Tu jefa

TO MY DEAR READER: I am the scandal; I’ve exceeded and abused every known sin so yours would look minuscule and absurd as you confessed upon the cross. You will ALWAYS be superior to the author of these words.

Treat this compilation as you would a whore. For words are meant for prostitution.

.-“Minds are like parachutes… they only function when they are open.” Sir James Deewar

-Whowe are-
(Outer layer dissection)

-“Who are you?” Asked the mice as they interestingly sipped from their second cup of cocaine tea.

-“…We are the specialty of our race, normal feelings don’t apply. We find the beauty in common things, as if the outer layer was oblivious to US; we were born with different eyes. We are treated as a different breed, as a different kind of human being. Ouremotions lay hardwired to our hands and voices and flow with minimal distortion to our armies. We may smile at the face of desolation or cry at sunshine rays, as if our senses laid on another world, on another time. We softly rape your state of mind and pour it in our cataclysmic mix of emotions. We should not be treated lightly, since we are far more brutal in love and in hate, in war and in peace.Our emotional range knows no boundaries, try to keep up and you’ll get burned, as we did long ago. I’ve known some of us along the way; I’ve found them even if they don’t really know WHAT they are. I treat them with fear and respect, since we are all volcanoes. Fragile as a crystal absinthe cup and hard as a whore’s heart. The “you-are-MINE-since-you’ve-cried-with-MY-creation” attitude resembles asad clown for us, a washed-out Xerox of what we are. We ARE your emotions; we DANCE in the rhythm of your souls. We are the stars, we are the bangs, we are the voice, we are the ARTISTS! All those who are psycho-activated, flame-induced and brain-exploded by our sweet caress, may God hold them insane for they are the matrix of our creations, the only fuel, the narcotic “par excellence”. Time topull the rabbit from the hat, melt the icicles for a creation is on the oven, smell the expectation; which way will this bullet go? Wait for the train to stop or you’ll scab your knees on the way down. Time to follow the moth rats, Alice is ready to breed.”

-Amethyst pupils, neurological overheating, sensual pride and a tasteful inquiry for a third cup vapor up to the latex trees that gave ceilingto my adorable tea party table. I knew they swallowed fear.

- The Mad Hatter.

-On our Brothers-
(Third Party Dissection)

-The tea party had already ended; obviously we left the spares as a statement of such a lovely time.

-“Where are you taking us?” asked the mice with sweet expectation and still with dislocated pupils.

-“We are going to see our brothers, thee who are therebut do not allow to be seen. Thee who destroy and show… create and hide. Thee who do not care if their gardens grow into a dangerous place, as long as it is new. Take your sweaty hands of your pockets my dear cocaine mice, for once we arrive you will be asked for a handshake. Dress well my addict friends, our brothers are always keen of art in ones body, they believe it has to embrace you everymoment. Do not fear for your lives, your bodies will not be touched; it’s far too vague to deserve any distraction. Instead, fear your minds my dears for they have the ability to see through you, they will take your deepest fear, French-kiss it and throw it inside again while you are sleeping. You may never question them but they may question you at any time, he who is in his own house has thepower…and their house lies in the realm of infinite space, so don’t question them, ever. If you are sincere enough, sharp enough and lucky enough they may ask for your opinion, beware of what you say for it will affect them, they will embrace your words, wrap them in heart tissue and keep them below their ivory armor… forever. Clean your thoughts and take some more cocaine my dear mice, you have to...