I'm getting pathologic

ho guys, this is getting serious. can't react. i staied another day at home, between tele, laptop and bed. you know, the wind makes a noise in this house... and always manage to enter from somewhere, it gets on your skin that irritating touch of north pole. i feel i don't care to face it. there's a psychic challenge between me and the weather which i don't ask you do understand, it's long and cryptic to explain. suffice to say i had enough. don't want to have another christmas time. i'm all in tension for something else of this place i don't belong to, with its people, palaces and wind. it's getting pathologic. i think and think again about my life in few, very few long months; what i'm going to do and where, so far away. dreams build up in the air, solid as concrete yet uncertain, because that's how my future is: i need it, yet i don't know its face. i think and think again abut MT, now she's my angel, now a liar; how she can change so abruptly in my mind. i love her, i know i do, but i don't know her, i know i don't. yet how important she is to me. i think and think again about myself and the dymension i want to live in and what do i need to have around. dreams can only drag me blind, i need to react. i'm so close to fuck all up, so close. but the idea doesn't scare me. who the hell can be possibly be here? there's nothing here, not even me, not even my life, why fear? that's a cold, polar oblivion i must escape from, and fast, runnig, rising fingers, shouting. i'll say thanks also, as i loved it; it just lasted too long and it's getting me somewhere i don't want to go.

Apologize

Apologize for all the bullshit I'm posting recently. I just need to get away from this place ASAP. The wind blow and blows and blows as a drunk man pushing you without noticing. Guys in purple sportsware bring on bicycles faces rotten by alcohol and heroin and shout a language they don't even understand. seagulls roam in the sky just waiting the moment they can steal your sandwich. mums and pas and teens spending a fortune in low quality fornitures, gadgeting, clothes. and that's a great deal of life. no one to look at and dream in the pubs, just the same old friends by chance, doing the same old things, saying the same all things. the cold made us all pale and scary looking so that's sad to see us smile, our suffering skin on the chicks under eyes wet of beer and unconfortable sleeping. the world is so far away that cannot challenge those little rules of living, so that remain tremendously important even without a minor shadow of sense. this is the reign of ugliness, this is the anti-reality, this is the anthithesis of life as i know it and how i like it; sorry, it's just is. tell you the truth, this place has made me suffer and i'll rise the middle finger heading south, finally, wont miss anything or anyone; no friends, no places, no time, nothing. out of my life for good, that's the best thing they can do.

just a little more time... just a little more... i'll get out of this organized stupidity.

Easier than one could possibly bear

There are moments in which everything is collapse. All around. All you can do is put the pieces together, tidy your room. If you just were feeling like. If not, just look around the landscape. Take some shot, and trow them into the mess. And probably all is fine, but your thoughts just can't travel there. But it seems, nowhere else. They just flow hidden and without structure. Life is easy, easy, easy. Easier than one could possibly bear. Sometimes, not pleasant ones.

And by the way it's freezing here, fucking north

If the world was turning the other way round, I'll probably be the oposite of what I am. I guess I am one of those.

By the way, if you've never listened to sizzla you should; you know, the album black woman and child is somehow.... sweet and warm. Which is a nice combination, I think, remember and dream.