blog manifesto

Thursday, July 14, 2005

when you need some cocaine simpaty, just the three of us in a low class apartament near the city center. the downtown is truly an elevated center of cars and smoke, we hide in sort of quiet street, not far from home or insanity.

the safe house belongs to Harry, a television presenter i've know for ages, and mr. Z, a cronicaly disgressing semi-sociopat friend of mine. we had the stuff; it just appeared in a plate and we used it. for me, the same old feeling of strange alertness and distaste. is not my drug of choice and has little efect on me.

the conversation ranged from comments supposed to be sound but that irradiated for centuries. and the books or whatever is happening in the parlament flashing on the screen. we end up informing each other about pieces of data that are normaly disconected from the mainstream sources.

and later, some haxix, and what da fuck! thought i could write in english again. there must be a thousand mistakes. i dont care. none of us care. we are the media of tomorrow.

Lord Byron

ela - "diga que não me ama!"
ele - "não digo! não digo!"

Ela estava fumando, toda entediabinha, com seu olhar cínico e delicioso, porém não me comovia.

DIÁLOGOS DEMENCIONAIS (é esse o nome certo, robocô?)

(...)
- Isso você cobra pela lauda, mas quanto você cobra pela Nick Lauda?
- Você sabe que o Nick Lauda se queimou na Fórmula-1?
- Sim, o acidente foi tão sério que a cabeça dele foi quase a Nick Lauda.

Tá me estranhando? Soterosexual, meu rei.

Senador

"As pessoas não morrem, ficam encantadas"

Guimarães Rosa