Am nevoie de somn, dar nu pot, de fiecare data cand inchid ochii vad abisul pe spatele pleoapelor mele, ma rostogolesc in pat cu orele, renunt si ma ridic. E ca si cum somnul fuge de mine iar pe masura ce zilele trec si sunt privat de el sunt tot mai obosit, nu reusesc sa-l ajung din urma. Intr-un final insa, i se face mila, se opreste, si adorm.

The combination between women and alcohol is electrifying. The women are the spark, but the alcohol ignites everything.

It's my purgatory really. Dinner , drinks whatever. Never really all that interested, but I find myself telling her how beautiful she is anyway. 'Cause it's true, all women are, in one way or another, you know there's always something about every damn one of you, a smile, a curve, a secret. You ladies really are the most amazing creatures, my lifes work. But then there's the morning after, the hangover and the realization that I'm not quite as available as I was the night before, and then she's gone and I'm haunted by yet another road not taken.

"I was having the nicest dream, I was on a beach with you and God was marrying us, and you turned into a mermaid and I couldn't find your vagina, and hair was covering your breasts."

"-Can I say someting?

 -Always.

 -Even if it has the potential to make you sad?

 -Even better."

Hm. Sometimes you just, uhm, lay back in bed and thing about how fucked up you really are, and there’s always the same thing that pops up in your head. A while back you we’re someone else, and now, you can’t even feel anything, it’s so rare to be touched  or moved by anyone, or anything to be honest. You just sit on a bench on the street and you see a bird in the sky that is being moved by the current of the air as the storm is about to begin. You wonder so many times while people come to you with all their problems and you can’t feel shit, you just can’t, and you imagine someone else in your place and you try to think from his perspective and try to mimic the gestures and the feelings that you’re supposed to have at that moment. You think back and see how life fucked you up time at a time, slowly but sure, and in the end, what are you supposed to do, you just sit there and watch, you don’t feel anything, it’s so awkward. Even though you’re fine whatever happens, it just bumbs you out, it goes throught your head, is this how you’re supposed to be, like an object, you don’t feel anything, you just observe. Is that how you’re supposed to live your life ?

I think that there are people in your life and they inspire art, and you blow them up in these mythical characters and you give them all those magical qualities, and maybe their just stepping stones for something bigger and better.