never trust people who say to love and care for you repeatedly. More often than not it’s a lie that they might not even know they’re telling. They might want to fuck you, might have a feeling of obligation, or might want to decorate their personality with whatever crumbs they can steal off you even after you’re dead. Love is not a feeling it is an action and you will be aware of this love without the need for words, like with dogs. Most humans I fear are not capable of love anymore.
sometimes, when I’m sad I take the little yellow man from google earth and visit places. I always thought traveling with google earth was cost effective, safer and kinder than having to deal with bureaucracy or just men in general.
a few days ago after thinking too much about things, I was feeling particularly nihilistic and threw the little man somewhere in the middle of the pacific ocean:
found this little guy.
The initial feeling of awe and softness gave way to an overwhelming sense of dread: this picture might be too old and the dog was dead. I would never get to meet him and ask him about his day. But no. The photo was taken sometime this year, and I choose to believe this good (best) boy is doing fine. I love him very much, and wish nothing but happiness for him wherever he is.
Tahiti, he is somewhere in Tahiti.
Maybe I’ll meet him someday soon.
Addendum :
Parto de Public Bibiloteca
en la Market Street Nº 1 una RiRififi sentado al piano, toca una vieja
canción del Profe Basura del
1957 Angel “Azul“, sin olvidar lo que Fue -por ser
Le temblaban las manos entre Humo y Sudor su vieja canción, faborita (sic)
tiro con Honda de Pilar y Monica – frente a la Chimenea con un vaso de Pie en un viejo
edificio lleno hongos es mi lealtad de tramontina escuchando a Walter Gieseking sin subir por el ascensor a leer el Manual de Carreño cuando come 1/2 Empanada.
La Manicure no pudo en Ginebra hacerle las manos por culpa del temblor que tenía al descargar Sandías Ω encargo del dueño Dimitri
Metro Polio
Indios
Culiaos Ω PiPo
Maracos transpiran en Amonia dias Sabado 1/2 día
Junio 1986
con
Estupideces de San Vicente de Paul Jesus Mozart Ehoy
Neroman con manzanas
I.B.M.
el dedo enchufado de Claudio Merino
Calgary
otros cojos indios.
Sento allora che qualcosa sta arrivando
“En la London llueve. Quien merece un premio nobel es el guacho plomero de pelo en pecho. Richard Nixon / lo AMABA.
¿Que te parece la Ω de Robert Red-Ford con el telegrama y la dirección del Foreign Office. Word Stefan de los catalejos con línea blanca* de lo mejor de la industria y el comercio de la Merkel a tomar café a costilla de gordos revueltos profesionales Bastián Valdés Subercaseaux que se chorea pollos mirando a Ursula Andrews reg USAF .
FACH
* de plomeros de Rodeo Drive a $1000 US mensuales en la 20x100xFor“
but mostly feeling rather whig-ish. with a rumour of courtesan. moving like a kept woman. a duchess, a whore.
A proletarian nonetheless. walking among beatified white lilies. sewing my own dress, bloodletting my own cures. A constant conversation with the ineffable. A mystic, a sibyl. The sand. the dust. the sun. Here we are again. I am ready. A milk glass star on a field of purple.
Now, after a year and two months have passed, the meaning begins to unravel.
Whilst atop a mountain of discarded hopes and armours, I decreed a black hoodie—a cloak, a place to hide. Its dark fabric embraced me, offering solace in its anonymity. As I wrapped myself in its comforting folds, the weight of the world seemed to lessen, allowing me a respite from the battles I had faced. Little did I know that, in that very moment, a divine plan was set in motion.
Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and the black hoodie became my constant companion. Its presence brought a sense of security, shielding me from prying eyes and judgment. Yet, deep within, a curiosity gnawed at my soul, wondering why God had chosen to send me a golden prophecy instead. What did it signify? What hidden truths lay within those golden words?
