Tuesday, 24 September 2013

the mona lisa effect.

it's so fucking ridiculous. so depressing.
all that people looking and wanting and desiring and thinking about
mona lisa.
mona lisa is a bitch. a fucking moron bitch.
is your projection into something.
mona lisa is everything that you couldn't achieve.
is your coward heart and mind.
one day someone looked at this piece of bread and cheese and decided
that it would be gold. power.
and all you losers and insecure and sad, sad, oh, sad people...
why? why so fucked up? why so souless... oh, why.
mona lisa smile, please, fuck me. take me by the hand and fuck me until the end.
because i'm not gonna look at you. not even once.
you're nothing, mona lisa smile.
all that people looking and wanting and desiring and thinking about.
mona lisa, you boring girl.
go order your group.
go. go. go.



Saturday, 14 September 2013

the little punk actor croupier.

he could be the most cliché person that i've ever met.
but he's just so honest with himself, so present with his own soul
that a cliché is just an excuse to not admit that he is true.
so true that hurts.
so true that lie to him is lie to myself.
he is what he is and that's enough.
enough. enough. enough.
listen to what i'm saying:
enough.
he likes to pretend that he's mad, angry and bad.
a wild heart misgoverned in the road.
but he's just a boy, trying to understand this mess which we call life.
live.
love.
like.
lack.
he tries so hard to suck the essence of his bones, that he lives his life in the most
deepest
crazy
good
and
joyful way.
he's a clown inside a world that clowns are wise.
that crazy people are like a punch of truth in your stomach.
his name is in his eyes.
his thoughts are in his sweat.
his believes are in his attitudes.
you don't need to ask him,
bother him
sell nothing to him.
just feel the soul.
it's so much more simple.
feel him.
feel him.
feel him.

now breath.


Monday, 9 September 2013

ride.

ride with no respect to borders
with no fear under the skin
ride like a wild horse
prepared to the unknown
ride like a soft soul
waiting nothing
wanting no one
ride like a cloud
transforming itself
as the wind changes

i've always seen drawings on the clouds.