Complicate our lives just for personal gain.

I thought that i'm an idiot.
Or better i realized it.
When i enter in that classroom i see strangers smiling at each others seeking continuos approvals.
It 's a bit like the cocktail sauce.
I tried to put myself in the shoes of cocktail sauce.
It's an infamous existance.
Cocktail sauce it's like the gray.
I wear it but I don't like half mesures.
White and black are ruthless with the cocktail sauce.

Some people prefer to take it easy, rather than relax.

Shock, mix, hate.

It's a couple of week that i don't enter in the chat.

Yesterday I read about a shooting in the street behind my house.
I'm still alive.

I bought the Santal juices, of all colors.
I want to delude myself to have an healthy life

Ah, than I do not smoke.

Today a chick asked me for directions.
I've always identified with those who are stopped by strangers to know where is located the station [?]
I'm sorry, I do not live here.

However she asked me.

With the Wayfarer I am professional.
I don't like listening to Christmas songs in December.
They lose charm.

But I was talking about the cocktail sauce.
Precisely.

Then there is the teacher that during Anthropology talks.
She talks about inner beauty.
And well, yes. This multi-billionaire revolves around this. The inner beauty.

I do not study fashion, because I like pink.
I haven't made ​​this choice because I dream to have a mono-eyebrow.

Half measures are my philosophy of life.
And in this, I'm like the cocktail sauce.
''If you are beautiful inside, you're a better person.''
I dare you to say the contrary.

This is what they want you to believe.

And someone will answer: no. What they want you to believe is that the beauty is matched woth height, flowing blond hair, important heels, mini dress, the red-fire lipstick.

It's for this reason hat i disgust fashion.

Because it's a continous spiting on the dish where you eat.

And now I'm nervous.

I'd like my peers to complicate their lives, just to make them more interesting, as i do, every day.

 

Then, if someone wants to go to Mass on Sundays, there is always the escalator.

Maybe I get it.
We should live in a single container.
If I lived in a room with you, the circumstances would require me to socialize. So I would say that that haircut does not suit you.
We should live in a party. One of those Americans, with the tailored dress and red glasses. So with the excuse to give you the tray of pizza, I could introduce myself.
So, yeah, my name is Elena.

It looks like a gathering of Alcoholics Anonymous.

The small spaces are used to provoke panic attacks / claustrophobia.
So we need music.

I look like a misfit.

We decrease the volume, the neighbors of the opposite party are looking at "Play It Again, Sam".
In short, I enter into this house, complete with air conditioning and French windows. I want the sun outside. I know that this kind of party takes place at night, but the darkness perplex me. We'll have dim lights inside, outside spring-like weather. The house will focus on black and white.
And I want big self-portraits of famous people. The couches are in leather, black, soft to the touch.
So everyone will behave as in everyday life. allowed to turn off the Camel on the carpet. We consume reports in the respective rooms. I predict the presence of a phial. great. With numbers that correspond to available rooms.
I probably saw this in a movie. The lovely house is equipped with lifts, useful for making charges of any kind. Sofia could open the bread, while Marco is waiting for their turn in the grocery store.

Guests sway.
Dancing would be too tiring. And there are no clocks.
I'm dreaming a reality where you cure yourself just with aspirin.

During a party we get drunk, then Nicola will be working under the cocktails.
I'll pretend I know how to cook, giving the tiramisu of my grandmother. Then, if someone wants to go to Mass on Sundays, there is always the escalator.
Here you keep sitting. Each one brings a pocket-seat, to be used in any danger.

1,2,3 1,2,3 a deep breath.

I'd like to date someone just to be unfaithful to him.

However, more I think about it more I am convinced that men and women are not meant to be together.
Woman is everything that man wants to be and vice versa.
If I were a man, I'd order a beer and once finished, I'd burb in the face of the loser of the group, just to make other people laugh.
Instead of being a woman, I must limit myself to cross my legs. But the skirt makes me look like a slut.
If you go out with tracksuit, without makeup.
No one considers you.
But anyway he says "I love girls wearing suit!"
And than you find him in the bed with the Pamela Anderson of the poor.
Then, they tag themselves in gay-links on Facebook.
Loosers.
If the idea of staying with someone of my same sex wouldn't make me sick, I'm sure that i would have done.
Temperamentally speaking, I have a form of resentment against the mentality of women.
This means that if I would think as a women I'd like to wear princess clothes an i'd show to everyone my sexy sight.
The idea of sharing myself hurts my nervous system.
I have two best friends, they're both gay.
I'd like to date someone just to be unfaithful to him.
[Sorry for my bad english.]