Saturday, May 9, 2009

How Long Should I Be On Superpump 250

Vie Parisienne

Passersby do not give me the alms of their tired eyes. Sometimes their eye glides over my complexion dirty like a mud puddle, something smooth and nothing disgusting about what not to invite to linger. I'm afraid; this idea of satisfaction fills me stupid. Because I'm stupid, as they like to repeat it all to me. It is true that my attitudes are horror comics when they start to chase me.
"It is really too stupid! "It
joke, I play. They also pretend, they would do well to really get me pissed. Sometimes I get stones. One of them got punctured the eye. I do not blame them. It makes me interesting, it reinforces my power of repulsion, more powerful, more durable than all the seductions of Venus in pristine mules netted. They are resplendent with color primitive and brutal: eye cobalt, orange hair, nails dregs of wine. I'm staying forever gray, fade into the heady absorption of concrete everlasting. I am clear in this show where I bang as obscene graffiti on the facade of a bridge club. That's one of those seductive nymphets pass near me. It saves me the end of his New Balance, her pout Pearl - pink love # 12 - disgusted rather than sulking. I chierais him well on the head just for the pleasure of hearing his little cries of wet pussy, nice baptism. She walks away, his buttocks swaying from side to side in an ellipse which wants troubling. That does not bother me, can not do anything to me. I prefer their quick couplings refined rape of my peers, companions erased as I delivered my desires on the sidewalk that haunt us together.
You say to yourself what being foul. You're right, I am to you a kind of monster. You make me feel pretty. What pleasure I bring you: disgust and fear no imminent danger! I like to think that you are happy with me. And I do not think I'm to be pitied. A fried moldy, water a gutter ... I'm good. I am the great parasite, jaded as a god and I am the white spots on the clean sheet, I am the power in the bun. But I'm also what is weaker and more unknown. I probably die in silence, crushed under the wheel of a car, spread viscera for the first time red to gray.
I am a pigeon. And royally, I fuck you.


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