Dear intercpetor
The stone is dry, my face is still and the dimples in your cheeks are no longer visible, tell me, what lives beneath you. Have the esthetic experience have no longer an effect upon your turning aura? Have you forgotten the balance of the tao? Is there commotion in your defining organs? Is love dimming the fog of the cosmos keeping the facts as unreal as your viscous familiars wish you to beleive?
My nails are long and and pale, resembling the unforgettable face of the dame on the other side of the mirror, on the dimension of utopia, and the land of dreams. Kill the silence of a thousand words who look as empty as the hear. What else but the pursuit of hedonism, challenging the immediate satisfaction. Copulating with the anti-value of lost redemption, of authoritarians and world controlers in the making. Who, pervert not only the naive but the elders of wisdom.
Do you feel me?
Do you feel yourself?
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writing made by Daniela PH. from Mexico...
comments appreciated