Ovarian Cancer Tri Suit

As it is the first to write

As it is 3:00 am and I can not sleep, I like to hear some rock bar and getting drunk, or driving a car bomb on the streets of Tel Aviv, or at least be able to sleep but as I usually do not give me happy to upload this so I can read other outdated, according to many the three o'clock is usually the time when the spirits from beyond the more often come here, go on the prowl for souls, and if that's the case you could make friends with them, I say if they have lived ever for the chaos and destruction must have very good tricks, and while not to bore you and me pretentious intellectual airs I give you a reflection I wrote recently about passion.

Passion Passion is the strange puppeteer who rules us from the hidden corners of our being. Sleep and wait patiently, and when least expected, and something triggers it, no matter how, death, pain, delirium, just listed, our senses bangs and screams. Speaks guíay us commands us, governs us all, no one escapes of his tyranny, and we gladly obey it, says jump and I said so high, says dog and barking, and we have no alternative resist him what choice do we have?
So at what I can not help, why would I resist? I am not an immovable object hitting an unstoppable force, better let him invade me deep inside me and do not control, better train derailed ship anchored, the problem of the whole thing is when you see that you just have this way and see that your passion has become the flames that burned your life. And the fire spreads and all-consuming living the life of a vampire, only survives by killing and destroying other beings, and when it expires, you keep wanting more and more, you keep eating like a ravenous wolf that gives you more hungry and can not find something that satisfies you, and continuous trading.
Maybe that's why this world seems so boring, everything is routine and moral force of habit, all too big for me, only I have this love of blood and ashes, and before the altar of passion I have had devastating my best, or at least clearer, the hatred of stagnation, the ecstasy of orgasm or the confusion of life. And the loss of my free will hurt more than I can bear, if I could throw everything it could find peace and tranquility she so desperately seek, but would be empty, a broken shell surrounded by oppressive gray, no passion I would not be nothing, and that's worse than a thousand deaths.

The truth is, like I can not think and say goodbye .... and if you excuse the orcografia failures, try to improve until the final victory MMMMMMMMM