nothing less than the sound of footsteps
condensing into a shape.
sneaking into the murky urban cafã©â³â of crispy mornings.
realized it was a mirror after hours of work. they are filth.
and also easily lost in the labyrinth of the theory of their
own art - this easily percepted. within the 4 years
of rain it became my own microscopic macondo. it all meant little, if
nothing what is the frase i look for... chaotic dementh.
ah yes indeed. been there before, fair lady? a copper medal i won
at the chill-kill that day: putrid run, salt... torment,
thirst. two fierce feasting parties wishing me warmly welcome in
the aftermath of their own cold war. neo-colonialistic freaks,
says i. tempers increase to hatred and vanish - in cataleptic
disorders. an apparatus of something, don t really know what,
remnant of the good that succumbed in man once? the absolute
legion of oddity. now guess what in the world machina mimesis is?