This is a rant, if you're easily offended please skip this text.

This is a rant, pure, simple, harsh.

I'm sick and tired of all this fucking fake smiles and fake ideals.

I'm sick and tired of stupidity, the world is filled with morons and I feel alone because i am not part of their world.

How can you be so hypocritical claiming that the problem is people who do not respect the rules or other peoples freedom when you act exactly the same, just on a level that suits you and not another.

How can you be so blind, a sheep following the path to the slaughter without ever wondering or thinking that there is an alternative.

I'm tired of self righteous bitches who claim they want to be independent but cling to the lamest ass hole because they feel alone. I'm tired of your bullshit, I'm tired of listening to you say you're happy while you smile for the photo, but deep down we both know you are miserable.

I'm tired of this fear of feeling, this fear of committing, this fear of opening up. I'm tired of doing what is supposed to be done, of fitting in of acting like I'm part of this.

I'm tired of the blank stares, of the emptiness behind those eyes that are too ashamed to say they don't understand, they don't care, and they never will.

I'm tired of that stupid phrase, I'm here for you. It's more I'm here for you as long as we are talking about me.

I'm tired of people assuming I'm like the rest, I'm tired of dumbing myself down in order for others to feel at ease around me.

I feel alone, yes dammit I feel alone, but at least now I'm not stuck in that pretend life, in a dead relationship being miserable just because we need to pretend we are happy.

I'm tired of seeing the moves in front of my eyes and having to  hold my tongue because if I speak people will be offended.

I'm tired, so godamn tired of being alone. Alone because you don't understand me, when you try it hurts, thinking hurts, knowledge hurts, when you know you see it clear and when you know you realize that all those perfect lives around you are nothing but facebook posts and stupid camera filters.

I'm tired of the bullshit, of wasted dreams, of wasted opportunity's, of listening for countless hours to your hopes and dreams knowing fully well you have already given up on them.

I'm tired of normal, tired of missing the people who are unique and special.

I cry, I do, when i see slivers of genius and passion i cry, because i know what it means, I know how much heart, blood sweat and tears is behind that song, that book, that message.

I'm tired of all the morons, of all the good, all the bad being wasted on people who prefer to numb themselves only do to the fear of admitting their failure.

I'm tired of morons, and I'm tired of you. I'm tired of pretensious fucking people that think their life has more meaning and their time is more precious.

I don't feel loved, I never have, because no one cares, all they care is them, they are all that matters.

We are lost as a species because we never truly belong, i'm tired of people telling me I never call when they are the ones who ignore me.

I'm tired of all this shit, i'm tired of you him and all alike.

I'm tired of the loudspeakers who want to be heard but have nothing to say, i'm tired of sheep with zero creativity that follow what's hip, listen to what you listen, eat what you eat, or drink or do because that is what everyone else is doing.

I'm tired of seeing a broken system and their broken services being stuck in a loop, eternally suffocating on their own bile and shit and vomit.

I hate you and I can't stand you, I can't abide by your morals when you don't abide by them. I'm tired of being ashamed for being too nice, for caring for trying to help.

I hate your fucking opinion, that non sense argument of we all have importance and tastes. No we don't, some of us have but in the majority what you have is half a brain that you insist in keeping dormant.

I'm tired of seeing smart people dumbing themselves down just because they wouldn't fit in the popular group otherwise.

I'm tired of all your lies, those sordid secrets you have and I despise that image you want to project to the world, of the self righteous prick with nothing to hide but with everything hidden.

I know you lie, i know you betrayed me time and time again, but i have to pretend i don't. I know you speak, about it, i know you find me strange and in need of help,and guess what. I do need fucking help, to put up with all of these morons time and time again.

I'm tired of money, I'm tired of religion, I'm tired of cocky worthless maggots infesting my proverbial mind garden.

I am not alone but I feel alone, because it's depressing knowing that most people refuse to evolve refuse to learn, they are so convinced of their own capabilities they forget to learn. They forget to listen.

I'm tired of screaming. I want to listen and to be listened too.

But no one listens to anything else than the sound of their own voices.

Where the fuck are you, where the fuck have you gone?

Tell me your story and let me get lost in your words, don't be afraid I don't judge, just speak.

Let me do to you what I want you to do to me.

