07-09-2008
Wind of west.
All that started from me, my desires for making images, for writing, for saying things of them, all left scattered by the wind west. David says that I cannot borrow motorways of creation, it says that to reassure me, it as said as my last opus was a true shit which I had sent with the secret hope that one would return it to me to the face. That hurt me. And the others, I do not know what they say, I still said anything of it to them. I spoke about fidelity to this woman, it said for you (fags) it is not similar, you are not obliged to be faithful. Me I said fidelity it is a concept invented with the Middle Ages, how one can live his life on a concept which does not even apply to the human nature? She answered me one does not speak about the same report to the things, you you speaks to me about abstract things, me of concrete. Maybe, then let us remain ground-with-ground. Then I said myself these fags which dredged on the Net were completely hysterical, that this type of dredger maintained inevitably the boys in an unverifiable hysteria. This side of waiting and standpoint mixed (I await a guy well and I launch out for that to the attack of the sites of meeting), but also this mixture between taste of the adventure (why not him) and this terror to be mistaken, to pass beside the “good”. But the “good” doesn't exist, darling. Not “good”, just of the guys with whom that can become possible, or not, with which that will be in any case always complicated to work out something in which to take pleasure in two. It is as if one wanted to become twin and return to two in a maternal belly and to live a a little fragile life protected in a membrane from blood and piss. Yes, babies piss in their embryonic pocket, will not be necessary to be astonished that there are some who like the piss afterwards. And shit. Then yes, the sites of meeting, it is the foot: a catalogue on which you can choose the “good” according to the color of his eyes or the size of his tail, very well, why not. Since time that one threatens my generation X to finish with codes bars behind the nape of the neck, let us go until the end and publish our checkups in our profiles of cruiser, will the selection be able to be also made on the health condition, after all, a hysterical will not go although with another hysterical, not? I know the theory of the children of the wall cupboard. One has that to have each pedigree, to play charts on table, as those which says use the words of the others. Me I ever was able to retain a quotation, then popular expressions even less. If, I remember of Hasta Victoria siempre, but it is posted everywhere in LaHavane. Fidelity it is not for us. Not. The marriage either, not for us. Doesn't Y have large thing for us, sexual freedom? You speak, the majority want to marry and to have children, a jeep Renault and a small house in suburbs, why save itself to reproduce a model which car-is destroyed slowly? Sunday with the mass, saturdays evening in front of the TV. Me I do not arrive there, it is all, it is not for me. I prefer sexual, even if it means freedom to use to the cord the neuroses which push me in it, at least I attack them. At least I corrode them like a rat.
07-08-2008
Love Israel
I listen to “Lachlom” of Yael Naim. I listen to even nothing any more but that. That points out my love of holidays to me, the salt of its skin bronzed with the sun of the Mediterranean, the softness of its black eyes also, blacks as the weapon which it carried on him all the day, I remember his heat, when I lay on his hot body the morning with the alarm clock, I let myself go to the beat of his heart, that beat gently and regularly, at the rhythm of the waves of its desire for to leave me which foamed at the time to carry me and me vacuum and coward on the beach of our bed. I was more than one bottle which came to be failed far and which had lost any direction. I did not exist any more but for that, to measure me day after day with him, to lose this combat which I carried out until the last day, even if I had badly, the last day, even if that burned me in inside to leave it without to have prevented it, without him to have said that the night even I would pass it without him, that a white plane was going to carry me in the sky and that all that would be so far from me, that I would become again a bottle thrown to water, far from the shores, any hope and of any desire, any dream and any desire. Far from him, me, finally. Far from the direction and love. Even of Jerusalem, I did not think any more that to find it, even on the aircraft, I hoped only to re-examine it last once.
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