-/-/-

Now, I'm standing in a crowed street and there she is. Playing with her knife. Watching. Carefully. She is dazzling through the crowd chosing her target with a fucked up sense of power. I stand in the crowd with my fucked up sense of power. She hasd already choosen her target and is ready to make her move. I know that the blow she is planning is not supposed to hit me, but when she is ready to start "poking" I get in her way thinking I know exactly what is going to happen. The only think I got right was that a delusional unarmed me was going to face a psychotic bitch with a knife. What I didn't got right was that my thinking was going to be a problem a would fuck my advantage of knowing that I was going to get in her way before she even dreamed about it.

Next thing I know, I was already stabbed in the liver. People came to my aid but it was useless. The only thing I could do in my mind was thank those who came and give up. I've lost. All my effort became shit and there was nothing more to it than giving up.

Fighting Demons

Clench your fists. Take a deep breath. Yes, remember to breathe.

It is not normal for me the psychologic factor behind fighting. Probably the "macho" bullshit is the more usual or the instinct of survival or what the fuck. The fact that I don't give a remotous fuck about it makes arguing about it useless. The fact is that, before a fight, in my mind there is all this pictures coming, showing me what I think is going to happen. I see a black and white world where I'm part God, part Demon, but most of all an enormous agressor. I see myself as this dark gigantic creature and, in the end of it, no matter what, I destroy something or someone. It doesn't matter, something has to be destroyed even if it is me.

But the truth is this, during a fight we deliver pain as a blessing. Truth is like poison and blood all together, and death is a dream as real as life being a curse.