to get rid of it?

cause the shine of the stars will not stop and I will caress the bottom of your heart, the dead of a entusiastic soul, everyday is a reborn to my spirit. My sensible words are fragile to explain the need of share, I press to key to what can it be. I have a fear.Don´t know how really can I express this fear. Is surrended to the habits, excluding the fancy way of improvise minds.What to say when your pleasure is define by society terms. I can´t move anymore, the blasfemia turns around and scares the genuin genio.Without boards can be love consider the lascive victims that don´t love persons, but only bodies. the images and thoughts travel faster then my capacity of perception. Wish to have a brain register, but simply where to open up. Where to dress a code of happiness inside you, guess that is so painful if someone had to live only with hapiness.
Dazzling how weather is changing and the inner atmosphere too. Lick the air and transform the code, dirt minding, don´t mind its only a vain habit. Love and its forms of doing, of feeling, of hidding, of showing and of passing. Its a only stream in life that moves animals to the most crazy acts.
Where to find a cheap place to sleep in venezia?
I agree that non sense is a motive to express the obscure zones, abstractions of a walz.Why sometimes we know and others times we don´t know? It only one body.
Put the finger in the right place.

so far!!!

Far away I see your soul raising and falling, part of me, I see what is not there, mostly is vague and the feeling guide you like a saint. The sense of steping the floor and side by side with lonilyness the storms are more calm then before, where youth and charm would grant a whiskey to make us stone. Now, the water runs, like an invisible waterfall, throught my face, into my chest. I absorve the liquid with open hair, the sin of the salty drops drive the distance unto a desappearing space. Its not fair.
Dress the clothes of the montain, cause the eyes flight descending bends from your bones. Tiptoes across the torso, smell of fresh onions and again the liquid salty drops, is the ocean upon your hands again... drying waters...

and what is there?

In this waving feeling of not knowing who is what, the ambivalence of Maria and the pre conceptual movement. Flash flesh in the bottom of my heart, soft tissue moving to beat betting, who close first the continuity of an open mouth and start moving. Forward like time is almost the untouchable thought of what to introduce to reality, what to expect to further have a feedback, resonance from the large space.
believing in pomegranate as a fine issue for describing the physiology of the mind, a starting point in fight is a way to change life. Prescription of movement is required for this job and vomiting the unknown motion is an emotional future, later on, is we got to know what was it, there. and there I go, to the sake searching of strange understanding of the procedure of strange language. I just don´t understand in general the art but I know for what is there for, maybe that is enough to understand it.

After realising that, what a shity day was there..

so... after this combustive smell from the guts, and that even don´t come from myself, I realise that this day had this typical waving moment, from the shore there was no fisherman trying to catch up a falling soul...so back then I open my mouth to scream and no sound came out, "steronulo" I was. I feel the stream of spring coming very slow, bitter like fall is this the beginning of the end?
Still in this motor flower crossed moment of soul appeal, the flux of undefined words traces the smell engine of the traffic, die verkehr ist keinen lösung, more white fluidness in days dreaming, its not warm when she is away. Somehow I don´t know where to place this futuristic fanaticism of living plan, abroad from homeland always going find the beauty of a cloud above or an under sheet of water. Not only in dead sad borders of the thoughts but also in the refreshment of a juicy kiss, the braking point will not wait if somehow the existence of the smashing ants hint no peoples heads, however there is, es gibt, understanding how babies can so well speak with the eyes, and we carry this loving feeling through the creation of self reality, no complex pre-sensations of brain framing of the emotional effort, is only one body.