* Small excerpt of a play before leaving for the weekend post-traumatic
* You can fall in love with anyone at anytime. This discredits the romantic idea that we have of love.
is a need he must satisfy, such as thirst.
The task of love is thus twofold: to support himself and the other also but it seems to be more tolerable than live without love.
Love is so important, so necessary, that whatever else. Love excludes the beloved. Love stands out as something abstract, and it does not care who you love.
When you walk in darkness, we cling to the first ray of sunshine came.
When you're Down and Out in, you do not choosy, you go and you find what you mugs.
issue then is to convince themselves: you tell yourself that it's love and the person on whom you fell and you have brought with you is actually a ray of light.
In 90% of cases are discovered in less than 72 hours in fact this person was not really what one might call a "ray of light".
Sometimes you bring back with you people who add yet more darkness to darkness, and they make the darkness so dense that you could take it in your hand, squeeze box, and run.
But as time passed, the lover turns chronic back the person purporting to be the object of his love in ray of light in these moments of despair when we need human companionship. No being
illuminates the life of another, that's how and not make me shit.
It's all lies, because we are afraid of dying alone.
are invented every ray of light is attributed to people vulgar and disgusting, unable to think of anything but themselves, and almost always it is men and women so they are ruthless beasts, merciless with no intention of being.
When I say that, in general, I find myself all alone: there are those who go to the bathroom and never come back, or those who suddenly remember they had an appointment or something to do with their kids.
It's the same when, in moments of fragility, is trusted to strangers.
They disgust me, these people so in need of affection they are engaged in the first stranger passing by and they even manage to betray their loved ones.
They come across a stranger who's playing in a nice bar and they tell him things in their life they should never tell a stranger, and then they invite him to sleep at home, they allow to give advice on private matters, and they end up not entrust the number of their bank account.
Yet everyone should know that during the first fourteen or sixteen hours, everyone is charming, except that after a while the soufflé fall eventually.
Then there they laugh when they read in the press stories of scams kindergarten level. I can not believe that someone could have ripped off with something so obvious, they say. So they just unwrap their lives to cross the first asshole in a bar.
I prefer to deal with that bastard made me shit my whole life in the first stranger one night, drunk or stoned, wants to pass for an honest kind and nice, cultured, interesting.
Better to be plagued by ill familiar rather than explore new malicious and burst of rage or anxiety.
I'm just reading a book about it. It is called I'd rather do it Goya that keeps me close my eyes, rather than any motherfucker.
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