Loss of Illusions.
This is a blog about Iraq not a massage parlor...am not here to massage your balls. Am not here to ease it on you...am here to try to ease it on me. Do you finally get it ?
Some american whore writes to me, am always impressed when they manage to get it right the first time with correct spelling, then I remember the auto correct option...the american wankers write to tell me I should not have a chip on my shoulder. They preach to my head like on a Sunday...the motherfuckers...But am always impressed when the american asshole manages it without spelling mistakes...after all English is his/her first language..then I remember the auto correct option.
So motherfuckers, did you auto correct yourselves since ? I think not.
Fuck the american..the worthless piece of crap...the silent piece of garbage, who allows anything in his name as long as he gets his tax return and as long as she gets laid.
This junk does not interest me...I am interested in something, in someone else...I am interested in observing the loss of illusions...
I am interested in seeing its footprints on our bodies, on our faces, on our being...the american cunt and his/her would be problems do not interest me. I care fuck all for them.
I like to observe the loss of illusions, tracing itself like some missing map, on faces...I like to see it engraving its name on skins, coiling into a wrinkle, I like to see it manifest itself in the non verbal...I like to spot it, corner it, and make it speak...
Resistance. I see it all the time.
I see it in the lines around a pursed lip, that has remain pursed for ever..I see it in a sigh exhaled in the smoke of a burning cigarette, I see it in a head that veiled itself trying to recapture illusions, I see it in eyes begging but too proud to admit...I see it, I hear it in voices, in the unspoken...
I see it missing in dictionaries and in thesauruses, the loss of illusions...It has no definition, no synonyms...
Loss of illusions....illusions about You, about Us, about the All...
Loss of illusions, written on my skin, tattooed in red ink...loss of illusions, the necessary illusions to keep going, to keep believing....
I search for new ones - in dumpsters, in orphanages, in the streets, in the unspoken, in the silent prayer, in the sigh that no one hears...I search for it in the face wrinkled by war, beneath a veil of fear, I search for it...
You ripped my illusions about life, about you...I am grateful. Now I see the Truth.
Some american whore writes to me, am always impressed when they manage to get it right the first time with correct spelling, then I remember the auto correct option...the american wankers write to tell me I should not have a chip on my shoulder. They preach to my head like on a Sunday...the motherfuckers...But am always impressed when the american asshole manages it without spelling mistakes...after all English is his/her first language..then I remember the auto correct option.
So motherfuckers, did you auto correct yourselves since ? I think not.
Fuck the american..the worthless piece of crap...the silent piece of garbage, who allows anything in his name as long as he gets his tax return and as long as she gets laid.
This junk does not interest me...I am interested in something, in someone else...I am interested in observing the loss of illusions...
I am interested in seeing its footprints on our bodies, on our faces, on our being...the american cunt and his/her would be problems do not interest me. I care fuck all for them.
I like to observe the loss of illusions, tracing itself like some missing map, on faces...I like to see it engraving its name on skins, coiling into a wrinkle, I like to see it manifest itself in the non verbal...I like to spot it, corner it, and make it speak...
Resistance. I see it all the time.
I see it in the lines around a pursed lip, that has remain pursed for ever..I see it in a sigh exhaled in the smoke of a burning cigarette, I see it in a head that veiled itself trying to recapture illusions, I see it in eyes begging but too proud to admit...I see it, I hear it in voices, in the unspoken...
I see it missing in dictionaries and in thesauruses, the loss of illusions...It has no definition, no synonyms...
Loss of illusions....illusions about You, about Us, about the All...
Loss of illusions, written on my skin, tattooed in red ink...loss of illusions, the necessary illusions to keep going, to keep believing....
I search for new ones - in dumpsters, in orphanages, in the streets, in the unspoken, in the silent prayer, in the sigh that no one hears...I search for it in the face wrinkled by war, beneath a veil of fear, I search for it...
You ripped my illusions about life, about you...I am grateful. Now I see the Truth.
