Sunday are went to see Dad, now is a kind of building extra-large, a huge 4-story structure with niches facing toward the center of this sort of group preinfernale, a kind of court where, however, does not play anyone, a condominium where neighbors live across and generally do not quarrel and balconies are attended only by relatives. Tuttosommato the right place for Dad, which in recent years had become the classic old man who is all the time looking out the balcony to see what others do and when to break my balls. Although he always felt too, so do not know if it would like the fact of continuing to occupy space even in death. not pay to occupy space live and consume resources to continue to do so even in death, but how many fucking dead are out there? Doing a quick calculation of thumb of a few hundred million people on average spread over tens of centuries, I would say a few tens of billions. Of course I check the oracle that has the answer to all questions which ruled that a French demographer talking about 85 billion people lived here since. Cool! But who are they?! Another non-career, that of the demographic! In short
85 billion critters have occurred so far and none of us has yet figured out a dick, an endless series of laboratory mice with Ogun written on the back its expiration date, each with its own burning fuse without having the privilege of knowing how long would this fuse. And each has its way, those looking for a lifetime to discover the date printed on the back door to try to change it or delete it, but whoever he fucks and runs forward as if the deadline was tomorrow, or as if does not ever come. A situation so desperate as to be almost comical, yet there is always someone who continues to take it all terribly seriously, its surprisingly small and petty quarrels everyday worries of which no trace will remain not only in the world but even in them.
In short how do you really stand the fuck? and also avoid undue occupation of the earth after my departure, as well as those who remain have less and less space will also have a lot of shit dicks. I do not know .. cremation nevertheless implies an expenditure of energy, pollution, does not fully convince me, the damn physics says that nothing is created in nothing is destroyed.
Perhaps the ideal thing for me would be eaten, perhaps thrown into the water to fish, digested with the risk of ending up on the table some merdaiolo who dined with my remains with a Müller Thurgau or scagazzato a seagull on his head an anonymous passer, but take me to the sea becomes complicated. I am OK to be eaten by my similar, basically the most natural thing is to get back shit, ingested, digested, metabolized in part and partly discarded, returning in a circle, perhaps even become fertilizer for a fragrant carnation that ends on the ear of a farmer, or frightening nettle.
So who wants to try a sandwich with a slice of ass Coop is made ahead, low prices.
85 billion critters have occurred so far and none of us has yet figured out a dick, an endless series of laboratory mice with Ogun written on the back its expiration date, each with its own burning fuse without having the privilege of knowing how long would this fuse. And each has its way, those looking for a lifetime to discover the date printed on the back door to try to change it or delete it, but whoever he fucks and runs forward as if the deadline was tomorrow, or as if does not ever come. A situation so desperate as to be almost comical, yet there is always someone who continues to take it all terribly seriously, its surprisingly small and petty quarrels everyday worries of which no trace will remain not only in the world but even in them.
In short how do you really stand the fuck? and also avoid undue occupation of the earth after my departure, as well as those who remain have less and less space will also have a lot of shit dicks. I do not know .. cremation nevertheless implies an expenditure of energy, pollution, does not fully convince me, the damn physics says that nothing is created in nothing is destroyed.
Perhaps the ideal thing for me would be eaten, perhaps thrown into the water to fish, digested with the risk of ending up on the table some merdaiolo who dined with my remains with a Müller Thurgau or scagazzato a seagull on his head an anonymous passer, but take me to the sea becomes complicated. I am OK to be eaten by my similar, basically the most natural thing is to get back shit, ingested, digested, metabolized in part and partly discarded, returning in a circle, perhaps even become fertilizer for a fragrant carnation that ends on the ear of a farmer, or frightening nettle.
So who wants to try a sandwich with a slice of ass Coop is made ahead, low prices.
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