Sunday, 11 November 2012

Explaining myself constantly.
"I'm feeling all those germs
on my hands which are obligating me
to live in this contemporary world":

Love means germ killers.
If you dont have a germ killer in your home
you will be involved in your children's sickness.
The television will acuse you.

I'm addicted to germ killers.
This soft fluid. Am I addicted to love?
I don't think so.
Sometimes I pour a few drops in my hands
and I feel: Now I am safe. I'm clean.
I never feel that I'm safe when I'm in love,
this is not safe, fuck, love is like
to thrash about in the mud.

And you know what happens,
when the mud becomes dry on the skin;
you know how it feels, right?
That's my point.


  1. Tienes razón…

    But "I can't help it. It es my nature"…said the scopion.

    Te acuerdas de la fábula?

    Cielos, Eme…

    Come here. You're undercover.

  2. Hablas del amor como algo sucio, como algo que te mata sólo cuando te tranquiliza. Utópico, irreal. Hablas como si el amor fuera la más adictiva y dolorosa de las drogas. Hablas del amor como...
    Has sufrido mucho por amor, ¿verdad, Eme?