Now you're doomed to fight the brazen myths of your generation burned.
gggiovane When you were you were told - by those who do not remember, probably from Uan Snowman - that sick, was used to grow. So being a scorpion with literary ambitions, of course, who have assumed a strange propensity for crucibles in the darkest despair. But still claiming a large need for serenity. There must also be said, however, that at least when you were gggiovane, made you feel bad writing. Amenities of immeasurable indecency, however, made you write and you felt that somehow you were doing what they were coming to this dirty world (megalomania is a very ugly beast, luckily it comes to annihilate the world of work).
Almost 15 years you seemed to have 25, 40 and 18 you could hear it now, 25 are already in menopause. Some sort of upside Benjamin Button and with considerably less sex appeal of Brad Pitt. But the pain, that just bites you in the belly and I sit on my heart a bit 'like the wild boar that bizarre advertising laxative on the intestine ago - well that pain needed to get stronger, more developed peers (that ass ), was used to grow and impress the older males with disturbing your maturity. Wow.
At one point, but the fabulous mechanism patior, ergo sum "has stopped working. And now there's nothing constructive in the suffering of perversely / intolerance. Now it's a different battle, perhaps for the first time true and if a side seeks to address the other six hopelessly seduced by the idea of \u200b\u200brenunciation, withdrawal is not defeat intelligent.
thoughts are hatched for months and exploded last week, in random coincide with your menstrual cycle. Last Wednesday, after your nervous system has collapsed under the daily harassment from the person who uses (as usual, in short), after mystical crisis, crying hysterically, the elixir of frustration that even kindergarten when you made a crap on me and teachers have scoured the butt of all children to get to discover that you were the Shitter - lucky old days - you've tried one thing after ... and decided to resign after deciding that they do not have renewed, after you've heard her say things like:
"now you have to put all the energy you have!"
( beginning of royal jelly to me or I passed the cocaine from the company benefits, as is rampant in this post-modern metropolis?)
"I expect you to take this challenge! "
( but fuck, but did not have to fire me but bitch ?.... ...)
"is not enough, do not count for anything that remains until the evening to 20"
(uh. .. and I thought that he had abdicated my life made sense ...)
"if you want, you can!"
(and Venice is beautiful but I would live there)
"You are very good at writing ... is important but not sufficient"
(but should! And I thought that could live to write, but every day I came here to give you the most forbidden of the orifices as a hobby ... to be a writer because I get bored billionaire)
"this is a job all-encompassing"
(this is slavery total, you mean ...)
"but I think it's worth it ..."
(and I believe that you face punishment ...)
"now share it with all your strength!"
(sorry, but I was not s firing?)
After all this, you decide that you no longer touch the bottom of yourself as bad during the last week. So when you look at the writing on your right thigh, "Best before 31.12.10" you do not think you have to beat. That whatever will be, to address it. What if you do not renew, much better, as Tyler Durden would say.
What if someone responds to your CV posted an average of .15 to 1 at night, the better.
What if you do not change anything, you let things slide, and the day will not go over well, bon. Peace. Enemies as before. Goodbye.
Why more and more, in you, you hear the clear desire to rewrite your present. Dreams to fill a blank page again. And in the meantime, resist. But only until you make it. Then, "Where have you come u zipp'r chianti" as they say in your shares.
positive note last week was a concert of Interpol, which catapulted you right after the disaster training. There you go with the One and her man, his friend, his not-well-you-know-what. The FRA was your friend adoratissima University. Partner of concerts, of raids, of post-adolescent Paturnie and hypothetical trips. It was so reassuring to have the One as a friend. Have you met outside the office, you are gone from home and then straight to Palasharp. The beer drinking at concerts you do not why but induce an unusual stress to the bladder, and so, clutching his legs very well to clip the most natural physiological need, you listened to your Interpol, setting the stage lights and icy, staring at a tiny Paul Banks and ensuring that their music will invade and fill wherever possible, filling every space of your thoughts. Did you like, you like Interpol, but have found them a bit 'icy. There is, it is in their music, it is in their mind, do you think when you see between this one of those awesome feeling that sometimes can be seen between the band and their audience.
During the concert, however, want to talk to the One was great, from that last cafe two years ago, to know its Erasmus, of what he does, when you Bachelor, one that combines the others. And find that nothing still works, which are all still at university, you do get a strange feeling roughly summed up as: "Who the fuck did it do me?"
Then the show ends, the lights come on, the crowd starts to flow, and neither can you, you walk towards their car. With the promise - which will probably be disregarded, but what counts is the thought - to see you soon, perhaps at mgmt concert in December ... it will be even more fun.
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