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center (and this is the most surreal of all) had one platform, and on the platform a monstrous man of at least 500 kilos devouring huge roasted chicken thighs. Four grandparents were involved in turning a crank to raise the platform in question, and when it reached its highest point, the dropped on the mass of bleeding submissive crawling on the floor. This could be the most abundant mental straw any fan of this type of hobbies sepsuales, but make no mistake, more than a party that seemed sadochachiguachi the guest suite, jack the ripper, all filled Diox cuts, bruises, some people tufts of hair were missing, others were vomiting, others received vomiting, others cried her eyes out. CHTMLX
MLXC c) Never throw a nap, let alone head to the sun. Neuronal heat stroke is just around the corner.

never Do not trust appearances, dear children. And peguéis puppies, they are your friends, yeah.

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On Friday I went to click the Malandro with Giorgio Rara Avis (é a diavolo), to our surprise we were told that day at 03:30 pinchábamos up, bad deal considering that at 04:40 into the festival started Curren Monegros!, other splicing Day crush!. Overall, we finished the task and where I had been with two other technicians, we stopped in Alcobendas (where Christ lost His lighter) and thence to the festival.

It was not long time on the road when I heard a muffled sound and short, I asked if we had stepped on a stone, a bump or what, but what is ... had run over a fucking cat , we were so flip that not even stop to see the status oftively past threads, at about 20:00 h begins to loose the PA losing the stereo (Defcon 3.5 for the long-suffering stage manager), seems to have been minimal power loss, following the event. Suddenly starts to rain and the PA starts to loose until the point of falling down and refusing to start, stop the set and protect the team's dedicated Stage Manager, for which incidentally I have only good words, gradually goes Defcon 3.5 Defcon 2 at the end of the typical hype that is thrown when something goes wrong and must stop it is clear shot. Still raining relentlessly, lightning, lightning and two towers of light (literally came down). (...) We stand

hours of God is falling and despite being under a carpa and 7 meters from the end of the canvas, raining over me (so I imaginéis camber). I is physically very resentful and think the Prodigy set is mounted and protected from the rain, ditto with Luke Slater, who had all the uncle!.

Time for The Prodigy and still had no PA, for about an hour and a half the public began to get mad, which I understand. I do not understand is that shout "motherfucker" to anyone who carries an accreditation organization, in order ... things of the drug, while I took the opportunity to go to dinner, and I must say that I got enough to eat! . BP eventually recover and start to prepare their set. With all built (including lights and smoke) the public starts to really get madyou in the van, looked at least like electronic music that I bring in the mp3 and I started to try to get some sleep. Limited success, many past threads wander around shouting and doing those things people do that goes very fart, especially the glorification of friendship and total conviction of being a sex symbol. About

07:30 until the next day I reported that we will go to the hotel to get some sleep before loading the truck, typical thing that you forget you have to do at that time and I fell like a jug of cold water the last minute. So after about 40 hours without sleep, I crawl into bed ... and I can hardly sleep a wink. Finally I fall into a deep sleep, so deep that neither my partner C. and I we hearWe raised the alarm and asking the receptionist over the phone by someone else, the 1 and fourth, very late. I shower and go at full speed, we get in the car ... And it starts ... (panic)

tweezers and got the van loaded with something the battery ran out ... and we spent the output Highway to the festival ... we wandered for 60 miles where there is not a fucking U-turn (panic) while clearly imagine our bodies mutilated and burned by the rest of our team. We arrived at the tent at 15:30, surprisingly are all so happy to get out of these circumstances that do not notice that deserve death, live!. We took a cable that remains and Madrid, unload the truck

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No pick up a brush as I collapse, as if this stupid piece of wood weighed tons? And then another, then a small fish mural copy of a catalog of interior design with a mother who has decided to decorate the room of her offspring, and will probably end up hating when you are fourteen and repudiate their sheets and blankets circus dogs printed. All liability, all for dirty and filthy money, smelly scum will not even be mine, figures that others play and I am slave.

I would burn all the ropes that bind me, but the most stout stem from my mind, and she, as always, is stronger than me. I'm tired of losing even my own games.

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In my building, at about eight o'clock in the afternoon, someone whistling a song. Every day. It is a matter of Kill Bill, 'Twisted Nerve', which sounds when Elle Driver is about to put to The Bride a lethal injection while in coma.

is a loud, deep, male. I always listen through the window overlooking the inner courtyards, in the Music Room. Belongs to a big guy, strong, with short hair and dark complexion, slightly pointed ears. His face conveys strength and serenity, and always smiling. Just whistle a phrase, but it does perfectly, including the last part, which is that nobody remembers. It's like a ritual. He whistles a phrase, I whistle the following from my window, jamming the end. But nUNCA continues.

not really know him. Nor do I know. But I enjoy thinking about the echo of whistles of all the neighbors echoing between the walls of the courtyard, singing an unhealthy and addictive melody of Kill Bill without really knowing why.