Now, after a year and two months have passed, the meaning begins to unravel. The golden prophecy, like a puzzle waiting to be solved, reveals its intricate design. Each word carries a weight of wisdom, guiding me towards a path I had never envisioned. It spoke of resilience, of inner strength waiting to be discovered, and of a purpose beyond the confines of my hiding place.
With newfound clarity, I realize that the black hoodie was but a temporary refuge, a cocoon for transformation. It prepared me for the revelation contained within the golden prophecy, urging me to step out from the shadows and embrace my destiny. As I shed the cloak that once concealed me, I step forward with renewed courage, ready to face the challenges and embrace the blessings that await on this remarkable journey of self-discovery and fulfillment.
going to bed hungry makes me have odd dreams at dawn and think about the 18 different species of penguins.
Oh, a nice trip. Very nice.
We decided to drive down to see the seasons change. It was a long trip, though.
Virginia, Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia.
It was just so magical to me to come from the north, where it’s cold, to the south, where it’s warm, and see the tremendous differences from
region
to region
in this incredible country of ours.
My wife and I used to , uh, go to Virginia every autumn to see the foliage turn. Virginia has amazing foliage, although I do think that the foliage in Ohio is underrated. It’s just dazzling along I-75.
Yes, just dazzling.
So we would go down to Virginia, just to get away for a while. You know, to see the wonderful farms, the countryside. Just beautiful. The hills. The mountains. Talk about “your purple mountains majesty”. Just fantastic. Red Leaves. Purple Mountains. Green fields. And the roads, black, cutting through the green. All the colours. The trees.
Pennsylvania is nice too.
The village where we all lived was small and only had red lights. there was a forest surrounding it and a small restaurant with wooden chairs in the middle? like a courtyard of sorts. All houses were connected, like a big school or hospital.
An alarm or horrible screaming woke us all up. It was the middle of the night. I got up to deal with this mess hesitantly, and as I covered myself in a robe and made my way across the village I soon realized it was all my fault. I had allowed the vampires in, once again.
I couldn't say anything I had to maintain my authority in front of all the villagers, I knew what had to be done. The vampires had taken control of the restaurant and were making these long sub looking sandwiches made of fish-like dinosaur meat, bones and blood. It looked disgusting.
The dinosaurs lived in the forest, they were not to be killed. they were sacred and peaceful.
You're freaking everybody out --I yelled.
I was terrified, there was 5 to 10 of them but it was hard to tell because they were made out of flesh and tar? or black oil. I was scared but tried to keep calm and show no fear.
The main vampire slithered my way growing taller and taller as he got closer, like a wave?. Opened his mouth to speak and I could see a million tiny sharp layers upon layers of teeth. a weird scream came out of it. No words but I knew what it meant. I was in no position to tell him what to do.
-you cant do this here, I said, go back to your own house. do these things in your own house. not here.
they lived in some kind of rundown palace not far away. I could see the palace in my head. I had been there many times. I knew this. The vampires knew this. the villagers didn't.
He began putting his arms? around me, cold and wet but warm and comforting, I could feel my body relaxing immediately and giving up, I didn't care if I died right there. I could feel his cock growing out of his body? getting harder and bigger as he pressed it against me, first on my stomach then almost between my breasts. he had enveloped me and I was inside completely swallowed the big mass that he was as he started to come into me. It felt good, familiar, reassuring I didn't need to worry about anything anymore, he was in control now, but also it felt like a betrayal to myself and the villagers. I came almost instantly, and woke up.
There, I said it.
Today, September 1st 2020 –mid pandemic, go figure, the Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities of Egypt has opened all of its museums and sites to visitors.
If I was able, I would for sure visit and to heck with me and my life. I am fascinated by all periods of Egyptian history, from the Predynastic up to British colonial times. More than 5000 years of history and art.
My favorite is by far the Old Kingdom. Everything just seems so current and modern albeit mysterious and ancient. So familiar it’s almost trivial and the same time like visiting another planet. My wish would be for every human person to visit and be in awe and humbled by Egyptian culture.
