To Write

The past of a messed up existence shall prevail on the way I write and feel, so I assume that some displicence, pride and prejudice are, somehow, part of an inviolated character. Although, I do show some respect to few, a few ones who are a lot on my peculiar scale. Certainly, English people including: role model of sobriety and manners; guide from any gentleman or lady along; cradle of public spirit.

A perfect gentleman should speak and write distinguished English. And this is not only my stand point - but the set of beliefs of Mr. Oscar Wilde, the same one who, in his grave of dead, layed out on a rented room which he couldn’t pay, digged on agony those which were, probably, his last words: “I die the same way I lived, much above my possibilities”.
Despite of still remaining writing on my mother language, I’ll start now, smoothly, without haste, to make my thoughts ephemeral, consecrated on paper eternally on the 'gentlemen speech'.

As I've been inspired by some of the socratic teachings, I know I don’t know much, however I have a few certainties in life until now:
1- The taste for an refined dandier existence, gathering with the pleasure and vice of thinking;
2- That kind of infinite certain which would make me tattoo every letter of her name on my arm or on my chest (me, who have always hated and absolutely scorn this type of 'native body embellishment');
3- And, finally, an inveterate and innate tendency for vanity, sometimes, from which I can't release myself. Consequently, I was no surprised when I totally reviewed myself in this lyrics I listened in the radio, one of these days. But even here, on my maxim absurdity, I can justify my own, arguing that mocking ourselves it’s a sarcastic, ironic reflex, only understood by few ones.