Letter Of Reconsideration For Post Graduate

Addirittura
il taccuino cade,
mi scivola tra le mani
bucate
come tutte queste rossearancioniumide giornate.

Ho la bocca impastata, il culo quadrato (i sedili nuovi di queste carrozze nuove sono solo di un’estetica disarmante per lo standard a cui si è abituati, niente più), dicevo .. la mano abbastanza pallida, il senso d’essermi perso un po’ per strada.

Questo Muji è quasi finito.
Ho paura to write on it, mainly for two reasons: one because I have not been a good boy, betraying the silent pact and leaving my consciousness monologues even more lonely, far away from me because two things are pulled always finite sums do not think to feel ready to throw money at me. Not at all.
And then suddenly becomes finer, less quickly, the smaller, more lines.

Postponing I always come out of a large fine, really. I am a dragon. Mwah.
Nobody explained to me, however, the maximum capacity, the point beyond which the accumulation becomes cumulative forcing. And now it's as if I came back from behind all that I have departed in recent years ... I'll end crushed, because the door of this room, I closed and I still continue to hold such. I'm going
crushed me because I prefer open rather than pulping. Then, well, last, under pressure, give, give, and all because I am no less: and I will open the proceedings (the autogiudizio) is ready, there, waiting for me.
Those things kind of life, responsibility, mutual, life, death, death, Sipra.

pictures from so far away, smiles
above a low-fat yogurt.

Chiudetemi in, let me

explode into many small pieces che sono me.
Ma non mancherò mai di rispetto, quello mai;
alla vita vostra, agli immeritati quasi addii, alle lacrime e ai malintesi ti amo.

(scritto tratto dal mio fedele Muji, compagno di viaggio)