Question
What fucking time is it? Why laugh stupidly, why be
a pain, why type messages, why die every second
like this? Why have I understood, why am I free, why does this
message end? Doesn’t love always have the last word,
as in wonderful American productions? It is nothing, still
and always nothing, and I will never finish being silent, never finish
being silent. Tonight I will dance at the Copacabana, then die
of an overdose in another f** club. I have not understood, I have not
understood, I have not understood, I have not understood. Cold blood in my
veins, I type, I type. I type. God will repay me. Impossible is
not Irish. Well, there it is, there it is, there it is, there it is.
Lucie
Master Kosen’s answer
Why didn’t you come practice with me this summer?
Kosen