"The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars." J. Kerouac
sábado, 2 de outubro de 2010
Unsung, not enough credit, folks ain't hip
Gente descabelada a voar sobre ninhos de cucos na noite do incógnito que fechou com strawberry fields.