Campo obligatorio; no debe dejarse en blanco.

I have been thinking of You for a long time, and if you are a woman, eating Pizza overnight, more so. Not that I have a food disorder, but I tend to think that all that is White, stinks of Privilege; yes that brand of Greek looks that do no good to your marble surface; ask Mr Clean. Who not coincidentally, is a white mtfk** who sniffs coke dust off the counters at fabric overnight (while you eat your smelly pizza). Please don't get on the tube.

All of these things worry me. Like not being able to pursue my dreams. Pizza man, has been eating pizza for like 25 years and has diabetes, but he thinks pizza-monogamy is still cool, and he cooks it.

I have no pity for them. I have no pity for anyone who is suffering around the world at this moment, since I cannot condense all these experiences in my self, and Topshop knows that, they've sewn it into the brand, albeit your bought it by knowing of being guilty of homicide.

Chantal Mouffe recently exclaimed that Archiecture is not political, and I can very strongly disagree. Not for her french accent, but for the inconsistency of her speech. I have for so no apology.

We can come to an understanding of politics as a societal system. But it is in my day to day choice, in my body, in my fashion that my sovereignty rests, for I have been deprived of a stable ground. I am therefore not grounded, I am a body of Fashion.

The queen has no empathy, like no other, and she enjoys very much masturbating under the seats of the House of Lords, might be dirty or not, although part of her jurisdiction, not of her concern. Or that's what I thought Dior to say when Drunk. Drink being the poison of choice for relief.

If you keep your fingers crossed, you get to pray, and to die peacefully, for all your dreams have come true, in that place which we call heaven. Hell is embodiment, and with it comes the clitoris. It has been designed for excitement transmutates into oblivion by experience; its inevitably pink and hardcore, barcode of Heavens.

IN any case I am not trying here to run forever along the currents of the river, for these allowances fight for the perfect ideal of existence, that deals with no contigency, and solely with the glow of the stars under naked eyes, those which I no longer posess.

I have hoped that All my blood could be collected, coupled, and disposed peacefully in our nearest Tesco, as Spanish Black Pudding, as Tesco Finest. But I am not trying to publicy the brand, but their jump to mediocrity, and how it becomes the hottest venues for the homeless on Sundays, the hookers, and the disappointed prayers. I claim for it not to be hell as long as it Sunday, it contains all that is divine, and counter-divine; creating a space of antagony, and of harmony, since all that is consumed turns into shit, and the difference remains no different fom the eyes of the beholder, those which he posses under the surveiling cameras that police, quite fakely and frankly, the streets; all has to be said.


Drugs for so are not white, but the tomate that covers the pizza, and the spice of life, or a piece of change [you might want to contact Volkswagen in all regarding plumbing cars].

You might also have wondered why THE Fuck, blogger (American) Autocorrects that which is pronounced as Volkswagen, and highlights as non-existant the word poiesis. This is the time when, AS Chantal Mouffe would say, there is NO politics, but a heartless Polity.


Fashion pertains the body, and all of its bodily functions, and can perform all that is valid and satisfies its libido for life. It has no boundary as far as it has some sort of personal autonomy fueled by biological functionalism.  All that is extraneous to the body, stands in the realm of the environment, and therefore, again, extraneous. Law exists to govern the bodies, and also the spaces and interactions that these perform, and inter-perform. But they never acknowledge all the complexities that escape their comprehension, as if Laws where shaped by Natural Law, which remains, in every aspect of the act of appropriation, a scandalous act.
You have for so renounced to your role as a form of sub-polity, and become a form of servantry. I have for so no comments. Remember that our bodies are policed and surveilled, and every movement of yours is political, in as much as it is circumscribed under a system-territory of polity.


I have tons of issues about disruptance, and relevance, and none of them fall into a neat category, as blood falls from your lips, after having hard-core sex. Believe me, it happens, and it sounds better than it goes (go to the lo0- self-check).


This is not a call for Autonomy, but for a RENEGOTIATION of the terms in which your life is atificially regulated beyond what might be called the Natural, PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF
As if...something as such existed.

Someone might have told you. Evolution or Revolution. But I claim no revolutionary claims in my thoughts. I claim for the acknowledgment of the independece of the Imaginary to be able to act upon the miserable world in which we encounter our bodies to be locked. As if the perfect curves of your but, were going to be replaced by Picasso's pointy corners, which cannot cause anything but harm, or ego-harm. Buy yourself a Razor to trim your calamities, they might have been growing a bit too long.

Time will decipher the tales of your life in blowing dust, and all these grayness will not be beared by the unbelieving eyes of domination, which tend to control, to restrain, those wills of the hoping subjects. Please extend your legs beyond polity, and certainly politeness. You don't want to become another Madonna. Petrified, standing still, in front of the eyes of Men. Those Who Never Existed, and used to wank in your college Dorm, door closed.


I can't end this Tale, without saying that this is no reality, for anything becomes real as long as its been projected into the realm of the conscious. That which is unconscious find expression in the gaps of language, the w459i34[5 of the screen. No more or Less, just enough to scare.