Let me listen.

I'm tired of prejudice, shame, and old habits.

Be who you want to be, not what everybody else wants you too be.

Seek your own path, follow it to the end and i'm sure they will eventually cross. your path and mine, if forever or just for a while it remains to be seen. I might not be the biggest cross road in your life but at least I will be part of one.

Words, the foundation of my reality.

The great late George Carlin once said.


"When it comes to changing the language, I think they make some good points. Because we do think in language. And so the quality of our thoughts and ideas can only be as good as the quality of our language."

His mastery of language and words has been an inspiration since I first stumbled upon him.

The art of weaving words into a web of pure divinity always made me shiver.

Words either spoken or written are weapons of the highest calibre.

They make your emotions rush, your mind wonder, your heart race in your chest. They turn frowns to smiles, they comfort, they make a difference.

When they say more than words, it' just a statement of a limit that shouldn't exist.

Words are important, they convey meaning, they state purpose they enlighten.

I can't remember when my passion for words began, I can't remember when I first picked up a pen to strike the paper with my raw emotions, I can't recall the first time I flushed all of my soul into a tiny piece of paper.

But I did.

I did write, I did open my chest and spilled my feelings on white with ink. sometimes with laughter, sometimes with tears.

Writing made me sane again.

It's the only way I could and can cope, it's the only way I could and can express all that bare and naked part of me that keeps boiling inside.

But I know, my words are still not enough, they are still incomplete.

With every attempt my frustration diminishes, with every type my limit widens, the formula becomes clearer, becomes easier.

I learn when I weave strings of letters, I evolve just as much as my writing every moment I transform my thoughts and ideas into readable code.

For me writing, and pretty much everything else in my life, has to be fully understood. Once I can de-construct and reverse engineer something, expose the cogs and wheels that make it work, I can then create it from scratch, improve what was before, or simply understand it's beauty and mastery.

Writing has taught me so many important lessons, it has allowed me to understand so many masterpieces, so many strokes of geniality, not only in other texts, everywhere. Writing, and reading, made me who I am today. Ad even though if I can't really pinpoint the first text I wrote on my own volition I remember fondly, being maybe ten or eleven years old, the time when I picked up my first master piece, the first book I read that made my mind explode with thought and my chest burst with anxiety. Anxiety to get to that next page, to get to that next chapter.

The book was twenty thousand leagues under the sea by Jules Verne in case you're wondering

So with my writing I evolved as a person, and now I start to understand  the words that compose the foundation of our reality.

So I want to dedicate this text to all of those that helped my passion develop. This is for the ones who made those words and to the ones who are still doing them. The words that blew my mind away. Some when I first read them, some that took me several attempts to finally fully understand what I was reading.

So thank you, I bow to your mastery, now watch me develop mine.

My life is my favourite book.

I'm old god-dammit. I was so busy being a kid I never realized I grew old. At some point in my adventure I became an adult without ever noticing it. It's funny, a few years ago an ex-girlfriend told me, "you think you are all grown up but when you get to my age you realize that your view of the world has changed. No matter how mature you think you are you can't understand it right now. You need to wait a few years before it happens." And it did.

My friends are old too, getting married, having kids, trying to keep up.

I made my choices, they made theirs, and I'm sure some of them still don't realize it, but they will at some point. They will wake up one day and think, how did this happened. Well at least that's how it went for me.

I'm old and that's fine.

I have very little regrets about my journey, I'm not even halfway there, I'm almost halfway  through the book of my life and the story just keeps getting better and better. Even now I can look back at the chapters I've read and remember fondly all of those epic lines that filled the pages. It's astonishing how many great characters this book encloses, all of the twists and turns, all of the tears and laughs they contributed to the book. And I'm sure there are a lot of characters that have yet to leave their mark on the story.

It's wonderful how the pages have evolved, how the characters have grown, and it's true you can't have a great story without extraordinary characters in it. And my book as so many of them, some came and went, others came and never left the pages, some might return in the future but each and everyone of them is unique, and I'm sure their story is just as amazing as mine.

But my favourite is my book.

And right now, on my mind one thing echoes, one spark of curiosity leaves me daydreaming on those rainy days. Will my book at some point become part of another book, will it include other main characters. I hope so, but even if it doesn't it's fine.

