the flesh covers the bone and they put a mind in there and sometimes a soul, and the women break vases against the walls and the men drink too much and nobody finds the one but keep looking crawling in and out of beds. flesh covers the bone and the flesh searches for more than flesh.
there's no chance at all: we are all trapped by a singular fate.
nobody ever finds the one.
the city dumps fill the junkyards fill the madhouses fill the hospitals fill the graveyards fill
at least they are not out on the street, they are careful to stay indoors, those pasty mad who sit alone before their tv sets, their lives full of canned, mutilated laughter.
their ideal neighborhood of parked cars of little green lawns of little homes the little doors that open and close as their relatives visit throughout the holidays the doors closing behind the dying who die so slowly behind the dead who are still alive in your quiet average neighborhood of winding streets of agony of confusion of horror of fear of ignorance.
Oi Vanessa!! Tenho-te ligado mas não tenho conseguido falar contigo nunca... Tá comnplicado!! Bom ver-te por aqui, assim já podemos falar mais vezes!! Espero que esteja tudo bem contigo!! Beijinhos **
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Alone With Everybody
A loucura é o sonho de uma única pessoa. A razão, é sem dúvida, a loucura de todos. - André Suarès
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