However, I hope no one risks their lives to see this piece of garbage art.
Impressive: sure, whatever. but not the most aesthetically well-rounded monument from ancient Egypt.
I dated this guy. He was a fairly good person, kinda good-looking. I liked him, however, I could never get over the fact that his head was so disproportionately small for his body. He seemed out-of-place wherever he went and weirdly vulnerable.
One thing he did have going for him though, was that he didn’t look like a misshapen penis from behind. Something that cannot be said of the sphinx. Look at this mess:
If it belonged to any other culture I guess I would be fine with it, but excuse me, have you met Egyptian art from the old kingdom?
Not amateurs. They did not have any issues with accurate human representations.
Or animal representation for that matter.
If they could build such beautiful statues for some upper middle management guy like Imhotep -look it up- or some rando scribe like this.
why would they build such a monument to hideousness?
It baffles me.
Ancient Egyptians of all periods knew what had to be done. And they did IT.
So why put so much effort and resources into something so ugly right beside such testaments to perfection that were the great pyramids? That, BTW, at the time were smooth white limestone. WHY? It seems to me, that at some point, someone with a lot of power and an equivalent to a business degree made an executive decision and fucked things up.
There is no other explanation.
//
I wish this theory was true:
Because I like dogs better than people, even if it is the Lord of Death, Anubis, Master of Secrets.
Just wishful thinking on my part for sure.
Those paws on the sphinx are lion’s paws and ancient Egyptians knew their paws. Look at these:
So it was probably always a sphinx.
—-
Now that I look them up I can say that all sphinxes are kinda super ugly.
No secret here.
Don’t risk your life for it.
Addendum I:
Addendum II:
Non ho più quel vizio malefico di far domande.
1.- I have no sense of routine whatsoever. none. everything is a task.
2.- I find 80’s Lindsay Buckingham attractive.
3.- my ankles
4.- the fact that I can not wear yellow
5.- I can never really -really- forgive.
6.- everyone’s an idiot Wait. That is not my fault.
6.- I always make dumb jokes when talking about difficult things even if I don’t say them out loud. —the jokes or the difficult things.
7.- I still love a person, even though his utter assholery has been wildly proved by many sources in the scientific community
8.- this seems like something written by a teenager
9.- I am not a teenager- not even close- maybe three teenagers stacked together.
10.- Making dumb lists when you’re drunk makes no sense you idiot. Stop calling everyone an idiot. You’re the only idiot. Look at yourself, making a dumb list when you should be getting up to speed on your Dostoevsky or something. Something that might at least give you a patina of knowledge. Watching a documentary, working, cleaning your filthy dirty house you whore. When was the last time you read fiction you asshole? Read a novel, stop being scared. So what if you might want to write again, who cares? Isn’t not suppose to be for you and not for “them”. Ha ha ha sure, keep telling yourself that lie. We all know why you did it. What do you mean who “we” are? We are you you dumb fuck, you can’t even recognize yourself when you’re writing, what good are you?. Jeez you useless piece of shit. No wonder. What do you mean, no wonder what? No wonder no one loves you you ugly fat dumb piece of shit, you are a worthless evil unaware leech. No wonder no one loves you and no one ever has and yes, here it comes, no one ever will you talentless needy freak weirdo. You smell nasty you are ugly and everyone can see through you, you classless waste of space-. Your hair colour is freakish, your face is deformed, your body is gross, your personality is just sad. There is no redeeming quality about you, none whatsoever. And all this effort you make in trying to be a good person and trying to do good, ugh, is just pathetic. It is just you trying to be loved and respected. Two things you will never get or deserve. Bye bitch. Just die. No one cares. No one will miss you, you boring dumb ugly sad sad old whore. You have done nothing right in your life, nothing worth anything, not one accomplishment worth mentioning, if you died now, no one would really care, and you would have left this planet without leaving any good imprint on it. And that is for the best, everything you touch turns into shit. Worse than shit. You are cursed and everything you touch or anything that comes close to you will also be cursed. Everything you love will wither and die. Everything you want will escape you., because you are doomed. There is this darkness inside of you that cannot be escaped from. It is a disgusting inherit murkiness that lives inside of you, because you were not made with love, only with lust, and this is all you will ever inspire in others. A dark basic feeling, with no redeeming qualities.
