One of the first things you taught me is to be accepted means to be protected. To be accepted means to be saved, cleaned from time to time. Carefully verified. Be accepted is to be. Be accepted is to be. Here, there, in various places. And that, obviously, has a price. Being accepted is also a dance music. The music. They put on the disc, every time I'm on their laps. Dance and sing the song running in the turntable. As they articulated at the Velvet Lounge. And dance to the music, finally, is being a coward. But to be cowardly It takes courage. And courage is not for everyone. Courage to kill them, either, that they accept me, if I kill them. They who are dancing on the Velvet Lounge, where you placed it. Poor things, do not blame them, are as much victims who are struggling. They are as much victims as I hear them talk you., his words that I fish, swallow, even if debate, when you, in my throat, and then the stool, these floating dead in a clogged toilet, will take apart my ass most of the my gut, too bad, I will surrender soon and now the work. The barrel of the gun sings in the cold night. The work. I present it, and I remember the old Hegel, with Transcendental Idealism by fleeing his one of his vertebrae. Everything, everything they talked about when I caught him spying on them in her lap. They gave me the bullets, not before I hide from them all I knew. All we heard swallowing dry quickly, as if they were small aspirin.
They told me you liked? Want more? So go there and kill him, no matter who, we just want to see blood, baby monkey circus. And now here I stand, no matter where I am a long time here, I do not have borne diarrhea, he walked to meet me through the busy streets. The work. Fedo and fart the dialectic, coming out of my ass, then I hear that a Cartesian who saw it all and called the police and therefore come fleeing back over here and now I'm fucked up, gone, gone. Cornered, I have to be quick, quick, quick. I point to my head, I grimaced, rujo he, too, know him or am I: And he speaks
you tomorrow am poor flower lyric Lazio last raven never more
.....
heaven's sake do not shoot, look up, look at me, do not do this madness, you lost me long ago, a small part of me took me like a cancer, without notice, (such as cancer) but I loved then because you were a drain myself, I fear, deep down, he feared, never imagined it would come to go that far and you have been strengthening endo endo endo and I pretend that I
exploded thanks to you
but do not do it now, oh, do not, I know it's late, but no, no, do not Please do not fa ...
come, back, please, now I know you tame, you give your time, I swear, you baking at the right point
Boiling / when / ready / near
I open my eyes and stare. Well from the front in the mirror. Transcendental prayers outputs any language.
what was expected! Crying. Eyes closed. Speaking softly. With the trigger at the tip of the arm, that I do not know if it's mine. Pointed to his forehead: I will be brave? I will not have? More than one day crumble? Is there another way? Why do not you show me, then? You, who was so positive. Ideas that moved. That drove the neurons, which moved the muscles that moved your hands and your feet? I
! That would show me to places I killing me (no, not joking) a little in each.
They laughed with me in my lap, handing me the bullets, and me saying
Spectroman, this is the voice of the dominant, a monster ravaging the Bay of Tokyo. Go, Spectroman transforms you into the machine and destroys the creature.
And now, here I am, Creature! Who ordered it to be carbon-14? Only beings of carbon 14 are able to close my eyes and cry softly. I'm chromium, indestructible! An atomic bomb will fall and I remain! Amid the rubble, poke around for rats nest of cockroaches, but there is!
While you will fall! And not when the bomb comes, you fall now! And you thought we were both the same! Turns you on camera! What pretension! An Extension of Your Body, You tell me! Me playing in their laps, the five, I saw all this carbon-14 around me, all those molecules, which are born and die ... and live! And I, Gross, chrome. So inferior, so submissive.
Like it? They said? Want more? The answer is Hegel. Or Lavoisier, for who knows a little about this. Nothing is created, nothing is destroyed, everything changes ... and this is your mission. The transformation. Become machine on, turns you into death. Your job.
And they carried me, and I cocked. The five, in the Velvet Lounge.
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