Bia Lombardi

"A woman may very well form a friendship with a man, but for this to endure, it must be assisted by a little physical antipathy." - Nietzche

AUTHOR: Bia Lombardi DATE: 8/01/2005 11:27:00 pm ----- BODY:
For August 2: You feel less certain of another’s support, loyalty or sincerity. Today creates discomfort in a relationship that you depended on in the past. This affects business or personal arrangements. Either way, you sense a bit of instability, and question whether or not you want to continue a particular alliance. On another note, you get a whiff of an excellent financial opportunity – and wisely keep it to yourself. Humm. Who the hell, what the hell? Enfim... Surtos High Fidelianos me fazem reler algumas partes grifadas do livro de tempos em tempos. E esse livro nunca deixa de me surpreender: "During the night, I have one of those dreams that aren't really dreams at all, just stuff about Laura fucking Ray, and Marco fucking Charlie, and I'm pleased to wake up in the middle of the night, because it means stopping the dream. But the pleasure only lasts a few seconds and then everything sinks in: that somewhere Laura really is fucking Ray, and I'm here, in this stupid flat, on my own, and I'm thirty-five years old, and I own a tiny failing business, and my friends don't seem to be friends at all but people whose phone numbers I haven't lost. And if I went back to sleep for forty years and woke up without any teeth to the sound of Melody Radio in an old people's home, I wouldn't worry that much, because the worst of life, i.e, the rest of it, would be over. And I wouldn't even have to kill myself. It's only just beginning to occur to me that it's important to have something going on somewhere, at work or at home, otherwise you're just clinging on. If I lived in Bosnia, then not having a girlfriend wouldn't seem like the most important thing in the world, but here in Crouch End it does.You need as much ballast as possible to stop you floating away; you need people around you, things going on, otherwise life is like some film where the money ran out, and there are no sets, or locations, or supporting actors, and it's just one bloke on his own staring into a camera with nothing to do and nobody to speak to, and who'd believe in this character then? I've got to get more stuff, more clutter, more detail in here, because at he moment I'm in danger of falling off the edge. "Have you got any soul?" a woman asks the next afternoon. That depends, I feel like saying; some days yes, some days no. A few days ago I was right out; now I've got loads, too much, more than I can handle. I wish I could spread it a bit more evenly, I want to tell her, get a better balance, but I can't seem to get it sorted. I can see she wouldn't be interested in my internal stock control problems though, so I simply point to where I keep the soul I have, right by the exit, just next to the blues" Tipo, dava pra vc ser mais parecido comigo, Rob? E por isso que esse e um dos livros da minha vida...
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