No somos personas, somos momentos

Me voy a la mierda.

Como estaba aburrido, te tiro este poema inconcluso

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.

Ésta va sin título

Curioso, la hora en la que aparece que escribí es totalmente errada (ya me había dado cuenta igual eh ), me hace ver como alguien que se levante temprano.

Agh, chupenla, no digo nada más, me dan asco.

Naahh, mentira, si son unos gorditos peludos y boluditos que no entienden nada de la vida, y necesitan ver como alguien más sufre y se contenta aleatoriamente, pasando por millones de estados alternos e intermedios.

Primer informe

En lo que va del blog, se nota que comenzé escribiendo más, como si quisiese dejar algo, para luego ser de poner más música y estados actuales.
Siempre presente la idea del fin, pero un fin no definitivo, que responde a mi creencia del todo y de la nada. Me causa gracia a veces, pero duermo con un viejo amigo, dentado, brillante y metálico, que me provee cierta seguridad, no de los demás, pero de mi mismo,por si las moscas, vió.

Che, al final de informe fue solo un renglón, bue, que querés vos también, no hay mucho que informar, está todo a la vista pichi.

They keep me thinking that we almost had it all