Little Mental Spits

Just a little spit from my wierd brain

The dawn it’s still far for whom read this, or at least I assume that by the fact that I’m probably not going to publish it like a normal poetry book or something like that, this it’s more of the trash of that void that is the internet.

But there’s always the solace that you might slip in your bathroom, or maybe you will choke with a golden spoon when you are a old man after winning the lottery or live the dream of a worker. Yet that luck its still, like balancing itself on a step in a ladder ,like when you don’t know if things are getting better or they just stop getting worse.

You intellectually know that there’s no such thing as total cared  for another person, but emotionally it doesn’t do anything else than look the blinks which shadows seem to form a friendly smile.

Yet! Not everything with wings fly and not everything that floats magically had that feeling of freedom that only is like those fleeting childhood moments when we didn’t have enough brain power for being a a*****e.

Those steps that made you feel like a f*****g philosopher at realizing that being a adult is only a combination of hormones, responsibility’s  and that feeling that you are satisfy with your product, always avoiding strong emotions, good ones or bad ones,  only a love, a house, or a mediocre routine, and that’s just enough for you , for as cool as you feel by being contend when it was always about everybody else and nobody else judging you that is its being happy isn’t it?

To me it’s nice to feel like rat in the sewers, wherever it is, that mental image feels nice. One never expects that others know that the social anxiety even though it hits us all like a kitten clawing a curtain. It’s interesting to know what is it to just be another in the bunch, to flow, to not feel mark at all (illusory sentiment itself but annoying enough to matter, like trying to scratch your butt on public).

Today we should go out and just kick people, its early for some and late for others, they owe it to themselves really. So many descriptions and so little time because more than a person when they talk they do nothing more than moving their jaws and blowing hot air from their mouth,

One questions the priorities of those that doesn’t know the most basic concepts from the human being, like sad clowns or the little prince, the kings and the despots or simple pagans, the swag dudes and the old guy that doesn’t want to sell you alcohol because its past midnight.

But I guess the reader is not one to find beauty on a cracked wall, or a filthy street…but I do… the honest ugliness makes me feel safe you know?