And thanks for all the fish ...

Fica. A mancha no sofá. A planta regada uma vez por semana. A persiana torta.

Levo. Shibo na bolsa. Epic na pele. CRM no carimbo.

Lembro. Das 1.582 cervejas & cigarros. Dos 892 sorrisos. Dos 576 sussurros.

Deixo. O primeiro colchão de casal. O segundo eu-te-amo verbalizado. O terceiro soluço teimoso enquanto encaixoto roupas.

Três anos.

Entra pela soleira garotinha-universitária-sustentada-pelos-pais. Entrega a chave cara-de-15-cinismo-de-30-arcando-com-os-próprios-gastos.

Vida que (re)começa. Sem resquícios de cordão umbilical.

Caiu.

Between you and me now, world.

Bring it on.
On and on and on.

Yeah.

Here's living at you, kid.

Bukowskiemos ...

"- You been married?

 - Yes.

 - What happened?

 - Mental cruelty, according to the divorce papers.

 Was it true?  she asked.

 - Of course: both ways. "

" None of us quite know how to use sex, what to do with it, I said.

 - With most people sex is just a toy --wind it up and let it run.

 What about love? , asked Valerie.

 - Love is all right for those who can handle the psychic overload. It's like trying to carry a full garbage can on your back over a rushing river of piss."

"- Are you good to the people who love you?

  - No, I'm not.

  - Why?

  - I'm infantile; I can't handle it."

"It felt good not to be part of that sort of thing. I was glad I wasn't in love, that I wasn't happy with the world. I like being at odds with everything. People in love often become edgy, dangerous. They lose their sense of perspective. They lose their sense of humor. They become nervous, psychotic bores. They even become killers."

(Singela homenagem a todos que andam(os) numa fase de love-that-shit-ain't-for-me.)