Y, por supuesto, cansada de las personas que aseguran estar cansadas del resto.
Bien, ahora iré a inhalar cocaína dado que tiene efectos similares al amor.
"Dime cuán mala soy, eso me hace sentir bien"
martes, 26 de octubre de 2010
Tired...
Cansada de ver sus sonrientes fotos de perfil, sus parsimoniosos gestos mientras pasan por la calle camino a sus patéticos trabajos, las caras idiotas de los enamorados, esos intentos de originalidad que no creo que podrían terminar peor, cansada de aquellos malditos estereotipos que veo cada dos metros en mi camino. La lista es larga, y estoy cansada de las listas.
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People think it's all about misery and desperation and death and all that shite, which is not to be ignored. But what they forget is the pleasure of it. Otherwise we wouldn't do it. After all, we're not fucking stupid. At least, we're not that fucking stupid. Take the best orgasm you ever had, multiply it by a thousand and you're still nowhere near it. When you're on junk you have only one worry: scoring. When you're off it you are suddenly obliged to worry about all sorts of other shite. Got no money: can't get pissed. Got money: drinking too much. Can't get a bird: no chance of a ride. Got a bird: too much hassle. You have to worry about bills, about food, about some football team that never fucking wins, about human relationships and all the things that really don't matter when you've got a sincere and truthful junk habit.
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