از این خیابان های بی جویی در کنار و آبی روان

جایی هم نیس بالا بیاری این کثافتو که همه چی رو به گه کشیده، هیچ جایی نیس.

برای تو که نام رقیبت هم سینماییست. خوش فرم، خوش صدا، خوش آهنگ. تکرار کن:

تو دیگه حتی رقیب عشقی هم محسوب نمیشی پسر. چون تو بازی رو باختی.

اگه نمی دونستی بدون.

first i thought I was dying, yea I was going to die. It was too harsh, too hard...too malignant. you see. It was not the first time. It definitely wasn't but there was a sense of defeat. A sense of

shit, it happened again and it will happen again and again until you turn into a stone and die

but I didn't turn into a stone cos I was crying so loud into the fucking pillow and felt like everyone was watching me. What I didn't feel was that I was really turning into a stone. Bit by bit with each and every fucking tear that went down my cheek. By day break , I had turned to a stone. A big one, and I was dead. Really truly dead, and then they picked me up and took me to the sea and just left me there on the sand. They didn't even throw me into the fucking water. They just left me there to rot. but I didn't...I was refined you see, all that water in the goddamn waves made my skin so smooth, and then one night it happened. I was alive.I had risen from the dead...not afraid of anything, but I knew it was going to happen again and I was going to die. But then I thought and I thought a lot. . . and I told myself: whatever .

o you. this world will drown. o you. i'll be yours. forever and ever

I'm on a roll, I'm on a roll
This time, I feel my luck could change
Kill me, kill me again with love
It's gonna be a glorious day

Pull me out of the aircrash
Pull me out of the wake
I'm your superhero
We are standing on the edge

The Head of State has called for me by name
But I don't have time for him
It's gonna be a glorious day
I feel my luck could change

Pull me out of the aircrash
Pull me out of the wake
I'm your superhero
We are standing on the edge

ژانر

اینایی که میرن فیس بوک از سر بیکاری هی نیوز فیدشون رو ریفرش می کنن که خیلی اتفاقی عکسای اینایی رو ببینن که ژانر اونایین که یارو رو نمی شناسن بعد میرن فرت فرت توی عکسایی خونوادگیشون ادش می کنن زیرش هم یک پیام دزدکی می نویسن که مثلن الهی تقدیم با عشق نور من جگر طلا ستاره های پرنده خرس های مهربون.

Dear diary,
I'm afraid I'm gravely ill. It is perhaps times like these that one reflects on things past. An article of clothing from when I was young. A green jacket. I walk with my father. A game we once played. Pretend we're faeries. I'm a girl faerie. My name is Laura Lee. And you're a boy faerie. Your name is Tita Lee. Pretend, when we're faeries we fight each other, and I say "Stop hitting me I'll die!" And you hit me again and I say, "Now I have to die." And then you say, "But I'll miss you." And I say, "But I have to. And you'll have to wait a million years to see me again. And I'll be put in a box, and all I'll need is a tiny glass of water and lots of tiny pieces of pizza and the box will have wings like an airplane." And you'll ask, "Where will it take you?" "Home." I say.

این شاید تنها نوشته باشد برای هدیه کردن زندگی ات به کسی که هرگز نخواهد آمد

Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make; you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won't know for twenty years. And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it's what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but it doesn't really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along. Something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel whole, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is I feel so angry, and the truth is I feel so fucking sad, and the truth is I've felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long I've been pretending I'm OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen

.

فکر کن یکی بیاد وبلاگشو به تو هدیه کنه. بیا بگیر...این همه زندگی من. چهار سال نوشتم. حالا همه اش مال تو.