:: the dinner :: setembro 2001
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This is not a trick, do you think this is a trick? I am here, I tell you the truth and you laugh, it's idiot to laugh with the truth, there's nothing laughable in the truth, perhaps in yours, but you're an idiot, you don't count,

you read scribbles in the library's books edges that said in negligence "who reads this is an ass", you're something like that, think about you're act of invasion, you don't feel the air that burns where your skin touches it, you think you're something big, but you still didn't think that something big is something in surplus and that you can be at the same time a desired beginning or a desired end, you'd like to feel my gesture, but my gesture will never be yours, and this is sad, but you are mainly sad and nothing stops you from existing, you look at lying naked women on the ground and you take the clock out of your pocket and say "It's late" like a rabbit, eyes drunkards of wanting to laugh, you go looking for some thing you can affirm not to betray, and live in moments, your life is a monument made of remnants, that with care you review yourself, with what care you prepare yourself, you never reflected that to excuse yourself is your negation, such as to occupy yourself with you is your negation, the world is for you a hemp sheet demolishing in rags, you never wanted to be aggressive because to be aggressive it's to be bad and you don't want to be bad, you never hit anyone neither you were hit back, feeling thus irremediably a person, because only a person causes pain that will abate on itself, you never wanted that your condition was fragile as an old rag, after all how long have we been here existing, it is impossible not to be tired some day,

you memorized routines that you never wanted to abandon, you repeated yourself longer than the time you exist and time, perhaps, is only the complaint of those that repeat themselves in a penitence that they choose without knowing why, your life is only the addition of your trivialities multiplied by the ones of all the others and God is the greatest, more doubtful triviality of all, you'll get older and, one night, just before getting into bed, you'll sit down in the bed's edge and you'll swear to end your life, so certain, you'll say, so certain as last night I swore to go on with it