A colleague invited me to teach a class to graduate students, a couple of months ago.
Students were so tired.
They told me that they had had classes all day long.
He wanted me to speak to them about the most studied receptors and hormones involved in food intake regulation.
The course was about hormonal pharmacology.
Another colleague invited me to teach a class to the same graduate students, a week ago.
She wanted me to speak to them about the basic aspects of food intake regulation with emphasis on the hypothalamus.
She's so smart and I got nervous.
Nonetheless, after a few minutes I managed myself.
We were about to leave the classroom, when a student appeared out of nowhere.
She asked me if I wouldn't give them a musical recommendation.
The first time I spoke to them had coincided with Kurt Cobain's mournful anniversary and at the end of the class it occurred to me to recommend that they listen to his music.
The student looked kind of impatient.
It's possible that the second class would have bored her.
Maybe it just sucked.
She told me about Mike Patton and a band called Mr. Bungle.
I didn't know what the hell she was talking about.
She said that he was the singer of Faith No More and that he had a band which sounded like Primus.
She said that this band would change my life.
A just woke up from a confusing dream.
We were sitting in a coffee shop.
She wore Jim Morrison-style leather pants along with an intense red blouse.
The blouse had a gigantic neckline.
She crossed one leg over the other and lit a cigarette.
For some reason, I noticed her Doctor Martens boots.
They made think of a woman with which whom I had a murky romance.
(This woman wore the most exclusive and expensive models of the British company.)
As she smoked, I couldn't stop seeing her cleavage.
It was hypnotic and made me feel dizzy.
Her breast looked so mysterious and unreachable.
I felt guilty, morbid, weak and idiot at the same time.
Suddenly, she said
pulling me out of my own thoughts.
I felt so stupid that I just smiled at her.
Then, as I asked her for a cigarette, I looked at her face.
As she touched my hand to give me a cigarette, I felt dizzy again.
I brought the cigarette to my lips and she lit it to me.
Her eyes looked kind of evil and her skin was so pale.
Her hair was dyed purple and blue.
She seemed a vampire.
As she lit me the cigarette, I could see a tattoo on her forearm.
It was a tattoo resembling Lilith's Star.
What does this mean?
Should I listen Mr. Bungle?
She wore Jim Morrison-style leather pants along with an intense red blouse.
The blouse had a gigantic neckline.
She crossed one leg over the other and lit a cigarette.
For some reason, I noticed her Doctor Martens boots.
They made think of a woman with which whom I had a murky romance.
(This woman wore the most exclusive and expensive models of the British company.)
As she smoked, I couldn't stop seeing her cleavage.
It was hypnotic and made me feel dizzy.
Her breast looked so mysterious and unreachable.
I felt guilty, morbid, weak and idiot at the same time.
Suddenly, she said
"Don't you really know Mike Patton?"
pulling me out of my own thoughts.
I felt so stupid that I just smiled at her.
Then, as I asked her for a cigarette, I looked at her face.
As she touched my hand to give me a cigarette, I felt dizzy again.
I brought the cigarette to my lips and she lit it to me.
Her eyes looked kind of evil and her skin was so pale.
Her hair was dyed purple and blue.
She seemed a vampire.
As she lit me the cigarette, I could see a tattoo on her forearm.
It was a tattoo resembling Lilith's Star.
What does this mean?
Should I listen Mr. Bungle?
