Now i can really understand why Joy Division don't fit summer.

It's almost November.
I went out running.
Earphones on and the cold air is hitting my face.
One slow hour running and feeling around the streets.
Getting closer to unknown pleasures.
Curtis shrieks in my ears.

"Where will it end? Where will it end?
Where will it end? Where will it end?"

And i'm weeping a tear from my face, not knowing if it's from the cold wind hitting
my face
or
from the cold inside my soul.

Dear Proletariat,

I crucified myself for the sake of being relieved.
I speak throught the wormwood that eats my cross.
I ride the chariot of reinforcement for a walk around hell.
Earth is the coldest lake i've put my feet in.
My toes are cold and broken.
My nails are biting my skin.

I'm nailed too hard it feels difficult to stretch my legs.
The air is hitting my face.

I'm guilty by design.
Born guilty, lived in sin.
Severed my ties, now i'm free to die.

This is my favourite season of the year.
Autumn.
Coffee, sad music, bad weather, running in the cold, rain, warm clothes, memories of ex-lovers, the view out of the window, my new room, fashion tips from bums and old people, Is This It? and Turn On The Bright Lights.

it feels strange
having sex with friends.
but, i can't deny
the eroticism of such acts.

it feels strange
having sex with friends.
it will never feel the same again
or you may just feel more inside them than ever before.

Today is Sunday.
The diary says it's the 25th.
I don't work today.
I woke up and washed my face, served myself a cup of coffee and then two more.
No sugar, i always like my coffee plain.
I smelled the rain.
I washed the sheets.
Felt like something is not right.

It's afternoon and i saw my therapist.
He said i have delusions.
He said i should sleep more than 3,5 hours and not drink too much coffe.
He said i should not wake up at night.
Something is not right.

Now,
I will go home turn on the TV and get lost for hours.
Feed my eyes with commercial waste.
Get stoned with coffee.
Eat chocolate until i can't stop laughing, like a little child high on sugar.
Talk to you and you'll sing me to sleep.
You will disappear when i close my eyes.

You always disappear and when i close my eyes,
making me realize you were never there.
My therapist is always right.

selling this is my main interest.

Η Φ. λέει οτι το πρόβλημα μου δεν είναι πως σκαλώνω με πράγματα. Το πρόβλημα μου είναι πως σκαλώνω που σκαλώνω με πράγματα. Γελάω.
Νομίζω πως κανείς δεν το έχει ψυχολογήσει καλύτερα.

Δεν ξερω αν το προβλημα μου είναι πως ξερω πολλά για την αγάπη ή πως νομίζω πως ξέρω πολλά. Δεν ξέρω αν το προβλημα μου είναι πως φοβάμαι πως κάθετι μη οικείο καταστρέφει ενα μικρό κομμάτι το μικρόκοσμου που επιλέγω να ζω. 'Ισως το πρόβλημα μου είναι πως υπεραναλύω το πρόβλημα μου.

Σιγουρα αυτό είναι.

How can the seasons change and i'm still here waiting?

Winter,
Spring,
Summer,
Autumn,
Winter Again.

Love never met me in the meantime.

ex-lovers share plates and feels nothing like home.
we punch and fuck like we never did before.

there are certain rules that we don't obey.

we dance naked to the radio all day.
the winters are not watching as we scream "viva hate".
a company of sinners left to decay.
stares turn to ashes in the wake of the day.

if love was your way, what would morrissey say?