Suddenly it was a mess
Wipe the trail left by your fly. Your love in return should be shat in your mouth.
The glory of the living
Jam looking for a form containing forms; forms with very little form... forms in which writing would become a free act despite the inescapable constraint of submitting to the desire to express, to explore who we are.
In short, the best we can hope for in the face of morbidity in behaviour and life choices.
Wipe the trail left by your fly. Your love in return should be shat in your mouth.
"You think Tim Burton is better than Ed Wood. You think it was Wagner who killed Natalie Wood... "Denial works | AltéréGo!
Fear is now more fear than fear. It dissolves on the surface and is reborn in a little fart of shared benevolence...
Beyond the atrocious and useless deaths, the greatest victim of the ravages of the present era is a sense of humour.
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.
Knowing how to have fun and laugh at everything will always remain the prerogative of the free individual. Taking care of one's buttocks is a work of public utility.
Me, I spend my nights in the shelter. From everything. Sheltered from you, in spite of your suavely mellow voice that's so concerned with radio, hygienic and concerned.
Behind the computers, the lyrics look absolute. What a beautiful anonymity not to face oneself!
Why is it that when I walk into a theater, do I want to leave? Why when I randomly open a book, do I look forward to closing it?
"Childhood of art", not in the sense of simplicity (can childhood be simple?), but understood as the dawn of another form: the staging of a site.