Sem categoria

  • Suicide by drilling

    What if I drilled my bones to the wall. What if I cried so loud my cheeks hurt. What if I laughed it off.What if I laughed it out.What if I could drill my brain.What if I didn’t want to… Continue reading

    Suicide by drilling
  • Banger

    And I’m at that weird point again where there’s all this energy but not that much done by the end. My hands shake in excitement for all the punches I’ll take and still there’s no fight happening outside; there’s struggle… Continue reading

    Banger
  • The Brand New Oldshit

    There’s nothing left expect for techno-feudalism, post-colonialism, neo-medievalism and all the brandnew oldshit. It’s all we have going for us. Between gleefull ignorance and cynical amusement we’re all dying. If you think your role in this mess is watching it… Continue reading

    The Brand New Oldshit
  • Tecidos conjuntivos

    Literalmente esfumaçando com o ódio do meu peito. Eu quero que o mundo exploda mesmo. Que pedaços enormes de rocha esmaguem a cabeça de todos e que os seus olhares sejam perfurados pelas águas escaldantes do fundo do meu coração.… Continue reading

    Tecidos conjuntivos
  • F you position

    Nossa cara, como que eu tô feliz hoje. Brinquei muito! De tudo quanto me fosse natural. E que se dane quem não quis brincar comigo. São todos tão cheios de interpretações que eu me sinto exaurido de me explicar. Você… Continue reading

    F you position
  • Add Title.

    I haven’t been well for quite some time, and I feel like it’s been so long that to tell people—tell her especially—how bad I’ve been for the last month would make them mad at me for taking this long to… Continue reading

    Add Title.
  • Google docs manifesto

    Here I am, 2 a.m. on a Friday. Blending into the room, empty stomach, warm skin, feeling bloated like a pufferfish.Describing the situation was never something I considered the smart guy’s job. I’m tired of where I am, too tired… Continue reading

    Google docs manifesto
  • Ever awake

    I’m tired of feeling like I’m the last correct name on a Starbucks cup. It’s a shame to think you’ve got the special number, to be the last of a kind, but at the end of the day, you’re just—quite… Continue reading

    Ever awake
  • It’s not about my dreams

    Was it you that I saw in those grassy hills over there? Or was it the unknown fairy that I’ve thought so much about? That sweet chant—was it hers? Or was the singing voice that put me into the deepest… Continue reading

    It’s not about my dreams
  • Easy words are never used once

    Today you might cry because of me. And even if I feel or may believe that you shouldn’t care about whatever it is that I am to you, I’m starting to see that it’s not as easy as that. It’s… Continue reading

    Easy words are never used once