… The book is shear marvel. Impossibly great flow; wondrous, lush descriptions of Deep South life and a disturbingly fantastic grasp of the undertones of a society in moral upheavals It truly is the book that carved out Americana identity like no other. As majestic as the Mississippi itself. Sumptuous in nostalgia and character….

These kinds of stimuli make each step a skip, each heartbeat a blow to leave you breathless. I get caught up because I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be conscious of every moment. These kind of overwhelming moments make writing difficult. Wit is something I’ve reserved for pessimism and cynicism and otherwise I sound like garbage and flowers...

Yesterday I paid a visit to the monstrous monument to the Korean War, the Korean War memorial… Walking through the exhibit I began to feel drained and emotionally frustrated and saddened by the whole experience. This unadulted worship of wartime heroics and step by step demonstrations of various battles and their fatalities struck as something primitive which must tick at the back of all our brains. Perhaps it is something in built in humans. The desire to conquer and a blood lust that can never be fully overcome no matter how many generations pass through a country’s womb and are born into prosperity. There will always be a fascination with bringing another nation to its knees or overcoming the impossible through violent means and the machines that made this possible.

However, the main dilemma that struck me as I walked through the halls of propaganda, was not the sadness of the blood shed for Korean freedom but how the Peninsula has constantly been a pawn for nations to play and pillage as one army tries to fuck another.. This play off in the last 50 or so years has resulted in opposing idealism tearing the Korean people apart and against each other as the US and China/Russia tried to impose their own brand of modern colonialism on a people devastated by years of war and Japanese occupation... yet each side sets up rampant propaghanda blaming the other…

After this experience , behind the lines of tanks helicopters and missiles on display in the corner of the memorial grounds at a small temple a Korean wedding was taking place. The Women were dressed in hanmocks, the bride made up in the tradional Korean fashion her hair something akin to star wars episode 1 guarded and attended to by 5 bridesmaid. The mother of the bride periodically wiped a tear from her eye. The Groom and bride tried to hold solemn faces but couldn’t help uncontrollable grins..


Posted by alex at 11:50 PM | Comments (0)

September 2, 2005


Outside it’s wildfire burning skyscrapers in an orange haze.
On the street there’s cyclones in her hair.
They’re languid/vicious like the ether of January mornings.

I emerge my skin rubbing ethanol, steps weightless.
Yet you are here to greet me.
We catch light and break apart the space between us.
Reduce it to its elemental particles.
Energy, frequency, dead atoms.

The sunshine like your difficult eyes is alight with wicked fancy.
And I stand dumb as white teeth swallow drunk ears and
you pull him into a taxi.


Posted by alex at 11:15 AM | Comments (0)

August 2, 2005

Lamentations (for someone else)

You could be a ghost. You float between people, buses, traffic. You wipe the words away that are hanging like spit and move.. (through) life, sound, the disasters of the modern world. Do it long enough but you catch yourself out. You stop in the street flailing your hand for a sign or some attention, but the boat has sailed and your stranded at the pier with a pocketful of empty charms and philosphical musings that amount to sand. You become invisible.
Is it you moving or the world turning? And soon you become invisible to yourself.
And you mutter while they are staring (is it through you or at you?), it's a complictated mess this depression business isn't it?
Lets go eat some toast.

Posted by alex at 2:05 PM | Comments (0)

July 29, 2005

Over Cities

Past the 3 story driving range, the continous tock of club meeting golf ball, further through the winding streets, past the houses stripped and demolitions, now nothing more than smashed concrete and twisted metal balls and broken bathtubs.. up the hill where grey gives way to green and slowly up through the temple village with the colourful pagodas, manicured pine trees and bent old ladies and monks lighting incense sticks in rocky pine groves I move

until I tower above the city and the laterns sway in the wind and draw my gaze to the ancient city wall of which far beyond ;lies a large ancient palace, and above that a huge LCD screen broadcasting ads to patient motorists caught in the choked city arteries. But me, I have my rocky outcrop, my pine branches for shade, my hangover and the wives of unlucky husbands praying for a son to bless their empty wombs ...

Posted by alex at 9:50 PM | Comments (0)