Status: Work in deconstruction.
A community of strangers
Lost like a refugee
Prologue
Well if you wanna know I’ll tell you all about it. It was everything and nothing carefully wrapped in a package of literature. It was flowing and diverting, every aspect of me. It was my favorite version of myself, and the sweetest version of the world which I’ll ever live. Perhaps that is what everybody calls: Fantasy.
Hot nights of May 2005
I was lost, lost and rambling with the night: a companion I couldn’t yet find. It was years ago, I was barely 13 and with an ever growing obsession for rebellion. The rebellion I knew about as middle classed spoiled child who had most time for herself. My life revolted around junior high in the heat of this damned city, which I still haven’t escaped. Everything in me was unexploded called potential and non-abused. I was hanging still on the clutches of my country, my family, my loneliness, I still feel it sometimes.
Sometimes I still feel like I’m walking alone.
I was obsessing madly with my new found passion, my puberty lead me into the claws of rock and roll and what came to be more important: punk rock. My first approach was made by some really lame bands passed on by my 12 year old hormone crazy friends. The different beat had a special sign on it, even if it was a mainstream commercial single for 12 year old. Still, it held some raw power deep in the bottom of it all; there was something very primitive, very easy to love. My discovery was delivered in a heart shaped hand grenade which blasted music through my young confused system. The times were hard it was five years ago, my road trip along side of route 66 and virtual highways. The sound was unexplainable, but the lyrics, the lyrics were meant for me, spoke to me, whispered to me.
Somehow my mind hitchhiked in between a boulevard of broken dreams and a peculiar road named after a saint. Saint James the dawning of the rest of our lives. I begged to dream and differ from the hollow lives. My mind was set on fire, adolescent and yet mythical flames, which still burn somewhere inside. Perhaps my heart is stained with wheels and piss like a lowlife alley wrote by this or that rock star.
Yes my story beings with the cliché of an infatuation for a man I've never met, oh but his words made me yearn for life in every sense. My story might begin with a hormone driven fangirl with several personality issues, but I learned a lot with time.
Oh I’ve learned one too many things.
Well if you wanna know I’ll tell you all about it. It was everything and nothing carefully wrapped in a package of literature. It was flowing and diverting, every aspect of me. It was my favorite version of myself, and the sweetest version of the world which I’ll ever live. Perhaps that is what everybody calls: Fantasy.
Hot nights of May 2005
I was lost, lost and rambling with the night: a companion I couldn’t yet find. It was years ago, I was barely 13 and with an ever growing obsession for rebellion. The rebellion I knew about as middle classed spoiled child who had most time for herself. My life revolted around junior high in the heat of this damned city, which I still haven’t escaped. Everything in me was unexploded called potential and non-abused. I was hanging still on the clutches of my country, my family, my loneliness, I still feel it sometimes.
Sometimes I still feel like I’m walking alone.
I was obsessing madly with my new found passion, my puberty lead me into the claws of rock and roll and what came to be more important: punk rock. My first approach was made by some really lame bands passed on by my 12 year old hormone crazy friends. The different beat had a special sign on it, even if it was a mainstream commercial single for 12 year old. Still, it held some raw power deep in the bottom of it all; there was something very primitive, very easy to love. My discovery was delivered in a heart shaped hand grenade which blasted music through my young confused system. The times were hard it was five years ago, my road trip along side of route 66 and virtual highways. The sound was unexplainable, but the lyrics, the lyrics were meant for me, spoke to me, whispered to me.
Somehow my mind hitchhiked in between a boulevard of broken dreams and a peculiar road named after a saint. Saint James the dawning of the rest of our lives. I begged to dream and differ from the hollow lives. My mind was set on fire, adolescent and yet mythical flames, which still burn somewhere inside. Perhaps my heart is stained with wheels and piss like a lowlife alley wrote by this or that rock star.
Yes my story beings with the cliché of an infatuation for a man I've never met, oh but his words made me yearn for life in every sense. My story might begin with a hormone driven fangirl with several personality issues, but I learned a lot with time.
Oh I’ve learned one too many things.
♠ ♠ ♠
This is a bit of a personal story, those were beautiful times.