Friday, November 23, 2007

...grey sky...

A grey sky over stand the wet city, where wet men are moving nervous, breathing death, running behind a chimera…
All of them pretend to be extraordinary people with their great cars, “P**da” shoes and jeans by “*&*”...following the will of GOD of Fashion, but if you ask them who was Coco they’ll simply say “a perfume”
…all they have muscles hardly drawn hours in gym, but they will never help you to lift up your shoppers, and bright tanning even in winter…
All confuse sex with love, “open mentality and social battles” with “Going to Cuba and having fun”.. most of them enjoy cocaine, cause they are too "high class" for marijuana…-Fashion involve also drugs-…
Friendship means opportunism, respect means nothing, you can forgive lies, you can forgive crimes, you can forgive a thief and let him to represent your country… They find their GOD, IDEALS, VALUES, MODELS… DREAMS inside a multicolour box…dulled by flash sights…

I watch this miserable city, from this miserable window… a shiver run down my spine…
Oh my God, where are we going? I keep watching out the window, looking for some blue between clouds…

I know there is… if not now, one day I’ll find it… behind clouds the sky is just blue... for ever.

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