Body Map | Rectal
Map of Ile de Corps | Côté Rectal | The underside of Ile de Corps features the Roche de Seau d'Eau Mis, accessible from Baie d'Aisance.
So-and-So Inside
Question at the dawn of primitive childhood. A few words to grant me a free space like a building site on the edge of the forest.
Somebody in it; I do my best to make sure there's somebody in it; something in the lemon; not just an appearance. When you knock on someone's door, you wish there was always someone behind the door. Not just the dog barking in response. Of course, you have to be free to hide if you don't feel like answering. That's what's fun when you've done a bit of homework. You can hide in corners that others don't suspect, among the ruins of what you know so well because you have destroyed it yourself.
Map of Ile de Corps | Côté Rectal | The underside of Ile de Corps features the Roche de Seau d'Eau Mis, accessible from Baie d'Aisance.
Map of the island of Corps | Aquarius side | Bathed by the La Pudeur Sea, the island of Corps culminates at the Mont des Origines where the La Toison lighthouse stands.
A new free and raw blog, as a necessary refuge for the written word. A little secret but not stuttering and spontaneously readable for anyone who would like to come there.
To remain silent would be a decent way of stifling thought, which will always be the painful expression of an order given to oneself by one's own mental bourgeoisie.
My great adaptability is an absolute violence to me. I hate any relationship that forces me to do so. Rare is the one that goes the way I want it to.
There's a wolf waiting for me at the end of the highway. Pay up carnivorous age. Doesn't mean I took a wrong turn.
In a society of puppets, it is natural to become puppets. It remains to be able to endow them with singular bodies and adequate heads.
Artists, the real ones who would have something to say, hate the world and won't say anything to it, right? And it's much better that way, isn't it?
"Everything must go" is intended to make its participants perceive this total eclipse of self-confidence that makes the interpreter in true research.
One morning, or rather one night, a new blog was born in my little family of sites, a messed-up blog, designed to collect spelling mistakes with a ladle.