fast, understanding and forgetting, getting nervous for the light, like smoking, my love, as you say, as dreaming, de-knotting the brain, unfolding the sight on the plain ocean, and there ride, pretty old and idealistic, horse stepping on grass on the sea water, talking slow, thinking fast, forgetting, understanding, there's the light
and there you see us, quichotte, the skeleton and the guy who did the ancient map,
you spy us silent like a flying camera, we wonder but don't ask, and on our way to emptiness of stars, we get you on the steps, many times, for long.

airborne love

i tell you a secret: i like to smell.

when the sun is all around you, and the body responds; you see, the sun can't get anything wrong out of me, he takes out the best of me, i guess, in my total respect for our star.

when someone else likes your smell, that's love, easy. for example, in a sunny day with a little breeze, i couldn't distinguish flowers from laura's hair.

and we call for love all around, airborne calling which reaches distances far away, so that someone is falling in love with us, but doesn't now. and me... oh, i love this one...

to go, to stay, to love a woman, to keep looking for her. then time will stop you where you haven't chose, where you had to go but couldn't leave again. i guess it's gonna be like this. point is, too many plans will kill you.

Machine of Mass Destruction

could not produce an holy fuck... after spending a couple of hours on the net, and even tried the rich experience of chatting with myself, i then picked up the phone with boredom and a point of desperation. when it's like that my voice is just painful to spit out, it just makes me sick, as vomiting the juice of cosmic laziness i have inside.

anyway, my young bro, little wise boy, just suggested i don't have to think of me as a man. no. he just said: "yannez, you're not a man. no. you're a MACHINE OF MASS DESTRUCTION."

i didn't let the magic of the moment fly away and i wrote this innocent sentence on my arm with a marker pen. so here me again on the computer, getting this fucking report out of the fucking way, NO EMOTIONS, NO THOUGTHS.

30s

i noticed that approachig the 30s you become much more uneasy and egocentric, you could talk about yourself for ages, until they stop you, until they get nauseated and pissed off, but you would still continue and in fact you do. things get messed up in your mind, and you feel always desperate for a recap, for making a point of your experiences, to share them, talk about you for ever. you can even set up a blog... and start talking to nobody without worrying being understood, but still it's something.

there's something magic when then young girls are happy to listen to you, to your stories and to what you think; to feel grateful for that is the only thing that can make you decide to stop it and ask questions about OTHER people, and despite the fact you're not genuinely interested but just grateful, eventually you manage to get out of yourself and listen and get facinated by other people lives, minds, emotions, experiences. and that yes, it's not a big deal to be yourslef, you're just a sick egocentric but those shiny eyes listening are a sweet medicine.

http://uncyclopedia.org/wiki/Egocentrism

Logic makes no sense

egil use to break skulls of friends in his childhood, and other innocent games, but that was his past life, by the way, now he plays tom waits down the harbour, just next to hell, and yes, hydrogen peroxide made good to his hair. wanadoo wears rubber underwear but not tonight, his wife has a rubber dress but she lost weight and can't wear it anymore, and by the way, wanadoo bought his rubber underwear in a seond hand shop. i won a chocolate bar for the best line of a collective poem, line was "give yourself a hand", you know what i mean, it keeps you out of troubles, like budism but not that extreme. peter says he's going to bring me tomorrow down the heavenly underworld of sticky oily richy people, who got their corporate heavens which i'm so courious about; places on union street with no doors for the public, only a phone call and your name on the list can get you in, and peter says there's heaven and hell inside. he said i'll have to be casual, hope he'll remember and he'll bring me, if not, what i've been here for all this time? life is calling me, is hooking me from the clouds, sucking me away. to wake up feels like dying to me, i have this horrible feeling every morning, dreams got more real than my life, sleeping i know all that is wrong and how things should be, but i forget as soon as i open my eyes. ignorance is a key factor in living, it keeps you going, to be responsible of what you've learned would put you in serious troubles. that's why we forget dreams, and we live in the oblivion of them. we live in the oblivion, we can't bear our own conclusions about all that's around us and about us being here, doing what we wouldn't do, giving sense to things that haven't, unable to pay the price for ribellion, imploring for slavery every morning, running after slavery and oblivion, while silence already got all our thoughts. honestly i say, is what you feel that gives a sense to any logic, so that to be part of a logic without feelings it just doesen't make sense, and you can realize it yourself. it seems to me at times we're building a chatedral for no gods, for no reason, so why. got to find a less meaningless livelihood, got to.

But hey, it's about to blossom here...