jueves, 8 de enero de 2009

I Chose not to choose life...


Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol, and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisurewear and matching luggage. Choose a three-piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked up brats you spawned to replace yourselves. Choose your future. Choose life... But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?

Y quién pues?
Y para qué pues?
Y porqué debería pues?

2 Manchas en la pared:

Fab dijo...

Qué buen fragmento, tan...anarquista


Sofi dijo...

me encantó... como la mayoría de cosas que pones en el blog.

pero es que es la verdad... todo es tan sistemático y monótono a veces que uno quiere algo distinto.

"Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?" --> eso me llegó, jajaja