That adverse winds lyricism, romance and the novel by Danielle Stelle is a verifiable fact. Yes, dear, we have discarded all the romance of our lives along with clothing from last season to take a mask of self-gloss and superficiality angry, which in some cases merely cover barely a dry and barren place internally. The triumph of appearances seems undeniable, as silicone implants, designer drugs and cable TV. Together we are building and promoting a kind of superman with a foil wrapper, overwhelming, uncompromising, brazen, blinded in the diaspora of its own absurdity, which lives This frenetic pace, with report of fish and dust accumulated over the boots of the cowboys in the Midwest. This new specimen is a postmodern fairy called to be aware of its ephemeral nature of the inconsistency of a world that does not stop at nothing and, above all, firmly believes in the philosophy Spartan "the use and Pull . In a spiral of drugs, sucking corporations, designer clothes and body oils patented postmodern queer lives, oblivious to any problems ideological, social or human. With a frivolous smile on your beautiful skin rash moves in the shadows of the night, wrapped in a halo of perfume and alcohol sweet design for your skeleton lounging under the glare of a dance floor and there looks to be center of gossip, of Mechelen envy and even the universe itself if necessary. Here anything goes, any method is permissible to be seen. Sometimes you have to pay a high price to rise to the podium of the disk and receive the noble and illustrious title of the post-modern fairy number one , crests so delicious to the appetites of the above, are so hungry for recognition and unanimous approval.
When you sleep with a young twentysomething, a sketch of this specimen, and it hits some crabs, a couple of pulls on Thongs and Perfect ass and tells you that his idol is Brian Kinney, the only thing you can do is: or throw on the terrace of your room flat or Avecrem Avenue astenolit prepare a cocktail of vodka and get you a finger through the anus.
The common man seems to have started an exodus to unknown lands, angered by his role as "second fiddle" in the social sphere and the unstoppable rise of the Ultramari . At the moment we do not hear, do not know their survival mechanisms and inhospitable land of make-up tricks. Has opted for a simple camouflage and a mask of discretion, but not quiet. We know that on her graceful head revenge plan and a few crows announcing unfavorable omens and sow doubt in the firmament of polystyrene of hyper postmodern queer. The battle is about to unfold. Meanwhile, there is only a stoically resist arranged on a couch with a black vinyl coat Watine and a cigarette between his lips humming that of "smoking hope the man I want ..."
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