11.– I cannot digest pineapple.
Per un cuore di ragazza Forse allora sì - che t'amerei Mi sento una farfalla Che sui fiori non vola più
I thought that when you searched my entrails you wanted to know me. Now I know it was just an autopsy
I was in your arms / Thinking I belonged there / I figured it made sense / Building me a fence / Building me a home
I have cheated on all of my boyfriends. Except one.
Cry ‘Havoc,’ and let slip the dogs of war;
That this foul deed shall smell above the earth
With carrion men, groaning for burial
Por qué chucha se me ocurrió cotizar este amor en U.F. cuando clatamente no era una buena inversión a largo plazo. El mercado de valores emocionales es una burbuja, y yo no se nada de capitalismo, excepto que lo odio.
Don't take my heart, Don't break my heart Don't,Don't, Don't throw it away
nos convencieron que éramos retratos al mismo tiempo nos trataban como a volcanes.
The surprising cruelty of code and algorithms, a sacred place where the ineffable hides so it can pain you in ever so new, sudden and creative ways.
<p> these are the elements that were summoned to create me.</p>
once again I'll be late because I got distracted with patterns of the wallpaper inside my brain. my soul wonders in the corridors inside my self and gets lost for days.
in no particular order
ALIVE
Adam Curtis Subcomandante Marcos Tommy Vietor Brett Anderson James Acaster Berndnaut Smilde Robert Montgomery Ty Burrell Tobias Menzies Mads Mikkelsen Gillian Anderson Aidan Turner Matthew Rhys Jonny Lee Miller Justin Trudeau Rhys Ifans Alexander Skarsgård
Ian Curtis Soren Kierkegaard Robert Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex Gregory Peck Dante Gabriel Rossetti Jesus Of Nazareth Johannes Brahms.
Lenny Bruce Manuel Rodriguez José Miguel Carrera William I, Prince of Orange Julius Caesar Syd Barrett
Napoleon Bonaparte Boris Vian The 1st Duke of Wellington Richard III <3 Marlon Brando William Morris
what are you looking at, you little slut?
si pudiera resumir mi vida en 14 miserables palabras esas serían: la pointless búsqueda de someone que le guste esta canción tanto como a mí
y lamentablemente el epílogo de esa novela sería: no encontrar si quiera a alguien que la conozca. ni en este continente, ni en otro :-(
háblame de ti, de tu ansiedad, de la eternidad, si fuera verdad (por dejar de sentirme en soledad, para hacerme tuyo) yo quisiera ser parte de tu piel tono de tu voz agua de tu ser (y dejar de sentirme en soledad, para hacerme tuyo)
oh fuck teenage angst gah
these are wonderful. what is wrong with you people?
y yo lo voy a subir a mi blog (rs)
j’ en ai marre
I've found a place that will soon become the cemetery where I'll bury everything that I am. My guess is, slowly, with patience,
later in spring, they will become flowers of some sort.
like,
--I would hang out more in swimming pools if crying inconspicuously was as easy as peeing.
or,
I couldn't see from so far
All my secrets are in a box buried in the backyard of a house in the suburbs of Geocities. They are written in Lorem Ipsum and blood. 
"I remember how seeing the shape of your mouth that first time, I kept staring until my blood turned to rain. Some things take root in the brain and just don’t let go.” Tim Seibels, Slow Dancego conquer the world. we both know you deserve it
me acabo de dar cuenta que: wordpress te deja escribir en colores, lo que le da un nuevo ARCOIRIS de posibilidades de expresión a la enfermedad humana que me aflige.
beliefs are neat. better than barren lands in the tundra, where almost never can a diamond be found and all people have become ghosts.
