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voids and no one loves me Neither do I.

I wanted to speak ill of yann tiersen, whose concert was held in a blaze of excitement, crowd into a frenzy at the first menstruation in girls and energized worship, last Saturday in the sports hall of Santiago de Compostela, but then I realized that it would cost me effort, and in a Monday like this even the mere consumption of adenosine triphosphate required for breathing and / or in bed tossing and turning nervously to find a comfortable position when asleep easily be categorized under "hard "and so I decided to give up, even though I am still puzzled why let the success of this vaguely Scandinavian name from the French and the expression disgusted or bored or disoriented or lost nell'iperuranio to those requesting information on the performance of Matt Elliott, who appeared to be the special guest of this vaguely Scandinavian name from the French, the same people, caring, I explained that I had no their claim that the French name was vaguely Scandinavian to the soundtrack of amelie , unaware of the fact that, of course, I knew perfectly well, also because - see above seven lines, because as you know I am a lover of writing prog much more than it is a lover of this type of music, writing twisted on itself, writing deliberately illegible - if I I did the past for the umpteenth time for the pedantic dude, not that it does not suits me but I think the case groped out of this kind of character if nothing else as a mere matter of personal renewal, well aware that I will not make because this is inherent in my nature, and then I realized I did it - and if you're wondering what, I read the first line and do not worry: it's usually my problem writing prog , hysterical realism and all that - and it left me with a certain despair, and I would have still many things to talk about and all of a minor order of things, but maybe it's better if I try to sleep.

ah, the title is a song by Them Crooked vultures, I want to talk sooner or later, together with the film by Michael Mann, and other records, the notion of time, the concept of the future in the transhumance, the fertilization of the fields and to other topics frankly redundant. I'm not contemplating suicide, not yet.

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hysterical realism.

collect minute haiku for the sake of time and urgency to communicate something that at best will not affect anyone, knowing that these short forms of writing will become progressively disordered bundling of words against a recalcitrant any semblance marks that may make reading less cefaleagena. or cefaleafora. In any case, both these words seem to be nonexistent.

• So I wonder why there is the word "cefaleagena" while there are "arrhythmogenic", "pyrogenic", "oncogenic" and the like.
  
• today I brought an apple in college, a student to feel as they should, like those of "The Dead Poets Society" or something like that, and I suppose you know how much I care for my student status. The apple was very crisp but juicy nonetheless, so I think that tomorrow will repeat the experience.
• Friday night dancing in the rain heavy lisbon "Where Is My Mind" and I felt young and alive and happy and grateful, and I must have drunk a lot before reaching such a state of ataraxia pleasure, mostly for the fact that any sane or sober person according to my particular standards do not dance ever, "Where Is My Mind" in the rain.
• today I got to page six hundred sixty-six of "the infinite jest" and if math serves me correctly it should miss seicentoquarantuno. I used the Windows calculator.
• recognize myself a lot, literary, hysterical realism, and David Foster Wallace, and probably not a coincidence that you be hanged.
• I'm listening to the new lightning bolt, I feel good.
• when I returned from my condo in lisbon camped at various sites, including a lift and a huge mirror on the ground, written in a lovely deep red à la Charles Manson, "putas 1 C" very well. Unfortunately the next day were washed.

• Depeche Mode in Lisbon: good. holders of hashish attending the concert depeche mode a few inches from me and offer their wares to the other patrons: very good.

• a friend of mine after seeing the same imbolsiti British billionaires in Valencia a few days ago ruled that every woman should have her dave gahan, and I might add that if I were a mordicuscini or survival of the human race was tied exclusively ... no, is definitely not a case in point: in any case, if for some reason, far from my understanding I was forced into a homosexual relationship with any man on earth, probably my choice would fall on him. Trent Reznor or, perhaps, but I suspect that Trent Reznor like that sort of thing that S & M would prefer to avoid.
• itunes recently has the curious habit of forgetting where I placed the songs that I like to listen to boring music, known as a lover of paroxysmal and senseless noise, but also music less boring, being known to be a student of "toxic" Britney Spears and other amenities, so basically all the music, located in a folder that the only reason that reside in an external hard drive given their small memory of this wretched box of plastic, metal and, I suppose, they call Silicon notebook, and this particular and unusual feature of iTunes that I slang that is typical could indicate "work at fucking dog" makes me rather be in solidarity with the terrible cancer that is eating steve jobs, and as I say, I doubt a pancreatic cancer that needs my support, since my knowledge on the semiotic allows me to pronounce that it is one of the worst possible conditions - and among its interesting features there is also the opportunity to become yellow as yellow bastard, in the case that is localized in the pancreas head, or tail, I do not remember, in any case in an area where the tumor can compress the ductus choledochus, and seems more likely that it is the head, but this does not matter.
• about music boring, recovering slightly the concept of haiku: raised fist - veil of ignorance: the usual kick in the teeth, despite having lost some 'fresh from the previous ones, and do not understand who in his reviews that he writes highbrow by have moved towards a sound more groovy and less impact. Oceansize - Home & Minor: beautiful. chitarrone missing, but can write songs. SubArachnoid space - eight bells, listen while I was sleeping, it seems remarkable. om - god is good, probably in the top ten at year end. Fuck Buttons - tarot sport are reconfirmed despite the surprise effect is gone, good record. Russian Circles - geneva: cute mannerism.
  

and for now I think is much more.

