wanted pogo. No pogo: fall in the pogo. I walked on and someone give me a hand and lift me very hard for my weight and that is a short flight through the air. Back adolescence, self-destruction. Awhile. He wanted, above all, the fall. That does not feel, not that one that is avoided, not that full of useless looking grasping movements. The fall from the blow of the bodies that, like it or not, are always saying something. The fall not slide, but get into the pogo knowing that sometimes I fall. By little, by boluda, lack of balance, being sunrise. The corridita from side to side. Jumps and facial hair. All the energy coming in large numbers, and all the energy still remained. The kicks and punches outside of those who go to hell. But they are there and I knew they were going to be and wanted. The thrust of the back, those who do not get into the pogo and do not want to fall. The timing of the chorus in which everything comes to its peak. The joy of the band, seeing as pibitos follow them everywhere and they are presented with the pogo, all traversed by the same. I wanted it, down sedated, you do not understand the consequence of the coup. Wanted bruises, bumps, sores. I do not care. Happen today but it feels tomorrow. That meant. Quick and inexpensive therapy, with side effects. The time of the fall, as if in space, floating without gravity. Impossible, yes, but who cares, I wanted as we love those things they do wrong and then Rachel was, moreover, the pogo.
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