Cold Cold Cold.

A stranger in the horizon. Concrete jungles bare no smiles, often kids with serious faces. Outside is harsh, frozen winds playing butcher with my face. So many beautiful women in this town, none with a happy face. Determined to go somewhere, determined to meet someone or get some mission accomplished. I have no place in particular that I must bravely march onto, just a hillside beyond this frozen wasteland. The weather in this place I call home paralyzed all that is my heart. It's stuck in time, still dancing with the temptress who stole it. But even Odysseus spent a few years under the rule of a deceiving beauty, it's fair.
I assume it is hard for us to cross this sea of lovers alone.

Darling you fill my heart with gunpowder and throw your matches at it. Another afternoon wasted in daydreams. The cold is like cocaine, it lights you up. Sit by the fire and sleep, or spend another night in the cold with the cigarrette ember guiding your way home. My fingertips feel some nervous warmth everytime an ideal girl passes by, but life doesn't work that way.
Assuming all actions have a consequence I would have had a chance to meet this girl had I not taken away 2 minutes from my journey to grab a cup of coffee, but even so I am far too timid.
Your face looks best in the afternoon, you make me so happy and you don't even know it.
There is beauty in loneliness, unfortunately I can't see it.

I want to fall in love, I do. But it's such a hard task. In the city love is a very difficult and beaurocratic process that takes attempt after attempt and legions of brave words corageous enough to understand they might not make it back home. It's because of the weather, I have a feeling.

Anonymous Death Report

Grace was a girl I met in high school.
Long blonde hair and beady green eyes.
A somewhat enviable chest, if I were a girl i'd probably go about pointing that out.
Very correct, thats how I would describe her.
We maintained our friendship right up until this moment, I don't consider friendships with the dead. Nothing against them I just don't want them around me, might make life more uncomfortable than it already is that way.
Grace died of a cocaine overdose, the ambulance driver (his name was Adam in case you might be wondering) found her on a pile of empty beer and whisky bottles bleeding out the nose, by then Grace was bloating. Adam said the stench was so foul that he began to vomit, without realizing it he vomited on graces chest, it's quite rude I assume but considering i'm not Grace I can't answer for her now can I?
Upon autopsy (most annoying moment considering her mom kept crying through the whole damn thing) they found that due to her being shoeless during the time of death some rats managed to fancy her toes, which could be considered disgusting but that sounds like paradise if comparing to when they told us that due to the fact that she had no underwear some fruit flies decided to make a nest by her genitals (which by then were foul considering she had been left in this basement for over a week).
Pardon my giving details but I am a very detailed person when it comes to death, personally I care so little for the process that it's like explaining the weather really. You see, Grace wasn't always into parties and drugs. When I met her she was rather shy actually, didn't talk to many people. Her story is rather cliché, i'd rather not bore you with the details. If you want to know her life watch some typical Hollywood High School teen flick from the 90s.

Dead Next Door

I smell gunpowder and cocaine honey
That last one is yours to deal with.
Your insanity inspires me,
And I don't think I need to explain how much it makes me want to sleep with you.
But that is my problem to deal with tonight in the privacy of my bathroom.
Then maybe i'll douse myself in cheap alcohol and reminisce about teenage.
Apparently it's my duty as a guy to only want to fuck you. And fuck you hard.
But I don't feel like it right now, not this moment.
I still manage to get my moral code where it needs to be.
But the fantasies, Oh the fantasies.
My subconscious, it just doesn't give a fuck. By it's rule i'd be doing all the LSD on earth, and maybe.. who knows? Taking panties off with my teeth listening to Frank Zappa and Raul Seixas.
But all i've done today is watch your pretty eyes, cocaine eyes.

Incidents

"So.." said the girl next to me at the bus stop quite confused as to why I had frozen still for such a long time after she asked me "Will you be mine?". "So will you? I know i'm not alot, but I know you'll be made happy with me by your side!" she says it like it were the simplest thing in the world, really. But the problem was, she didn't fit my style. I wanted someone as strange as I, not the perfect mother to my children.

And so, with much simplicity in my eyes and a quiet flame of sympathy burning in my heart I said "No, I'm sorry darlin' but this just won't do. You see the problem is that you just aren't insane enough, you haven't seen the world with eyes like mine. In the start we'll be happy, but I have far too many problems, i'll come home late and smelling like alcohol, i'll spend far too much money in cigarettes and useless trinkets, etc. You should find yourself a nice boy though, one who treats you real fancy."

Needless to say that girl looked at me with a very pure hatred, and threw a hot cup of coffee at my genitals. And that's why i'm here explaining this to you right now Dr!

Hard Case Kid

Fui pro paraiso e voltei cambaleando bebado de whisky barato, tomando uma garrafa de Biotonico gole em gole fumando um maço por hora. "Trash é tão sexy, é tão proibido!" diziam as meninas nas portas dos shoppings, vestidas em preto e all star. Pois eu viro com a fumaça ainda saindo da boca para responder apenas com um "Lindo não é? Um homem que não devia ter sido, foi condenado sem chances de justificar na corte dos deuses do paraiso e foi imediatamente chutado pelas portas para cair aqui, aonde ele passará o resto dos seus dias jovems bebendo e fumando. Jogando fora uma vida jovem que antes era tão alegre, que hoje se resume no medo de cair no sono, pois nos sonhos vêm o paraiso e com o paraiso vêm a dura realidade de ter que acordar para ver que este inferno é a pior realidade que um sonhador pode ter."Rindo um pouco, volto minha cabeça para direção que meu corpo está indo e por falta de lagrimas apenas continuo cambaleando pelas ruas brasileiras.

I Like The Color Pink

But i'm not gay.
How does that work?

KindNappers #2

Dear Bruno,

My husband died one year ago of AIDS, he got it from having sex behind my back with hookers.


Joana.