Cenotaph in life. Intervention
"To whom I sing then
humble if I never understand ..."
Sui Generis
Then it was just me. No. I was a priest, a Templar fighting against the pre-designed against what made us think he was strong, real and stable. And he, my apprentice kneeling at my feet and after a long period of meditation exaggerated, had reached the same conclusion that I never said, hoping that things and ideas will run alone, as motivated by a desire only to go crazy minds.
endless struggle than I thought, good and evil are reduced to exaggerated selfishness without prejudice, to a more internal fighting, more controlled about what they really wanted. I came to, without being a teacher, being nothing more than what I wanted to be a lone wolf of those who no longer hear much, a flat character, the kind that go under mental storms, and I screamed that it would a murderer if given the chance, I said I would walk involved in the arts that I only understand, I said I would smoke until the start of this cancer cenotaph me infinite void of flowers, devoid of hope. So why is all this staging, where Jorge Borges is and had always been the screenwriter and director Timothy Burton art.
crows and vultures came, asechantes, trying to wrest some life, but were met with death surrounded by decaying carrion.
