PART - III (#3)
Remember when people used to say that been in love is nothing more than a rare disease? Well it is. It makes you do anything you normally wouldn't. But this - like any other Mathematical theorem - is false. Is beautiful and is sick, is like peanut butter and jelly, like Armani posers and Rastafarians. It is a sad world we live in and there is no time to say how much we care for one another. So... culture invented the art of fuck. You can fuck all the way you want, end up with AIDS and still fuck like hell and then die. An easy way for a laboratory rat like me to go under the treatment. But falling in love is more than that. Is giving money, is ruining others life, is saying "WISH YOU WERE HERE" in a post-card from St. Marteen Island. Is there not enough hate in love?
For the record... I DON'T have any VD. OK?!
And now we are all one in everlasting peace... I hope that you choke, that you choke... It is so nice to talk to you while I'm high. Love the way you hang up the phone and hate you while you put me on hold too long (while I'm craving for a cigarette at the moment). We spend so little time together, and the time we spend, in qualities of affection, was more than I could give. I wish you could give me a reason to keep calling. Because I did wrong (I want to suffer for my sins) and I wish we could start together again. Less coke, less drugs, less people... just us.
