How many people is capable to understand the end of the times and to create another civilisation? The most part of the majority wants the new creation and the other part, the destruction of these rules and times. But, a common vision of the time and the knowledge recognising the diversity of languages and dreams and beliefs and passions makes complicated a simple look into the reflexions and its consequences. How much of them valorizes (does not monetize) the other? The different and the similar? I'm the other. The past. The story of a first week of December in the domains of the beach and mountains. Some candles next to the sea and the mind in the cold Alps. My tongue on her breasts in a strange memory confused between the fact past and the yearning. 10:00 p. m. Lover, Leaver and the liquor in honour to the vikings is finished in other mountains, with the songs of the other Decembers and alone. How can it only be.
Nevertheless, the confused words are necessary to start at least a discussion among the friends and the beers. Sometimes, it seems that the arguments are over and they are not capable of a construction of an idea, or best, the agains-idea to resolve not to answer more questions but create others more uncomfortable and with the dirty vocabulary of the human intimacy. Deep and precise. And, it is for this reason that you hate me. Wednesday night and the words and the reasons are unbearable. Too late for the silence, the tears already fell and same if the sex was good, it's too late. Same if one time the love lived and the compassion existed, the accuracy of the words are sufficient to erase the magic possibility of the union despite... despite what? Words are worst than the physical injuries and any trahison is possible to be forgiven, but not the awful arguments of the true though. The simple truth, and now, I'm alone. Confused for some moments however there are the night and the bright of Jupiter and Mars in the sky.
A real situation is observed and it is that not all support precision and constructed arguments after the lecture of the facts and desires. The short words, as the proverbs and slogans are easy to imagine an ending or a simple continuation, without surprises. The insoportable confusion forces to think and to write before to replicate or to speak. I write you in your anniversary, because the life is to be celebrated until the end. And your life is better without me. I'm oblivion and my life is confusion. A bizarre way finished every night with a song and a drink of something. Day by night, week by month during decades. Among the dreams and the quiet story without any revolution. December and just the lie of a resistance that is self-denial, and all the reasons to justify the fear.
Even so, the other humans are thinking and speaking. Writing, reading, painting and creating. And the regular people will not be against them, because there are tired to be slaves and to be part of nothing. Numbers and indicators without any expectation or valuable signification. Just data, sometimes monetizable and other times disposable, never stored. Too dangerous in a confused world of minds with the desires to break and others with nothing to loose. Confusion to the regular people but not for the majority attending the new questions of the minority. December 9, hours after the day, and in my intensity I would have expected a thank you of your fingers. I have forgotten your voice, even when you called me beautiful and the flavour of your lips. And the bright of your eyes. However, I understand that there are not any poem for you, but there could be as a rock song after the whisky in the hot night. A survival song. the song fo the confusion."
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