How To Write A Handwritten Will

Nobodies

And as stray cats, and because children with bunny ears and the rain that falls. If I could arrange the time, the rain fall all day.

Some things are very ugly. Perhaps only through the rain, they would see the beauty in horror. And horror in beauty. Like a turnstile.

A Xenia, the cyclone has destroyed everything. The worst disaster I've ever seen said Nixon.

And the hurricane, once spent, does not always mean Renewal. When the hurricane passes, it sometimes has enough power to continue to pretend, pretend that the neighbor to know that no, we did not lose our courage, we are still brave before. It can happen on good days. And then there are bad days, and when the cyclone passes through these bad days, his shoulders sagging and it is the signal to the neighbor: I have no strength. Abandoned me there.

So in Xenia, who were in the good days are gone. Let west and start again, before now is a blank page, amputated a few years. Forget. Those who have cars are gone, and those who have families have left, and those who had better things to do are gone. They all left after seeing the girl and her skull shattered. They are all gone, except the dregs of humanity. Left out, the ugly, the failures, those who had lost everything, even before the hurricane passes, and deficient, and the albino killers of cats.

While in Xenia, we pass the time as can be. Here is one circles of Hell. Xenia is forever doomed. It is born, you live there, die there. It does not escape, except by making bubbles in the bath. It is the city that people bypass property for failing to cross, and not having to see those dirty mouths, these uneducated who walk their spleen.

A dead cat, two cats dead, kill the third and Let's take him to the butcher. He must eat, and besides, we get paid. And another, to be paid, actually one, prostituted his disabled daughter. This is outrageous, so what? She may do not even realize what was happening. Perhaps. Two sisters, twin-haired White almost lost their black cat. He cries in the arms of the man next to him, this man who, like Sammy Davies Jr., combines the defects: dwarf, Jewish, gay and black.

In the street, garbage. Small bikes rolled onto the sidewalk. A boy, his nose glue. Another proudly shows off his muscles. These two others, mini cowboys Babylon, belch and break everything in the landfill. And the little guy with bunny ears and his body lean, which seems not to have eaten for days, and urinating on cars and playing the accordion, and gives a kick on the mesh. Silent for ever, perhaps, shivering, his cigarette between his fingers. He shakes with cold, or he trembles, because it is never witnessed these dead souls and sleepy, who do not know where they go, what they want, which survive without having really envy. And that's worse than anything. Lack of desire to die. And now he

nothing happens. It's like in life, or in some lives of some people. A life with many chapters, some are more annoying than others. We would like to go faster, faster as you turn the pages of a novel. You can not. It's infuriating. Many people think their lives are busy, but they have not woken up they live the dream. And when they awake, it's worse. They cry.

The little guy in the ears of rabbits can live, dream and he knows. As proof, he died under a hail of bullets imaginary. Reality, imagination. The environment does not exist, and the medium is not always fair.

In the sordid, sometimes there is beauty, especially when you do not make the offering a tissue because you will cry or scream because you're going, it's all too ugly anyway, you close your eyes. The Nameless are desperate people. Mouths shattered and grandmother on her hospital bed who no longer lives even though it breathes, and the prostitute lingered in bed, with her pretty white dress, she looks like a princess abandoned a story that no longer tells the blonde shopgirls stick tape on their nipples little girls and forget the big bad wolf, black and ivory skin, and this other case the chairs to fill the void in her soul, because almost everyone here, have only to say the violence things, and this embrace between two souls and one will end in tears, is ugly and beautiful, and it touches the heart, and only if it was lost once in the so-called real life . If others vomit, what Big deal.

they vomit. This will be the thorn in their hearts, while others will envy it rains a little more. Small, when it rained, I thought God was crying and I looked at the sky. He cries in front of the heart twisted and sterile men, women, ridiculous puppets, and dead cats, and lost children, and especially these last two, because there are more differences between a stray cat soon death and a lost boy. Yes, God weeps over the mistakes and regrets and hearts that are no longer moved by anything, hell on earth and the devil is in first class. God is experienced as others try to experiment words, the camera, and their thoughts. Sometimes there are failures. There are mostly failures. Failures and rambling stories, which nevertheless tend thread on which imaginary tightrope walk. As always. Capernaum disenchanted tend toward chaos rather than order. Not because it's funnier. But perhaps there is more room. For the heart and open arms to another, to remember that the mundane can be beautiful, to quote Diane Arbus, because there are sometimes bright, real, those who laugh. When there's nothing else to do, that the despair surrounding the despair and self-absorbed, are evil, and we have no explanation to give, there are only two solutions. Hiding the eyes, ears clog and close the mouth, or shake a bit more in the rain.