Henry Rollins é bem mais do que um liar

As ondas revoltas da internet (ou o acaso objetivo) me levaram até uma citação de um livro que, ao que tudo indica, se chama Solipsist, de autoria do interessante Henry Rollins.

Lembro que o moço chamou minha atenção lá pelo remoto ano de 1994, quanto aparecia pintado de vermelho e intensamente performático(além de gostoso!!!!) no clipe de Liar. E que fêmea, seja ela ruminante ou não,  não gostaria de ouvir as seguintes palavras:

You are beautiful like demolition. Just the thought of you draws my knuckles white. I don’t need a god. I have you and your beautiful mouth, your hands holding onto me, the nails leaving unfelt wounds, your hot breath on my neck. The taste of your saliva. The darkness is ours. The nights belong to us. Everything we do is secret. Nothing we do will ever be understood; we will be feared and kept well away from. It will be the stuff of legend, endless discussion and limitless inspiration for the brave of heart. It’s you and me in this room, on this floor. Beyond life, beyond morality. We are gleaming animals painted in moonlit sweat glow. Our eyes turn to jewels and everything we do is an example of spontaneous perfection. I have been waiting all my life to be with you. My heart slams against my ribs when I think of the slaughtered nights I spent all over the world waiting to feel your touch. The time I annihilated while I waited like a man doing a life sentence. Now you’re here and everything we touch explodes, bursts into bloom or burns to ash. History atomizes and negates itself with our every shared breath. I need you like life needs life. I want you bad like a natural disaster. You are all I see. You are the only one I want to know.