I wake up on a top bunker; an amazing product of cooperation between the government’s misery and 100% lack of creativity and comfort engineering. Then I continue my cure with satisfaction, eat whatever can be found around and play with my brain and bullshit capacity. Then it’s either havin’ some classes, eatin’ lunch like a pig, again classes and finally sleepin’ till next day (no, seriously). It’s what I do in my day. Or what I always remember without my blackouts. It’s short, pointless and antisocial. It’s creepy, gloomy, illegal and morbid. But it’s, I assume, what we all share: an imperfect life. Now dear reader, let’s do it more frankly. Even in such simple, isolated and scared lifestyle, I play thousands roles in many ways. I turn to my daily build-up-me with my after-dream body; my entire physical lie. Then I become a religious tolerant the moment I get out. I become polite when strangers show u, then I lie on the phone answering the light population of my fav contacts.
I’m so fine, so nice, so neat and so follower. I look at eyes and no matter what I see, scripts and stories come out of me marchin’ toward my social circle and defendin’ it.
Sometimes I show my real self. When I’m out of it. Fuel and fun. Yet, my thoughts and intentions stay intact. My fortress wins another day. I’m a fraud and I know it.
PS. This can be the promised hypocrisy resolution. Or not. Also, it’s a self-diarization for which forgive me. It was completely out of control.