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Go, man, it's free!, And throw him a look at this

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nothing but problems, problems and more problems as a reward for all the effort that I have caused, if I could continue to play my position within the herd as you wish. But I'm not made for that. Although I truly believe that I'm not made for nothing. I can not

accomplish what you ask me, though it hurts me beyond words to tell me that in this way will be an unhappy all my life, but try to behave normally in your eyes to give you back the illusion. I am no longer your girl, I lost that range, I'm your pride and your confidence. Now I'm just a broken, a piece that does not find its place in the world that does not even have the strength to get it. A strange and lonely girl, a bad influence on my I

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ill say no to all those romantic nuances that are very often attributed to that expression, I am not sick of love, sighing at the moon for a great lost, lost in memories captured in photos of smiling faces and carefree. This is only the beautiful, poetic beauty, one that would inspire all the verses of poets are cursed, which piceladas gray paint with more melancholy prints in the world, who would steal bits of soul to dilute them in sad songs, but for that other party horrible, petty, so stained with soot that consumes all the sketches of my great work half of my story without end. A lot of unfinished stories reduced to ashes, after the helpless child teach the wolf teeth and disrupt allend, happy and sad, making a blur report, eroding both the role that it is impossible to draw a new sky over the ruins that threw the storm.

Coal burned on a canvas.

I'm corrupt, incomplete. Marchándote knew you'd end up, I guess. I knew it, but tried to deny it by all means, just do not fit into my head that could happen, although it was aware that every beginning has an end. He also knew that you would leave with empty hands. But imagine that you would like to take just that made me happy, that both shell of talking, which helped me not feel too much.

The uprooted, and that muscle weak pulsatingspurts are still the marks of your nails, bleeding every time I try to beat a little stronger. Keep your stigmata, admiring when turned off, hating and loving at the same time every time you cut up my skin again, each time they return to kill me a little more, forcing me to seek your embrace in the shadows.

Why I can not bury once and for all, as you've done with me. Why I can not fill your emptiness with a lot of faces, names, laughter, and that picture only relegarte from which I still stare. Why I can not break into pieces, why I can not remove all the walls against which I have been starring in these two years.

Two years, two years ... I thought

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I LOVE this this motherfucking breed.

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"Believing in God is good, you know? I helped a lot when your grandfather was sick, gave me strength.

"Mom ... do you really think God did that for you? Why attribute this great merit to something that does not even know, instead of otorgártelo yourself? If not for you, God would not have achieved anything. absolutely nothing. "I

I mean, Esthercita. I felt how I helped. Whenever I went to the hospital, went before the chapel, and asked him to give me strength to tell your grandfather all those lies about how good it was going to get treatment. He did not ask to heal him, because he knew that was impossible. But he helped me stay out whole, but cut me off por inside. It helped me to cheat, and do a little happier.

"But was not God, Mom. Just your faith what made you keep walking. It was just that illusion, the power to believe in something. There are people who believe in Allah, people who believe in God, or Buddha, or in reincarnation. Some people only believe in itself. But the only thing that unites all these people is belief. Are different realizations of the same sentiment. Of faith .

But do not blame you, Mom. Everyone needs to believe in something, everybody needs to imagine a light at the end of the road to accept that there also ends its destination. Although the light does not exist. White lies sprout like weeds in their boundaries, but it's much better to think of que are beautiful flowers, flowers that make the trip much more enjoyable, flowers intoxicate your senses and get you close your eyes while you keep walking, walking, always walking, always forward.

But sometimes, just sometimes , this weed invades the way, entangled in your feet. Then open your eyes, finally. Open them all at once, violently, and burst lashes butterflies, rotting in strips of faded dreams. And you never get back again to smell the aroma of the flowers, because you discover that are full of thorns everywhere. It is horrible, the worst thing that could happen, because you exist, exist as it is as if you stopped there. From that moment, your whole life sn it, when you yourself are the architect of its falsity? do not blame you mother, and now I feel bad for having said all that stuff. Because I have no right to question your illusions, they exist only because I lost. Continues to believe in what you want, still keeping the faith in the God who helps you when you need it, but above all, keep believing in yourself. Because even when you lose faith in yourself, then ... then you have lost all

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