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Hell of small heavenly joys.
You wake up one morning and you wonder why. How did you arrive at this point. How important is your life on a scale from zero to one. Zero? One? If it were possible to quantify the misery you would be the queen of the scale zero to one. It is not because you have broken his foot doing something stupid. Not because your summer has seen only the walls of your apartment for rent trentasettemetriquadricalpestabili. Not centered even unfashionable shoes or hair brittle. It's the little things. So small that you were raised to heaven as a god of the afterlife. Hell of small heavenly joys. E 'from them that you realize how important is your existence. You wake up one morning and you realize that if it were possible to quantify the misery, you'd be the queen of the scale zero to one.
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It is horrible. Neither better nor worse. Only in this way. Still. Horribly wonderful. Menstruation and strictly crooked cocks.
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Rewind: 03/12/08 -> 30/04/09 [Source: Violence-suicide.com]
Misty sells on ebay her tampon use. Elisa nun understands us anything. Streaming. Streaming. Social networks are the drugs of the new millennium. Internet addiction is officially a disease. Disease. Dellapackardbell is my last name in code. The FastWeb network I hide from prying eyes of snoops Cybernet. Where am I? Dovecazzosono? Streaming. Distracted and confused by evil aphrodisiac. Unexpected aphrodisiac discomfort distraction pseudo real. Fantasies.
The end is that one can not always understand everything. Are things that you do not understand, he explains. If I could tell, then I would end on the cover of Vanity Fair, No. 51, and page 69, between the advertisement of Dolce & Gabbana and Article sull'ennesimo no to gay church, an interview worthy of the Pulitzer Prize. Black pages of hells and sadistic god. Dai. Beat me.
Dear Santa Claus, you're an asshole. maybe my little letter was a bit pretentious but at least a pack of cigarettes could take him. The castle of princesses or Barbie camper. I do my best. I do my best not to kill them all. This year was very bad, do not deserve even kicks ass. Massacres dream every night for a few minutes memorable. Impure and perverse dreams and bloody sadists. I was very bad. I do my best. The truth is that I hate.
E 'then you get the urge to scream. Accumulate so much shit that shit for yourself is transformed into a majestic silent scream. Cries totally undermined. What would you have wanted to say it becomes a song without notes. And there's that one thing that scares you and you torture and then burn and burn and burn. Hell. Stomach blame kill you dancing notes straight throat. Feel the weight too much and you're small you can not do. Non ce la puoi fare.
Mostly constant vacuum. And pissed. Pissed on pissed. Making a bunch of bad choices is part of the self-destructive cycle of life. Ensure that every choice is the wrong one is self-destruction. They are two completely different things. For the most depressed and pissed. Go back and try to save themselves. But. Get on with this pseudo-mystical ritual-destructive. Happiness unfounded and completely relative. If you are suffering from a manic-depressive syndrome of acute self-harm, then your pseudo-mystical ritual-destructive is the best thing that can happen. You strafogarti any motherfucker chemical form of food from the ashtray and sniff what's left of your cigarettes, since this is part of your ritual cock-in-ass-mystic-destructive. You can send fuck God, the Virgin, Saints, your mother, your boyfriend, the world. It's all part of your sacred ritual castration of brain pro-secular divine mystical-destructive. Who the fuck cares of love.
So this is how it feels when you aspire guts. Without any defense t'inchini imploring pity me, please, spare me. Selfishness around s'amplifica to chess. Liposuction of the soul. No one to save you. The horror of evil surrounds you like a prison placenta. While saved not think you realize that infuses you're already dead at that moment. When you stop you while the world stood still. An empty shell with no dreams and no future.
And then it took no time and arrived at the end of the tunnel. And I instill it was all dark. And I felt at home. Free floating carefree in my ultra-personal shit everyday. No light, no deception.
And then there is nothing left. And the world is crumbling in your hands and do not know what is best. What is the difference between joy and sorrow.
I always thought that if I were a character in a fairy tale I would have done the antagonist. Are not bad, I have it from birth, the umbilical cord .. I think it was in the dark.
Truth. I could sit here for hours. Nobody will ever say. Omissions and apologies. Balle glaring. E 'question of the genetic code. DNA. No one can escape. Omissions and apologies. Always the same dance told in different ways. Perhaps it is the life, the biggest lie.