I just thought: what if all human occurrence disappeared and maybe only for some reason only this silly little blog remained. I would say: I am sorry for the damage we caused but you should know we were capable of awesomeness and wonder. we stood in front of the universe's greatness in absolute awe. but we were so small that we could not cope. we were dark and yet we could shine. I apologize for our mistakes but you should know we were wonderful little creatures despite our horrible shortcomings.
hay un lugar dentro de mi que es igual este.
just. let. it. go.
de todas las cosas que he visto, esto es lo que más miedo me da
napoleon concurs. he is very worried indeed.
cuando era demasiado temprano como para hacer algo al respecto, se acabaron los colores. desde que pasó me manejo de manera errática, fluyo en idiomas que no conozco a merced de pequeñas notas que he dejado en chaquetas que no son mías, que no sé de quien son. esto pasa porque no he sabido como mejorar, ordenar y archivar de manera adecuada ciertas circunstancias. hice una mezcla de miasmas, letras y muérdago. se la he dado en el té a todos los que me han visitado. cuando termina el día sigo aquí, donde mismo empecé, con la órbita de mí levemente ajustada. ya no soy igual. he buscado una forma coherente para atender esta revelación y moviéndome a penas, la he encontrado. estar lista para cuando vuelvan los colores.
Lleno de rojo, lleno de blanco, siempre estoy más negra que la pena. Me pinto la cara, me pinto los ojos, como van pintando las paredes del BRONX. De negro baby, de negro, porque el verde ya no queda casi nada. Sólo los árboles perdidos y enterrados en el central Park, de colores. De colores se pintan las flores por las noches de Harlem. de colores se pintan las flores en las noches de HarlemYo me pinto los ojos de negro y recuerdo: tierra, flores, ríos, mares, valles. Colores colores.Maquillaje, Maquillage.Te quiero colores de mi vida: Blanco. Rojo. Negro. AziulllllMaquillaje Maquillage
the dark side of the bloom
todo lo pertinente y privativo de tí me conmueve. no es cómodo. mis zapatos tampoco lo son y me encantan. gracias.
me hace tan feliz. no tiene sentido. es tan intangible, es como si no existiera y sin embargo lo abarca todo.
I lovethem all, if that is possible. I think it is. Nevertheless, you are by far my favorite.
the best hours of the day have slipped away; the purest air has dissapeared; no one has benefited from it. the vapours, the harmful exhalations, attractedby the sun's heat, are already rising in the atmosphere; this is the hour that beauty chooses to rise
Most true is it that ‘beauty is in the eye of the gazer.’ My master’s colourless, olive face, square, massive brow, broad and jetty eyebrows, deep eyes, strong features, firm, grim mouth,—all energy, decision, will,—were not beautiful, according to rule; but they were more thanbeautiful to me, they were full of an interest, an influence that quite mastered me,—that tookmy feelings from my own power and fettered them in his. I had not intended to love him; thereader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected;and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously arrived, green and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.
