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XV graph. Hide me

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XIV. Intervention

When the last drum sounds when you do not believe in anything beyond after death, when you start to note the consequences of such pollution, and global warming, when the United States play God and send earthquakes and invade countries around the world view when HAARP is terrorizing America, when there is more than you wait for the final and I cry all over in 2012 will be the apocalypse, which is more than writing, when many people react and dreams decontaminate all, when you say "change is now" really believe, that the change should have been years ago, when you feel a simple instrument among many strategists millionaires hoping to do what they want. When left and right presidents insult on TV, and you tied in a third world, without feeling the big things that happen in "the rest of the world." When everything seems to die around you, and you live thinking about the cancer that can give you, just for the sake of being alive.

September and not see all the planet as a gray mass decaying light a cigar and enjoy it like never before, and I remember the charm of small things, a sigh on a main road, traveling at speed in the passenger seat, the smile of a girl, a movie to start a good conversation, good wine, a boy sticking out his tongue, made the breeze blow in the face, an evening watching the sunset, a kiss that will banish sleep, reading. Little things seem to fill completely, and is surrounded by so much garbage, we have no more than find a solution that is not outside but inside, with our demons and fears.

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graph. XIII

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Oh my love, my love.

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from the hole.

And suddenly and without knowing I'm messing up, drowning, including what appeared to the free and what not. The green smoke, fog, ice on the feet, knees, chest, than my head and locked. Terrify me. Bury me.

When freedom is going to end crippling back and what you thought it was worth losing and losing value, to become in a sense, long-winded, incomprehensible. A sea of \u200b\u200bmeaninglessness, a sea of \u200b\u200bunanswered questions fro a foul.

The feeling becomes a sensation, a remnant of its former self, an eternal twilight, a bitterness in the throat with chest tightness. Impotence. A pity, laziness of the same, but an inner hatred, growing despair. The feeling can not be physical, is what I thought, but apparently, that's all that matters lately. Feel things differently. And between injections, inhalants, injury, murder, drinkable and those who smoke, are looking to fulfill my expectations.

When the change thus becomes routine, you want to return. When drugs do not give you enough, you just dig a little further into the well. When you are completely tired of this shit.

would be like I wonder if there is no prejudice, if regulated to disappear, if I had more freedom yet. But betraying your conscience.

do not know and never will ...

Because being under sea level of morality and ethics, although they pretend disinterest, you'll disgust yourself. From what charges, what charges, what you did, what you will, and the image of grandmothers stuffed into sweaters, they return to you with suspicion by the street when crossing, and the words that are sure to think , are bouncing your head without sounding really.

That I speak, of that damn rejection appears to be in the veins of the complex. And what's worse, I will comfort you preset? No, never.

A. Those in this hole, do not want to get out more.

B. It's like selling your soul, is an exchange incorrigible.

And then remember the good that is to be there, stop thinking, and you engage in pleasures.

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Chronicles. Intervention

A. I speak of happy endings. Are there really?

B. And why should not they be?

A. I do not know, do not you sound very ideal now?

B. Yeah, well in hand, but exist in .

Well, partly I have also, to what I considered an end of course is, an end, with the sender of letter I for example, whom I saw, and for good luck I was in high spirits, and if it is true, had been all semi-stagnant, with promises of friendship, and I think actually regained some movement, with the conversation. The dynamism that now beg for it is to know, who read this blog, I found a strange and confusing, especially confusing chain of love dogs. In the last quasi-year, since the friendship now and I won, we stopped seeing each other. And I used to send it all away, and / or keep the boat Bobeda as the greatest of treasures, never-bys. No grayscale between my personalities.

B. Do you know which is worse?

A. Dime.

I again immersed in one of these anchoring of goals, think of those others, those waves accelerated these storms confusing, and though I know this is not a battle, always victorious, and I'm not able to be one.

A. What do you mean?

B. Other end is approaching, and there seems to be happy.

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X chart. XII