This is the first time I go through winter. I live it.
Now that I know how it is I can tell my adopted kids how it is.
Now that I know what is like, I will just follow the birds when the go south.
This is the last time I go thorugh winter. I’ll just watch it on the TV while drinking some tropical cocktail in some tropical weather. Like Venezuela’s.
How can I let her know I didn’t abandon her?
Why do guys have nipples? Are they spare nipples for girls who lost them with a hungry baby or a hungry Hungarian on a boat in a sexy one afternoon stand while vacationing in summer in Boston?
I’m going to find my spare nipples some day. And then I will take care of them forever as if they were mine… ‘cause they might be in my body in the future.
Why is there a bushing system? Is it a joke from who came up with our bodies and its processes? Do we really have to blush every time we are either self conscious or ashamed or we want to hide something for our own dignity’s sake? Who laughs when this happens? When everybody can tell because red cheeks only mean that and a recent attempt of orgasm, which obviously wasn’t the case when someone just pointed out half of your tit, no, actually, half of your nipple is showing and it’s so relaxed and happy taking a pick of the outer world that it looks like a water balloon. Like a sun at sunset, like a croissant with no crust part, like a nipple. And nipples… everyone wants to suck when out.
Do our nipples get hard when we blush?
Oh wait! I think I know why. When we blush we look cute and that’s like feeling pity but fuckable. We all like having sex with cuteness, because it means we are the first ones there, that heart has never been smashed (or at least that what our cocks think).
Did I mention I´m growing a cock? well I am and it’s for gay guys to suck it!
How come the coffee that I had today (for specifics fans: Tall soy milk latte at 31st and 6th NW corner Starbucks. 2.36pm) made me sleepy during my whole class and now it just kicked in? But when I was sleepy I had this weird heartbeat rhythm, almost like an ancient syncopated drum calling my ancestors. And they would say “Stupid V, warm milk before class? Really?” and I would say “It’s soy milk” and they would say “It still has the word milk in its name” and then they would go back to their dimension: The seventh one on the left. Only that “left” is way to three dimensional to actually name where this dimension is. Where they live and only leave to point out the stupid things I do. Stupid heart, he calls them every now and them. I guess he was born like that.
I can’t sleep.
I went to this Italian bakery/dessert house on Mulberry St. and ate a profiterol. I wonder why the most delicious chocolate always has the highest look alike with the nastiest shit and my mouth waters. What would Freud say about that?
I know my country is free, it doesn´t matter that we lost this elections, because we know there were not elections. The results were not from going to vote. And the President is not a President. I know my country is free, even though there are hundreds that have been murdered for speaking their minds. Free, even if we can not go out, to the streets without wondering if we will ever go back or if we´ll die or even if we actually go back we don´t know if our house will still be ours, or our families will be dead or alive. Free… freedom. Peace. I know we are free. I know we will be free. I´m terribly sad. But nothing is forever and everything is mutating, all the time, stopless, endlessness.