damn time ... And sometimes I sear ... And then it disgusts me to get this newspaper in which I can not really put even half of what I think because I know there are people who still read it (masochism has no limits) and see that it's pink, psychedelic, happy, because there are days when I sear, sear me long days, days that I come here and would like those above were black cats and all the paper off a stench of putrefaction in line with the rest of my life. Now I would like to come and say everything I feel and think without that changed the course of future action.
is that there are days that I think I remember days and days I dream and imagine. The former are productive, the last hope, but destructive of the environment ... And I wither once again.
This stage may last a lot, so I think it is time to change the background ... Or maybe even write here again, who knows.
0 comments:
Post a Comment