Either way it's such a great book, it's my book, and I'm not scared of reaching the end chapter, I just hope I can make the ending calm and peaceful, so that when I reach that chapter I'm able to tell all the new readers how exciting and fulfilling it's been.

I hope my book can inspire new reader. Inspire them to write their own books, pushing them to create their own adventure, filled with emotions, great characters and unimaginable twists. And I hope it will be remembered for a while, or who knows for more than a while, so that in that way the story can live longer then it's author, leaving behind hundreds of dedicated readers.

That is my biggest hope, for this story to live on, long after the final letter, that final stroke of ink.has left it's mark on that white page.

My crossroad.

I have a passion for geniality, just browsing through someone's mind through the door they left in the world feels me with emotion.

I rarely admit my own genius, I hide it, I dumb myself down because I'm lonely, so I can relate easily with people.

I'm not proud of it, I think it's a flaw of mine, but most people don't like to feel challenged. They want to be the one shining, the star, the epicentre of reality.

I want peace, companionship, happiness, but this cruel seductress called loneliness helps me improve. And so, because I think when I'm alone, because I don't dumb myself down to be relate-able. On my own I evolve.

So alone I thrive but hunger.

Together I feast but whimper.

Such is my cruel fate.

I do not lead I follow echoes through my mind, a single little lie that pesters the dark corners of my being.

But why shouldn't I lead?

I'll tell you why, because no matter how good I am at it, leading leads to a life of choices too hard to make, too hard for me to sleep, too hard for me not to feel the guilt destroying me from the inside.

But I still lead and don't follow. I learned from the ones around me, never becoming better until they are gone from my sight so I won't outshine them.

People will read this text and point out my flaws, my mistakes, my darkest secrets. I don't care, that's nothing, it's weak, it's your defence when you feel out-powered it's your last resource to point out weaknesses in others to hide your own, to make you feel better. Yes I am gullible from time to time, specially when I'm not alone, undisturbed with my thoughts, but in the end, I know,
even subconsciously I know.

All the flaws, all the mistakes, all those secrets you have been hiding, I know.

And now you're probably thinking to yourself, if only you knew what I know.

I know, I'm not blind, and almost everybody talks, everybody speaks, everybody caves in sometimes, when they are lonely, desperate, vulnerable. Because after all we always need a little weakness.

I work harder than most and act like I work less than most. Why? Because nobody likes someone working that hard, showing that much passion for something so minuscule, so empty of meaning, of purpose.

I have no ulterior motive and I have all the ulterior motives.

I want balance, I want knowledge, I want love, passion, feelings piercing my soul. I crave tears of joy and sad laughter. I wan't to travel, to see the world.

I wan to make it better, but to be heard you have to make noise, and I prefer to be quite, to be humble. In reality my heart is butter, it melts with the warmth of the human touch, And how long has it been since I felt that warmth? Days, months, years?

Perhaps I never felt it, I never received it and so I keep searching, ever faithful to my unfaithfulness, ever watching, ever caring. Could that be the truth? Could that be my reason?

It can't...

Just being ambitious get's me sick, being greedy get's me sick, being envious gets me sick. I know. I have been all three. And yet here I stand, locked away in this fortress of solitude, silently typing away on my keyboard, shouting in silence, in the flimsy hope I will be heard.

But I shout in vain, well not really in vain, every now and again someone listens, someone realizes, like when from a little spark, from that little tinder comes the fire, that fills this room and clears away all that's dark?

How can I see so much and yet be blind, so lost, so confused?

Who knows, I have been blinding myself my whole life. So maybe I'm not really blind, I'm just choosing not to see.

Isn't that a pleasant story, a pleasant tale, a deserving reveal for the grande finale.

I'm seeking, I'm searching, I'm following that dim light and choosing to ignore it. Because in the end, whenever I follow I'm not really following, I'm just learning, steadily behind you until the day you look back and I'm not there. I'm somewhere else, somewhere on a different road, on a different plane, pulled away from your world and dropped into another never leaving my own. And again I follow, calmly, reserved, so that one day I can lead, so I can be the dimming light on that road, just lighting your path, not really being a destination, a finish line.

