The little reason in my meadow
The texts are the blades of grass and the grasses of my mental meadow. They grow anarchically and intertwine in a tight weave.
maze
The texts are the blades of grass and the grasses of my mental meadow. They grow anarchically and intertwine in a tight weave.
What's going on inside OTO's head? Probably nothing, air and fluid movement. Contradictory but never chaos.
Desolate cave my room is a sink where infernal animals are constantly swarming, where the masses of the crickets of the subway are striding...
What is going on in OTO's head? Probably nothing, just movements of air and fluids. Contradictory, but never chaos.
OTO is a fictional, even friction character. He's what's going on in his head before he even conceives it.
The maps I draw up represent my body, a body that is ultimately the same for everyone. I turn around, turn around, I'm back to square one.
They are the very soil in which an individual's existence is built. Free from the constraints of social behaviour, these unknown materials seek out the unconstrained.
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.
2nd book of the Livre Tout | I've been wanting to let a rhizome grow in my building for a long time, but the walls weren't cracked enough yet.
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.