Emotion's take away

- Give me emotion on a can and a small package of love with a light-feeling flavor please.
- Supersize it?
- No, I'm on an intensity diet.
- Would you like kids with that?
- Hmmm... I'm not sure, I shouldn't.
- It's only 18cents more and they are compromise free.
- How did you know I can't commit?
- It's just very common these days. They don't want us to panic, but it is spreading like wildfire.
- Who's they?
- Oh, you know. Them.
- No, I don't.
- You don't what? You don't like kids?
- I don't know who they are!
- Just tinny beings, tender and crispy.
- No!
- What do you mean no?
- Nothing related to kids! I just don't know who "they" are!
- Who's they?
- I don't know! You tell me!
- You asked about them!
- They whom you were talking about!
- Oh, them!
- Yes!
- They're just the people who say things. "They say that..." It's just them.
- I see...
- Are you dissapointed?
- I don't know how I am anymore.
- Some children to cheer you up sir?
- Yes, please, I beg you. I'll have the kids too.
- Would that be all for you sir?
- What the hell, I'll also try some of those harmless excitement cupcakes.
- To go?
- Yes, I'm hoping on dying soon. You don't want deatch to catch you on the street, do ya? Better to be safe at home!
- Thank you for eating with us. Come back in your next life!
- Sure!

 

Journey to the centre of myself

- Hold me. Don't strangle me. Give it a few years of unconscious inclination to reproduce my parents relationship. Codependency is fun for a while. Hold still for the sudden outbursts of rage. Make me lose consciousness the way I like it. Just not tonight. My trauma is kicking hard. Take a detour over repressed emotions, lack of self esteem and constant craving to blame it on you.

Projecting is my field babe.

- Change direction at hidden desires, unrecognized frustration and constant self-torture. Do not dream about napping at the nearest exit. I spent my entire 20's sleeping. Please excuse my 30's, 40's and 50's crisis.

I'm still not over my childhood either.

- Hold your breath for the 60's and retirement existential crossroads. Two more decades of decadence and physical deprave. 

That was it. I cried like a baby over my own grave. You should have listened!

- I've never seen a man cry.

- I think I really loved her once.

- I called you many times.

- There was nothing more fulfilling than your emptiness.

- Don't you dare shouting at me again.

I told the children that by the time of my death, I had found it. I had to. There is no key. The way out? Should I start again?

- Someone is holding the camera. You can stop it when you want.

- I was only free in your repetition!

Even thought I shouldn't, I looked back.

- In my thoughts you were always perfect. I'm sorry, I still draw like a 3 year old.

- We're all born in love. Don't die in hatred.
- There was only the way

- We just didn't know which one!

- We just didn't know which one!

Mediterranean selfy

I was never the same after I drank all that gazpacho on the beach. So cold and red. You know, blood red, not in the scary way, but on the sexy one. As if I was drinking someone. Allowing him inside of me. His liquids going all over my insides. First in my mouth. Then on my chest. A soft splash in my tits. All the way to my belly, and then, you know... Just the thought of it makes my mussels squeeze. All of them. I melt with the memories of that frozen tomato. Shit... Remember that paela? Pallella? hahaha. Whatever. That sea of flavours in my mouth. Gently opening the shells, biting them, drinking their juice and softly letting their flesh join the gazpacho on my beaming intestines...Oh..Yeah...Yes! I know rice is for, like, homeless and Chinese people, I'm not stupid. But think of how exotic. How vulgar and what a turn on it is. To fall from the summit of occidental power on the arms of a simple rice grain. One body between many others. An orgy of animal sensations. Hmmmm... Barcelona... What a hot piece of land. If it weren't for that annoying stuff around us all the time. No, not the mosquitos. No, it's not tortillas either. Don't be a racist Tracy, they're not spaniards! F***, what are they called? F** Chr*** **ake! The locals! Oh yes, the catalans. Poor guys. I pity them, really. I even bought one of those solidarity beers they sell for 1€ on street. But it is not my fault they're on deep shit. If America decided to send Drones to their country, we must have our reasons.God has its ways. Who am I to change that? I'm just here for fun ;)
See you next year!