Home > Uncategorized > Confesiunile unui motan halterofil 1

Confesiunile unui motan halterofil 1

You wake up one morning, head on the carpet and a beer can by your side. The room smells like drapes and the bitter taste of a new day drenches your throat. You’re whole apartment looks like a big fuckin’ help sign and the water from the kitchen sink dripps, like days gone by a big, nasty, neverending, sleppwalking, hair burning school daze.

O captain! My captain!

My hand is weak from burning desire, my face is injected with botulism and two little mice lie here with me. They’re chanting the songs of the dead as I wait. They dissappeared in 45 and no one spoke and no one cried.

Bury me in the orchyard, by the castle. It’s dark there and the wind never blows. It’s like the home we never had, it’s like the tears we never dropped. For being alive is a burden no man should carry to his grave.

Hear me, my son, as I lick my whiskers for the last time and know that the dog from which we run from is called Leopolod. His hate is our own, just like the blood of our forefathers, that washed the shores of Gallipoli.

And if you sigh, three springs from now, in the dark and the wet and the weary, remember that all that is never was, never will be and you shall be free.

Categories: Uncategorized
  1. June 26, 2009 at 08:32

    Meow + Yawp = Meawp?

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