giovedì 17 settembre 2009

intel centrino

You can find a certain kind of poetry into an unmade bed...She's murmuring through the crinkles of a sheet, She's been imprisonned into the scent of a pillow.

It could tell you endless stories. For these stories, word would be definitely useless...some lost identities playing a everybody else's role, not high-definition, just floundering one into another.

But they could never, ever become One, neither after midnight, fated to go on being one plus one. What a struggle. And maybe, if you're lucky, you'll find out Graham Coxon sleeping inside.

Never mind, the real matter is: remember, keep in your mind all the beds you have slept in in your whole life and, first of all, you aaalways have to bless the mattress you're going to use, saying something like: "Mattress, I bless you! Give me good sleep and of course give me good sex!"

Or you'll end up finishing your days sleepin' into a fuckin garden!

Well, I'm going to sleep too now, I mean it, I'm serious now, goodnight!

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