I like to smoke outside on the balcony.
my balcony is full of weeds. I have a basil plant and a mint: basil from city to city mint.
my balcony has views. I see a building, the roof, TV antennas, a glimpse of Camaldoli.
what the fuck do I live in Naples if I do not see the sea?
I have a Lucky Strike on Saturday night. is wrong. when you have a cigarette is always wrong to turn the idiot who says "how Gighen hihihi Lupin's friend", with that proud smile. as if only he had been thinking.
There are jokes that make everyone, but everyone thinks he invented them, you have the copyright. "I made up myself" is one of the most popular phrases in the world after Coca-Cola and "MAMMT.
the truth is that we live in a world of copyright.
I turned my crank Lucky Strike from the city, as Gighen. I gave my life with new lighter with cats. I was at home with this lighter kittens, horrible. I do not know where it is popped, but I know that I hate cats. I do not know where it is popped, but I do not want the womanizer. I'm just a drunk who attend people with no sense of aesthetics and good taste.
I like to share a cigarette with the wind. eventually going down, eighth floor, not caring nothing, hoping to hit a bald man who is to go there by accident.
once I was in Amalfi, hosted by my cousin Cyrus. Cyrus is the king of the figures of shit, the guru of the anecdotes. we were on the dock with his friends, when Moses took down and spat right in the bald head of a man in his fifties. a child called "Moses" is a cruelty that is normal then ends up spitting in people's heads.
the bald raging came to us, really angry, his face colored heads. shouted "Who was that?". a dozen kids turned to my cousin for no reason, with a coordination that even synchronized swimming.
"HIM!"
Cyrus took a couple of slaps and began to whimper. "I'll shoot! I'll kill." the bald man walked away as if nothing had happened between the laughter of all.
I like to play with the clichés.
females are whores, men are bastards, the Chiattone are cute, babies are all beautiful.
that crap. and there are those who believe.
the truth is that we live in a world of platitudes and copyright.
"blacks are stupid and have a huge penis. Hihihi I made up myself!"
the truth is that all girls are whores, the bastards are all male and wearing clogs. and I have not invented it.
but the blacks have it really big.
I finished reading my first book Bukowski, Post Office.
I like how he writes.
I like his vulgarity, as well use it.
the truth is that you must use it well.
home in Naples, shit, money, cigarette butts from the eighth floor, the words. if you do not know how to use them are not worth anything.
believe to be very similar to him, except that knows how to write, like women and do not use that awful lighter with those cats shit.
maybe I like to think like him.
the truth is that we live in a world of models.
I can not write.
I can not conjugate verbs, always use the same terminology. say that I speak as I eat. like a pig.
but I like to believe that look like Bukowski.
I like to imagine him smoking outside my balcony.
I like to imagine him spitting in the bald head.
I like to imagine him playing with clichés.
definitely say something like "women are all beautiful, but they take it in your mouth."
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