domenica 5 luglio 2009

Può bastare.

Lui ha una madre cocainomane. Lei ha una madre infelice uguale. Lei ha un padre morto. Lui ha un padre morto. In maniere diverse, sono tutti e due soli e disperati. Edonisti e autodistruttivi. Trovare il piacere nell'autodistruggersi non è una cosa da tutti.

Io una mi sono rotta. Di fare sabato del martedi. Di situazioni limite in città sconosciute. Di cattive compagnie. Di uscire quattro giorni su sette. Di feste marce.Di amare senza costruire. Di cercare li dove non c'è niente da scoprire. Di volere la felicità a tutti i costi. E che costi. Di parlare senza fare. Di essere sfasciata dei sentimenti. Tertium non datur.

Non capisco più chi sono.

giovedì 5 marzo 2009


Not that you can say I've lost my mind or something. Things are pretty clear.I wear yellow silk and I wish for nothing to be something. When I hold you in my arms everything is equal with everything, perfect balance makes perfection although I KNOW the frailty and futility of it all. So what am I supposed to do? I won't be putting a bullet in my head, that's for sure. And this pain is absurd. Either this or nothing.

lunedì 2 marzo 2009

mental white.wall

hedone, a word we like so much.
so here we are, having become something we may have not wanted. but now's too late. why is reality attractive only from behind a window of dizziness?
you've got an impressive vocabulary dear. how do you do it, being so surrealistic i mean?
and here i a, declaring my meaning-creating infatuation for and to a white wall. a sort of mental fist fucking, pretty damaging for your health through the excruciating headaches it gives.
finally, some peace.

mercoledì 18 febbraio 2009

how long for

How long does a bite mark on the neck last for?
It simply can not be you...

This smell of blood is making me dizzy. A blue fairy came out of the absinthe flame and is licking my neck. Carmina Burana and violently broken after another against the white wall. I love the sound of mirrors being smashed. Pieces of broken glass and I walk around barefoot. The bruises you left on my legs are blue, turning violet. Ecstasy and agony, the magic leash you put around my neck. Whip me some more, you know I like it. Sex and violence, from the window of the tenth floor I contemplate the idea of suicide. This hurts like hell. A box match with myself and my mouth too is full of blood. A dose of cocaine that will make your brain explode. A vicious circle of decay and futile suffering. A youth wasted on corrupt pleasure. madness is the only thing mad people can offer you. I run. I used to chase meaning. Now I only chase fire and I burn everything and I don’t give a fuck about meaning.

giovedì 12 febbraio 2009


i ve never been where i am now. the desire to posess you is the most intense thing i ve ever felt. as if i had a beast inside me. you keep doing your shit and this story will end with me putting a bullet in your head and then into mine cause without love and freedom life just isn't.

mercoledì 4 febbraio 2009

giovedì 29 gennaio 2009


"The end of illusion brings the end of meaning. Is this the price for freedom?

He kissed me and when I opened my eyes, my body soaked in pleasure, before me stood a man mad. Afraid, prey to black demons, aggressive and evil. And I knew I'd love him.

Trapped within my ribs I carry the illusion of him. His soft voice in my mind makes my ears bleed and his flesh dissolves in my saliva. Like an octopus I squeeze black ink from my chest incessantly because we are not.

And now I know that I don't know anything."


martedì 13 gennaio 2009

De cara a la pared

Warning: A- class hot shot players may consider the following entry as "nothing", thus, if it s not emotion that you re in for, I suggest you abandon this page and fill your time with meaningful actions.

de cara a la pared
se quema la ciudad

I thought I were in a space-time hole because I don°t know who I am. Being and having have been synonymous for me. Always. I never gave it much thought, it just came, by instinct and intuition, like most knowledge and understanding in my life. So, when the certainty of having nothing dawned on me so fiercely, the immediate conclusion was that I had also stopped from be-ing. But my body keeps aging so I guess my life these days is existence without being. Just like on new year° s eve, I find myself at a huge crossroads. And I feel blind and empty.

I grew up being taught that God exists. Not only did I believe, I believed with fervor. Reason proves that God does not exist other than abstractly so pam! one pillar down.
I grew up being taught other fundamental things as well, in which I ,of course believed with fervor. More than anything I believed in people. Blindly. In their capacity to break their on patterns. But they never do and things are usually what they seem. Statistics often gives brighter insight than metaphysics.
I think I can break my pattern and I think it s one of the things that makes me free.

So yes, I am without being. I have no name and I°m scared about walking because I°m used to 100 meter speed races. I°m lazy and superficial. My biggest pleasure is dancing. I°m fond of sweet cigarettes and I could spend the entire day sleeping. I compensate these flaws through my kind nature. I have a taste for mentally -ill men such as Frank. But only, and I mean, only if they are slaves to Beauty. Together we experience Nonsense in the most decadent ways. I dress up like a porn nun, he straps my clothes, ties me to the bed, throws a fistful of cocaine on my burning body and I couldn°t care less if the whole world goes out in smoke. We smash the car, we trash his place, we paint the wall water green. We hate each other a little bit more than we hate ourselves. We cheat and we lie. We are simple people who get happiness out of the satisfaction of the basic needs.We wear white shirts and hats. We buy Chanel ties that grandpa would like. We hope someone will miraculously save us even if we know it ° s just us who can do that. But we do nothing about it. Because we know that Time does not have patience, so we ignore it pretending this would make it disappear. Sometimes I wonder if we dont°t have split personalities. Oh, what a bitter taste.

The price one has to pay for freedom.
THe outrageous frailty and imperfection of My being.

sin respirar
te quiero amar
te quiero amar