I think that I born to resist and this act cut my skin making me bleed.
Maybe, the blood which flows is like the rain described by Silvio. Or Not, it looks like more a storm that never finished. Blood. Bleeding. Outside there is a meaningless world. There is a world by control of which is produced by its details. No, no, we are not saved, in any where. The death can arrive any time and scoop us to nowhere. Yes thats the life, and its finishing each second that in the capitalist clock pass. Its cold outside, cold like most of the people around the world. They lost their affection, they have became a zombie which follows blindly the heaven.
I born in the hell, surrounded for ghost and now I am living on the top of the heaven. Leaving as a beggar who ask about one single life meaning. Such disgusting world.
am I leave or I am already dead?
questions
3 comments:
Cara, tá foda. Hoje vinha pela rua, com a sacola cheia de álcool, pensando queeu escrevo, escrevo, escrevo, e não consigo dizer nada.
Hoje não tive o menor prazer em cuidar de meu cotidiano. Lavar minhas roupas. Organizar minhas coisas. Meu único prazer esteve em sentar, ler Bukowski, e tomar uns tragos.
Enquanto lia, não conseguia deixar de pensar que o livro tem muito que ver com voce.
É um momento niilista. Mas apenas um momento.
Sobre a figura do seu blog, devo dizer que aprecio a metodologia de trabalho dos ratos.
Você lembra quando colecionava caixas de Marlboro?
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