help

I love her.

Och! I love her!

She does not love me, but I love her.

I'm an artist, make a mint from selling paintings on the internet. I sell a lot of stuff to Irish shepherds and spanish hairdressers. Most of my work concentrates of the ambiguities of feeling. It's nothing, better than murdering though, better than moral ineptitude.

There's stars giving birth to stars in here. Unwanted love is smashing the room up and I can't do anything about it. With colleagues we hit Munich hard in the mouth, remember steel and glass at parties, remember how we felt like aliens?

Palubalub, there's nothing to be done. Love, love, love. Thrashing me heart against the walls, grinding me down and pounding and pounding and pounding. Then loneliness.