quest
In search of the living
It's not about making love, it's about sexuality. Ah your values, your values, if you could put them where I think for once!
...but what's the connection between two genuflections? Between two blowjobs? Between two genu-fella xions? Have we ever had intercourse?
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.
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.
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?
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.
The true individual venturing out of his isolation room, faints on contact with the air. He refuses to be legibly embodied in his words and deeds...
Writing relieves the tension of over-thinking, stops the bleeding, cauterizes the sense, temporarily closes the still moist wound.
There's the work that we don't do, that makes other works do... that feeds them all the time... the great mass that is huge... it's beautiful... good night...
...voluntarily alone and totally naked, left to oneself, a few kilometers away from a city that one is preparing not to flee, but to invest...