I'll just be that warm fuzzy feeling, that comforting light while you rest from your adventure, gently dreaming about mine, from all the stories, from all the tales. From all those words that were left along in your path.

Then again, I might be wrong, and all I might be missing, all I might be overlooking might really just be there waiting. Resting in the shadows, not waiting for me, just waiting for our paths to cross.

A good friend told me not to get stuck on my own prison, to unlock the door and search for that intersection. Is she right?

I'm not sure, no one will ever be sure, but I am willing to at least try, who knows what I might unravel on that crossroad.

So perfectly imperfect...

I love words, sentences, language, meaning.

The act of communicating with another can be basic and simple or intrinsically complex.

The mastery of words and letters takes time and effort, the language is an ever growing beast that never stops, never rests, never runs out.

I started making my own conglomerate of words because I couldn't find them written yet.

But sometimes, we all come across a message, that fits so well in our life you have no choice but to admit it's genius and just let it flow like an open dam over-flooding the river of communication.

This is one of those cases.

I wanted to say something but the words have already been put together, so I humble myself before the genius that turned that thought into reality.

This one is for you, like always, it's not my own words, but it speaks for me.

Imperfect

"
Somethings are better off forgotten
We bury them in places that we really only visit by ourselves
Oh, and you were a version like no other
Oh, they never tell you what to do when all you see is gone
What's the sense in anything when what they say is wrong?

Oh, what do you wanna hear?
Do you wanna know how many times
I tore myself apart cause' you're not here?
Oh, what do you wanna know?
Does it make you feel alive?
I had to die to finally let you go

Stop me, I find myself believing
A story gets rewritten so blasphemy's committed once again
Oh, and you were so perfectly imperfect
Oh, they never tell you what to do when all you have are lies
What's the sense in anything? It's just one more goodbye

Oh, what do you wanna hear?
Do you wanna know how many times
I tore myself apart 'cause you're not here?
Oh, what do you wanna know?
Does it make you feel alive?
I had to die to finally let you go

Oh yeah

Oh, what do you wanna hear?
Do you wanna know how many times
I tore myself apart cause' you're not here?
Oh, what do you wanna know?
Does it make you feel alive?
I had to die to finally let you go

Oh, oh
Finally let you go
"
by Corey Taylor

Wondering.

I wonder if you ever wonder about the wonders of the world? If you take the time to slow, slowdown on that road.

I wonder if you wonder about the wonders of the mind, when you immerse yourself just taking the time.

How I wonder what I wonder, I wonder, if those wonders will ever leave me wondering where I was.

So I wonder about all the wonders of your love, will it really make me loose myself in words..

And do you wonder if I wonder? If i lay awake wondering where you were.

I do wonder, if what makes me wonder about all the wonders of the world is simply all the wonders of your soul.

You left me wondering, sitting here alone.

All I can do is wonder, wonder about my own wonder.

Who am I?

I don't know, it's too hard to tell. For I am an agglomerate of traits, lessons, experiences. What composes the symphony of me is entangled deep in my past, in my friends, in my experiences.

If ever I tried to return the parts of me, I know where to start but I would never know how to finish.. A few parts I know, I have my grandfather unbreakable will, my uncle never ending determination, and the softness of my mother's heart.

The rest I glued together, piece by piece, taking a bit from here and a bit from there.

I don't truly know me, and I think I will never fully understand me. Step by step I uncover those footprints and at the same time realize I left new ones behind as I move forward.

I realized a lot over this almost 30 years, my passion for displays of geniality, my craving for emotions, my affair with loneliness. I found some basics, some hobbies, some notes on how to describe me.

My passion for words, that craving of having something to say but feeling like I lack the skill to say it. My constant typing on this virtual paper, my eternal struggle with the torrent of emotions buried inside. I want to create and compose, I want to compile with unequal mastery the holy grail of written text, the combination of letters that follow each other slowly unravelling their meaning as they expand.

I want, I lust, I crave, for your eyes, for the moment when my careful threaded thread of little black images carefully weaved in that white background. When it's power invades you, steals your breath, makes your eyes water and your heart race.

But despite all of this, I still don't know.

Who I am, how to love...

All that's left is this blank page staring back at me. Calmly waiting for my feelings to bottle up, for my emotions to boil inside, until it becomes unavoidable for them to spill.into it again.