I will always be impossible to read Plato, scream if I hear the ignorant who elects to law.
I will always be impossible to avoid grimaces of anger, if two friends are appealing to "harlot " smiling.
I never committed myself to love, you love me or hate me. It is normal for men and women love me, well some women just love me and the rest is prone to envy, jealousy, wickedness. Women who have taken refuge with me, warm, love, are light years away from mediocrity, hypocrisy, the lies. Sure why beautiful, haughty why intelligent, capable of such contempt for the petty, which is normal to hate you, these women do not compromise; triumph, all here.
For some men the complexity is a difficult disease to eradicate, for people who eat, drink most of all, they sleep, if they are lucky and find their friends (the ones that appeal to "Hey, whore ..") could also hope to copulate. For others, complexity, and excitement that you urge to live, is the instinct to the uniqueness, the need of the best, the desire to enter into a deeper contact.
Unfortunately the women's category (which I love, I would point out), I found the difficulty of some individual, in distinguishing the feel and reasoning. happens to be limited, therefore, be able to hear, say as an example the intimate moment in bed, to try sensations, but without the ability of reasoning. Feel it. The other category, however, has the dual capacity, and any activity is incorporated by the mind and body and in some cases involving everything becomes physically and mentally detached. Or vice versa.
I happen to enter in a precise, the first to write a letter, before a meeting, before making love, drinking a few sips or Colette M. Callas or Baudelaire and thus feel have a streak of to slip into that way. And I wonder when I hear some "outputs" from unwashed faces, what they do these to go that far? A sip of Coca-Cola and flat free? These who chew mouthfuls of food as a badly educated tomboys who chew chewing gum by the throat to see red. The truth is that shut me in every wish, every desire to touch, even the most banal, even that of the greeting (which almost never deny it). The truth is that I need stimulation, but only before these flames out, I racked my brains is the gut by contempt, I need stimulation and encouragement to persons who want to stand beside me and when I see with sadness, that these people around, some people that I love, I understand the weakness of men, beings, intelligence itself.
The weaknesses of other people's luggage is so heavy that they can see with the naked eye. Cashier in a supermarket in their places of beautiful girls giggle that pass, their laughter covered by those "biiip, biiip" of the boxes will be tears of 21.00, and come off when the house does not wait for anyone. Colored wigs that cover the lack of personality of a girl in a disco, at what age do not know, we lost count so many are the times that we saw, he drinks to forget, but forget what? The morning will be the same, only more dazed and with a breath unbearable. I, here in the quiet of my mess, just wait and watch their damage their degradation slip along with their years, while their friends say to me in chorus: "You were right. The complexity is better." And then the man who always ends up, melancholy, he stops to think, after the music stopped playing, sees the empty track, the "whores" will be in some dingy toilet (which they called by another name), the lipstick on the shirt off, and loneliness. The moment of ecstasy is over, the influence of alcohol and falls, what remains? The laughter count for little if you have not wept together .
insist on living but we do not know which way to go and wander uncertain, this way, for there, over the fence or through the hedge. Masters, masters of ourselves, free to plunge into the darkest depths and unexplored waters of the complexity or free float, because less work, less risky. I decided to go down, not see anything, I've chosen darkness, am a wanderer and changing wave, knotty, sensual and theatrical and a life like this is likely to fall in love.
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