I read lots of books.
None helped.
Концерт "Оригами" и моя неспособность вписываться в обстановку. Проверка почты для очистки совести. Что бы ни случилось, каждый отвернётся. Из вежливости или чтобы не заразиться. Иней на ресницах не тает, стекленеют глаза.
Spawn me the love mod.
Она приходит, танцует и надеется, что никогда больше снова его не увидит. Но он всаживает ей в ногу, именно туда, где чувствительность кожи равна нулю, биоимплантант. Вечная батарейка, питающаяся от токов ЦНС. И всегда её находит, везде. А она не понимает, в чём дело.
А дело в том, детка, что нужно быть осмотрительнее.
У меня в голове - собственное радио. И в этом тоже дело. За три часа мне удалось не сказать ни слова.
I met an angel hanging on your door.
It muttered something not to be ignored.
I met an angel sleeping on your breast.
It told me I had to be the next.
It told me I had to come undone
To wind up as intimate as gone.
To drag me through your anonymic test
And get me trust to sleep upon your breast.
Считай что меня порвало вибрациями разной частоты. И наслаждайся тишиной.
Каждый хочет казаться профессионалом хоть в чём-то. Я так больше не могу. Do they really have to show off like that?
Let my weapon be orthography. Alcohol makes wonders. Not to me, oh, not to me, my friend.
I'm no way waking up. I'm no way going to bed.
I'll waste me up on chemical coffee. And I'm no way getting out sane and sound. 10pm job calls. I'm a clockwork friend. Your clockwise salvation.
A hand grenade in your pants. You'll never know what I am, but you always see that.
Too deep into moralizing, like a subway saint.
"For all the mommy thing she's done".
Like I really wanted it. Like I really tried to fuck it up by any means. Like I isolated me myself. As if I could be othrwise.
"Those motherfuckers got it wrong".
Another way of communcation. She never answered. I were really waiting. And my sight could really make her sick. What am I searching for? About 0 Inet pals about 0 realtime ones, about 0 understanding ones, about 0 concerned.
"Go fix my head..."
This department taught me studies sucked. As well as teaching did. I quit knowing the language as soon as entered their fucking doors. As soon as I picked all that complicated shit up. Meta-, hyper-, pseudo-, anti-, synchro- stuff. And now I find myself searching for the casual words. Everyday ones.
Like the only thing thing I really wanted is perfection. Like I'm playing saint. Like I'm all decent and tied-up.
As libertine as you, my dear, as deprived as you are. Oh, my friend, you've missed the whole lot.
Oh, my friend, you've missed the important thing. I need it to be interesting, because as soon as it is not, I go away. Like, out. Like, I vanish. Quit. Exit. As if you could make it like that. As if I weren't smart enough to guess where the emptiness lies.
She just comes with a "love me" thing, my friend, and her eyes drip with lust. Her parted lips are burning with desire. Her arms velvet sweet. She's dark in every way. In every fucking possible way, my friend.
With obscure past, unguided present, unforetellable future. Olive skin and pitch black thick hair. Tragic glasscrash laughter.
"My oh my".
And that she wants is just your self. No cash involved. No cars, no posessions, no status stuff, no cars, no apartments, no dress, no second chances. What she likes is the way I am. What she is is interesting. What she needs is my care and presence. And she's independed, God, how independent she is.
No showoff stuff.
Just the deep attraction that binds us together. As tight as possible. She's cute and imppossible to forget. Lax and tense at the same time. Responsive to my touch and word. Making me interactive. Making me responsive to hers.
"Tell me we both matter, don't we?"
She ansered the question in no time. And keeps answering it every day. No, baby, we do not. But what do we care, if we've got each other? It's virtual, verbal and mean passion. We want each other in full, my friend. We're unique in whatever we do and whatever we say. We are one yet so drastically different.
The way she understands gives me creeps. She can very well finish my phrase, just as I see through hers. We're tuned in. It's chemistry and what not else. And she's not about the images, she's about me. Just like I'm about her.
And, my friend, we never part. We cannot part.
You can't part with the one you don't have.