Cleaning up the shit

And it has so much that can be said. €0,50, half an hour of internet. It's enough. those €0,50 has been spent with the single purpose of blogging (maybe in the three ones I am rulling at the moment) and checking Facebook and Twitter. €0,50 to balab about so much and nothing at the same time.

But let's start from the beggining. For some people, to know that I go way too high this last Saturday night it might not be a surprise. In fact, the surprise would be if I have kept myself sobber during the weekend. But even when getting high, stuffs pop out in my life. I find out that some people who are smiling at me, in certain situations, got the access to some secrets of mine. They comment on my life, in my back, but they keep smiling. It could be worse, if I couldn't read in their eyes. Still, it was a shock for me that they have found that secret out. There's only one person who could have spoken about that, who could have extended her stupid tongue full of shit. But this time, it will be me who'll be lying, who'll be smiling, while my eyes, possibly will be telling a different story.

It has a been a morning in the beach. 36ºC in here today. Spent the morning with the person who seems to be the only one who I can trust on, and her daughter. Played in the sand and in the sea with the young girl. Laid to get a bit of solar light in my white skin, hoping to get a bit darker skinned. I do think on this morning... I do see how life is continuosly running, how cycles keep passing: we have been children. We are adult people now. Sófy, for example, has two kids, what means that she is a mother. We'll get older. In less than one month, it'll be my 25th birthday. And I still think and feel, almost as if I was 10. Sometimes, I feel like I was 100.

Bipolarity... Undiagnosed bipolarity. To smile and to keep serious. To laugh and to cry. To tell the truth and to lie. To live and to die. I know. I know. Some of these terms, if any at all, aren't related with bipolarity, but still is a very good example to use. This is my space, anyways. And it's only what I write that matters, in the end.

What I write. From what I write, people have the idea that I am a very sad guy. From the way I do behave in my daily life, people take the idea I am just a clown. Who is Bruno, in fact? Who is the real Bruno? The weeping boy of the poetries and the blogs? Or the joyful little clown, that makes people laugh all around him? Perhaps, I am both of them! Perhaps, I am none of them! I'll play lies and tricks, for some people now. There are very few who deserve that I behave like my own self. But they'll get that part of me. About the others... Well, screw them! They're a waste of time, but I will be hypocrite about them, as they have been about me. And the best part, I know who they are!