E agora que tudo acabou...

i feel empty.






































































































hohoho

:)

As roupas do Master Rich são engraçadas.

Ele parece um poof.

Psicólogo não adoece, somatiza.
Psicólogo não transa, libera a libido.
Psicólogo não estuda, sublima.
Psicólogo não dá vexame, surta.
Psicólogo não fofoca, transfere.
Psicólogo não tem idéia, tem insight.
Psicólogo não resolve problemas, fecha gestalts.
Psicólogo não se engana, tem alto falho.
Psicólogo não muda de interesse, altera figura fundo.
Psicólogo não fala, verbaliza.
Psicólogo não conversa, pontua.
Psicólogo não responde, devolve a pergunta.
Psicólogo não desabafa, tem catarse.
Psicólogo não pensa nisso, respira nisso.
Psicólogo não é indiscreto, é espontâneo.
Psicólogo não é gente, é um estado de espírito.

No fim, vão me curar... igual Alex DeLarge.

Ludovico

I don't believe in therapy.
I think it's all a big brain wash.
Thirty days has passed me by, it's almost finally done, and I feel like Alexander DeLarge in the end of A Clockwork Orange when he finaly realised he was cured alright.
When they asked me to close my eyes and see myself 40 years from now, I got it pictured in my mind that I will be dead from suicide or killing myself.
That's what they want me to think.

haha

You Are 91% Hypochondriac

You are a full scale hypochondriac, medical student, or both.You're obsessed with everything that could go wrong on the human body - especially yours!

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Cocksuckers

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Silence of the Lambs

Today was one of those days when you feel lost and small facing this huge world. In front of me is only the third bridge, always shining, as usual. I'm on my knees and I can't pray. The night is only beginning, there's a little piece of the moon in the sky, and a lot of water down in the earth. Somewhere someone's playing the guitar and singing. His voice is not really pretty, it's just a sad voice deep into the night. You can't hear children laughing. That sound that gives us (sometimes) serenity and peace. Children, at this time, are sleeping, they don't make us company. They're just sleeping, pure, and behind their shot eyes, fairies and heroes make colorful dreams.
There's silence and darkness all over. While the sun does not rise, men gets rest. they forget this instant their fights and batails, its despaired effort to make a living. Men dreams, they're giant, they can reach on anything, they dream and they're free. Don't come yet, day. That the illusion lasts a little longer so they won't wake up to the real world yet. That men sleeps, poor, sad, lonely.
I'm on my knees but I don't know who to pray. Far away from here, somewhere, someone cries over someone's death. Always, every dark and lonely night, someone cries over someone's death. Someone I knew since I was a kid, died. I remember now his face, that's gone forever. And the faces walk around my head, from people who are gone away, who've come to me, and those that are gone forever. And I think about other beloved faces, that will also be gone one day. And I greed. What kind of a life is that, after all? That we have to live day by day like it was our last, with the company that crushes the hell out of us, that is knowing that one day... we'll die. Our lives, made of losses and wins. Comes and Goodbyes. Distance and missing. And sometimes of happiness. Well... just so we won't forget how to smile.