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blind for all to see.

I went shopping with my father, who came to see me and proved to be very friendly while respecting the character of parent sixty paranoid and apprehensive and worried and anxious - all things to be fully justified by the behavior of fifteen beardless son - in order to comply with, me, my character only twenty-four infant spoiled and capricious and vain, or if you prefer simply girl, and I discovered that a fabric belt with metal buckle costs twenty Euros, which I think frankly meaningless, but is not the first time I marvel at this wonderful toy that is called capitalism, so I preferred waived, and buy the belt, as also a few moments before I had found a ten euro bill on the sidewalk, unprecedented wave of fortune in a day, however, no headaches, a novelty in this period, which makes me think that someone which looked divine has planned something terrible to my life over the next few days, and has given me this day of grace and freshness to delude myself that anything in life could go slightly, but this is all just respect the character of my boy cynical and nihilistic and paranoid, so even this would be preferable to defer.

defer to talk about something more interesting, despite my fees for the word interesting are alien to most of the world population. Shrinebuilder Sunday afternoon I listened and I am lost in a discussion that has exhausted the little package which is already enough of synapses for the Sunday afternoon, usually spent on intellectually not great as watching the wall, examining the wounds on my body now bears with increasing frequency and causes of which are not even remotely understand and listen to music at insane volumes to suppress that kind of buzz that could be a semblance of thought that tries to escape from my cerebral cortex, or any other party to form the thought in my fucking head. I think having to explain to fill your abysmal ignorance - the illusion that someone, other than two or three people who know about these things and so the explanation will be purely redundant, really read all this - which is a band composed of Shrinebuilder dale Crover, Scott Kelly, Al Cisneros and wino, or basically them


which is not too bold a metaphor is similar to Jesus, Allah, Vishnu and Buddha They decided to form a new religion, whose symbol is a crucifix with eight arms and lying under burka or any type of shrub willow under which Siddhartha had attained nirvana, and parallelism seems plausible, given that converge on this disc neurosis, some psychedelia à la om - and, ça va sans dire, we also feel the sleep and rather obscure for a reason I started thinking that if they were still between us sleep now sounds more or less so - the heaviness of the Melvins and the slowness of the seventy of vaguely doom saint vitus, however, to add some flavor imperceptibly southern stoner reminiscent of something in a few steps down - and then the religious symbol above for completeness we also include a symbol of any soul that I am not aware - and everything is harmonious and monolithic movingly - and those who do not understand, as I read somewhere, he complains of the lack of originality and mannerisms and lack of passion: I want exactly that from a disc like this, a culmination of all that this kind of music should be, not to mention that if he sings Scott Kelly may also be an album of Christmas songs, to me is fine the same.

tonight maybe attend a party at a local level, the retablo - where I went once and I was greeted by boys boys boys sabrina salerno, and I was on the verge of tears for that -, party hosted by a Pakistani with whom I follow the English course, a Pakistani who speaks little English and do not even have a slightest idea of \u200b\u200bCastilian, Catalan, the Basque, Galician or any other dialect spoken in the Iberian Peninsula, which could give an idea of \u200b\u200bthe level of my English course, dangerously close to a kindergarten where young Neapolitan between a cackle and another to turn their attention to Polish intelligent and brilliant as an ashtray, making me once more rely on expensive Vesuvius. I do not want to go to this party, but the flyer that was handed to me about a phantom dj that would, among other things, discs shoegazzing and posthardcare and are curious to know what kinds of it, since especially the last one reminds me of follow-up care model of colon cancer, or something, but all this is just arrogance the arrogance for which they are famous and why people love me, right?

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Head Like A Hole

everything is beautiful, if not for a headache that torments me now for a week with a fairly regular pace corresponding to the concept of always and only paracetamol and the like seem to heal for a period between two and four hours, which, as even the most ignorant on the subject, ie I can understand, it means giving as taking up inordinate amounts of cerveza and coffee liquor and whatever else has a higher alcohol content that I introduce to the water in my body every day, that my liver cells are going through a really bad period. hepatocytes are liver cells, and it seems to me to have to explain that since last night, when I spoke, I was asked if the word from the apparent source, since it consists of the root hepato-and the suffix- quote , meaning, literally "eat the things that hurt." the long road that will take me to the esophageal varices is therefore accompanies and is made even more fluid and less impervious, from this fucking headaches, for which the degree in medicine as the only plausible explanation I find a divine punishment, justified by my little urban behaviors and epithets by no means complacent that appeal to supernatural entities that are part of the Catholic Christian pantheon, but also those of other religions, not to make mistakes, because you never know if they actually possessed the Muslims are right - in this case may Allah be pleased if only addressing injuries to his enemy spalancarebbe Jesus and I once spent a life the best Muslim gates of paradise, a risk that can not run if I want to reunite with my good friend Satan. about epithets directed at Jesus, I met a girl called Basque pork, although I'm not sure this is the correct spelling, and clearly I want to marry as soon as possible despite the face he can not remember exactly, which is pretty common for me since that I am not a particular character, admitted that being physiognomist means remembering people's faces.