Un viento apocalíptico se lleva todas las nubes y hace que los árboles aúllen presagiando lo inevitable. Entremedio de las hojas se desliza el ruido de tormenta. Se escurre como un líquido efervescente que avanza y aumenta exponencialmente de manera insolente. La naturaleza cede ante lo inmenso, se transforma en su sirviente y su esclava sin esperar nada a cambio. Siempre sumisa, obediente y moldeable. El ruido me recuerda a aviones de guerra y algo dentro de mí se conmueve al ver en el cielo el mismo sabor que tengo en la boca.Si lo que imagino es, lo que pienso se vuelve material; entonces no hay otra forma: levanto los ojos y veo que son aviones de guerra, aviones que van a bombardear una ciudad. Un lugar donde ya no queda nada que sea rescatable. Lo que alguna vez tuvo importancia ha sido digerido, regurgitado y vuelto a digerir tantas veces que todo lo de valor ya hace tiempo fue consumido y transformado en otra cosa.Los huesos de un animal atropellado a la orilla del camino. El cielo ruge como si estuviera tratando de decir algo. Lo escucho pero no le entiendo bien. Hace que tiemblen cosas en mí. El aire se vuelve espeso, lo sólido se vuelve líquido. Esto es lo que pasa en una tormenta eléctrica: se mezclan cosas que no deberían. Que nunca debieron estar juntas. Que no corresponden. Que no son apropiadas. La piel se llena de corriente al sentir como se funden en uno, dos compuestos que son inevitables.Siento los cortocircuitos y todo se llena de chispas. Pienso que no hay que confundirse: esto no es luz. Puede parecerlo, pero no lo es.This is what happens when the unstoppable force meets the immovable object. A paradox. Se me hace casi imposible respirar. El tiempo se vuelve estático. Se fisionan todos los átomos del universo creando partículas imposibles. Nuevas faunas. Idiomas que no entiendo, que aún no aprendo, Idiomas que me confunden y me hacen sentir ajena, pero que serán míos, que saldrán por mi boca.Siento el pasto respirar debajo de mis pies. Se agita sutilmente como un animal que duerme y sueña con algo que apenas entiende.Estás al otro lado de este pequeño río, te veo borroso pero sé que eres tú. No hay puente, pero no importa porque ahora sé que puedo caminar sobre el agua. Todo a mi alrededor se llena de mariposas negras y libélulas rojas. A pesar de que ya me ha sido explicado y que lo he aprehendido, me sorprendo de no hundirme en el agua mientras camino sobre ella. Quiero llegar hasta donde estás y pisotear todas esas tontas florcitas rojas que crees son tan importantes. Mirarte a los ojos mientras agarro tu dulce trasero. Dejarme desarmar en tus brazos mientras muerdo tu oreja. Bailar alrededor de ti mientras te tomo la mano y te llevo conmigo a la orilla. Sujetarte bajo el agua hasta que ya no puedas respirar. Mirar en la profunda oscuridad de tus ojos muertos y decirte .You, you never really had me, and I don’t think you ever will. Besarte mientras te hundes más y más en la verde agua turbia. Tal vez así te pueda salvar. Eso creo.Se hizo de noche. Todo se congela y cristaliza, se vuelve hielo y escarcha y azul -- Llueve sin nubes. Me recuesto sobre el agua. Ya sé que esperar. Luciérnagas amarillas han venido a saludarme y se ilumina el espacio a mi alrededor. Ya todo es nuevo. Libélulas rojas, mariposas negras. Caminar sobre el agua. Nada es imposible.
a veces, cuando estoy acostada, sin querer pienso en inmensidades.dios, el tiempo, los átomos, la nada, realidades paralelas. desde números y ecuaciones que apenas puedo entender, a espacios inmensos de grande o inmensos de chico; trasatlánticos, o mega construcciones; el fondo del mar o cosas que hay en el universo y sus infinitos y sus composiciones. tratar de imaginar como serían las cosas que no podemos concebir.―me mareo, pero sólo lo siento en la nuca y en parte de los brazos y la espalda. en la parte que está pegada a la almohada y a la cama. ―si estoy mirando el techo, al lado izquierdo, el que da a la ventana: es ahí es dónde está, y lo veo como si fuera algo, pero no existe. supongo que es vértigo lo que siento y como tal lo reconozco. una sensación de vacío en la guata, la exactitud y presencia de cada latido. la piel más helada.aire y luz que se vuelven un poquito más espesos. entonces me acuerdo de ti, y me pregunto cómo estarás y cómo hiciste para salir tan ileso, como si nada. como si todo hubiese sido nada. después pienso que no importa y como si nada hubiese pasado me quedo dormida. como si nada.
