moving, shaking

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing sprit- crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that?
I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. . . . .


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adonis vivia en un desierto lleno de agua, sentia que iba a explotar.. hasta que ella llego y lo libero de su intoxicacion
dejandolo respirar libremente, con un aire prefrabricado especialmente para auto-morirse diaria y pasivamente..
pero hay una cosa que todavia nos mantiene en duda..
a ella le siguen maravillando las aceitunas con morron.

(me la soban .) )