Ricardo, 27, Maschio, Brasile
https://www.facebook.com/r…Ultimo accesso: Martedì mattina

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Ricardo. 27. Brazilian.
Addicted to caffeine, music, games, HQs, animes, mangas, beer.

Drop a line or two. Speak to me. I'm a nice guy. Sometimes.

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/rics.vidal
Steam: http://steamcommunity.com/id/rvidal87/
Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/_vidaru
Instagram: http://www.instagram.com/rvidal87

And I'm sleeping now (Wow!) And the settlers laugh
You won't be laughing when your covered wagons crash
You won't be laughing when the buses drag your brother's flags into rags
You won't be laughing when your front lawn is spangled with epitaphs
You won't be laughing.


Life's not a bitch life is a beautiful woman
Your only call her a bitch because she won't let you get that pussy
Maybe she didn't feel y'all shared any similar interests
Or maybe you're just an asshole who couldn't sweet talk the princess

Aesop Rock - Daylight

When routine bites hard
And ambitions are low
And resentment rides high
But emotions won't grow
And we're changing our ways
Taking different roads


You cry out in your sleep
All my failings exposed
And there's taste in my mouth
As desperation takes hold
Just that something so good
Just can't function no more

Then love, love will tear us apart, again

Joy Division - Love Will Tear Us Apart

An exiled sound washed in with the tide.
Their voices are free.
Free from the sun's stare,
free from the noise of lost souls
On the waves their voice carries on.

Neurosis - The Tide

N'aie crainte, à présent tout est fini
Brise les chaînes de tes peurs mortelles
Pour à jamais en être libéré
Et retrouver la quiétude passée.
N'aie crainte, à présent tout est fini
Laisse couler tes larmes une dernière fois
Pour à jamais en être libéré
Et rejoins le monde d'où tu viens.

Alcest - Souvenirs d'un autre monde

Looks like it's gonna be a great day today
To get some fresh air like a stray on a straightaway
Hey you, got a light? nah, a Bud Light
Early in the morning, face crud from like a mud fight

Madvillain - Great Day

Things you thought wrong may have always been right
You'll probably find fault in your reasons to fight
You really don't differ from what i can see
Ain't it time to unite, or is it just me?
Just as we watch them build this empire
So they shall watch us tear it down
If not with our words, then with the power of our sound!

D.R.I. - Tear It Down

You'd love to be so far away
It's not a long way to go, it's gonna end in your pain
Greet open handed stranger
Create the turmoil, you're not sane
I want the last one to go the embers will revive, so stay

You want to live a life time each and every day

You've struggled before, I swear to do it again
You've told it before till i, until I'm weakened and sore

Seek hallowed land

Paradise Lost - Hallowed Land

To measure the happiness of a life by its delights or pleasures, is to apply a false standard. For pleasures are and remain something negative; that they produce happiness is a delusion, cherished by envy to its own punishment.

Pain is felt to be something positive, and hence its absence is the true standard of happiness. And if, over and above freedom from pain, there is also an absence of boredom, the essential conditions of earthly happiness are attained; for all else is chimerical.


Pride is an established conviction of one’s own paramount worth in some particular respect, while vanity is the desire of rousing such a conviction in others, and it is generally accompanied by the secret hope of ultimately coming to the same conviction oneself. Pride works from within; it is the direct appreciation of oneself. Vanity is the desire to arrive at this appreciation indirectly, from without.


Suicide may also be regarded as an experiment — a question which man puts to Nature, trying to force her to answer. The question is this: What change will death produce in a man’s existence and in his insight into the nature of things? It is a clumsy experiment to make; for it involves the destruction of the very consciousness which puts the question and awaits the answer.

Arthur Schopenhauer

It is difficult for the isolated individual to work himself out of the immaturity which has become almost natural for him. He has even become fond of it and for the time being is incapable of employing his own intelligence, because he has never been allowed to make the attempt. Statutes and formulas, these mechanical tools of a serviceable use, or rather misuse, of his natural faculties, are the ankle-chains of a continuous immaturity.

Whoever threw it off would make an uncertain jump over the smallest trench because he is not accustomed to such free movement. Therefore there are only a few who have pursued a firm path and have succeeded in escaping from immaturity by their own cultivation of the mind.

Immanuel Kant

Man was born to die. What did it mean? Hanging around and waiting. Waiting for the ‘A train.’ Waiting for a pair of big breasts on some August night in a Vegas hotel room. Waiting for the mouse to sing. Waiting for the snake to grow wings. Hanging around.


You have a very strange face," she said. "You're not really ugly." "Number four shipping clerk, working his way up." "Have you ever been in love?" "Love is for real people." "You sound real." "I dislike real people." "You dislike them?" "I hate them." We drank some more, not saying much. It continued to snow. Gertrude turned her head and stared into the crowd of people. Then she looked at me. "Isn't he handsome?" "Who?" "That soldier over there. He's sitting alone. He sits so straight. And he's got all his medals on." "Come on, let's get out of here."


It was true that I didn't have much ambition, but there ought to be a place for people without ambition, I mean a better place than the one usually reserved. How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?

Charles Bukowski


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