I keep your picture upon the wall It hides a nasty stain that's lyin' there So don't you ask me to give it back I know you know it doesn't mean that much to me
‘Do you think I can stay to become nothing to you? Do you think I am an automaton?— a machine without feelings? and can bear to have my morsel of bread snatched from my lips, and my drop of living water dashed from my cup? Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong!—I have as much soul as you,—and full as much heart! And if God had gifted me with some beauty and much wealth, I should have made it as hard for you to leave me, as it is now for me to leave you. I am not talking to you now through the medium of custom, conventionalities, nor even of mortal flesh;—it is my spirit that addresses your spirit; just as if both had passed through the grave, and we stood at God’s feet, equal,—as we are!’
After the rush has gone / I hope you find a little more time / Remember we were partners in crime
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
burn Thornfield Hall DOWN
It is in vain to say human beings ought to be satisfied with tranquillity: they must have action; and they will make it if they cannot find it. Millions are condemned to a stiller doom than mine, and millions are in silent revolt against their lot. Nobody knows how many rebellions besides political rebellions ferment in the masses of life which people earth. Women are supposed to be very calm generally: but women feel just as men feel; they need exercise for their faculties, and a field for their efforts, as much as
their brothers do; they suffer from too rigid a restraint, too absolute a stagnation, precisely as men would suffer; and it is narrow-minded in their more privileged fellow-creatures to say that they ought to confine themselves to making puddings and knitting stockings, to playing on the piano and embroidering bags. It is thoughtless to condemn them, or laugh at them, if they seek to do more or learn more than custom has pronounced necessary for their sex.
So think of the sea my darling. Think of the sea as you murder me.
casi que lo siento en la punta de la lengua. si respiro profundo alcanzo a percibir que está aquí. como láudano. como un opio de dentro. como dios y el diablo jugando en mi espalda. 1.2.3. probando. 1.2.3. probando. 1 2 3
Se vé desde lejos quién eres, / que vienes comiéndote el mundo. / Te piensas que gustas a todas.
Qué te crees tú. Quién te crees tú.
Sonríes de un modo insolente, con mucho de falso bohemio. / Te encuentro pasado de moda. Qué te crees tú.
Quién te crees tú. Quién te crees tú...
That is why in order to represent repetition, contemplative souls must be installed here and there; passive selves
ni crear cultos de cosas que no viven. ni atesorar devotamente restos. ni repetir letanías.
I had a dangerous liason / to be found out would have been a disgrace / we had to rendezvous some days on / the corner of an undiscovered place / we got sick of chat chat chatter / and the look upon everybody's face / But all that does not anti-matter / now we found ourselves a black hole in space / and we're talking about / quark strangeness and charm
ahora somos uno. y no existimos al mismo tiempo.
Meth is nothing compared to the deadly endorphin, dopamine, fenylethylamine and oxytocin cocktail. You know NOTHING web MD. NOTHING I SAY.
I hate it all.I love it.thank you Matilde Disneylandia my homie.
No puedo traducirlo desde el hormonal al castellano.
estoy entrando en tu cuerpo. Sientes? Hasta morder tu corazón.I've had a taste of blood; now I will be forever hungry.
cause on you my tattoo will be bleeding and the name will stain.We'll shine like the morning and sin in the sun, oh if you stay
JULIET41Then, window, let day in, and let life out.ROMEO42Farewell, farewell! one kiss, and I'll descend.[He goeth down.]JULIET43Art thou gone so? love, lord, ay, husband, friend!44I must hear from thee every day in the hour,45For in a minute there are many days:46O, by this count I shall be much in years47Ere I again behold my Romeo!ROMEO [From below.]48Farewell!49I will omit no opportunity50That may convey my greetings, love, to thee.JULIET51O think'st thou we shall ever meet again?ROMEO52I doubt it not; and all these woes shall serve53For sweet discourses in our time to come.
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