LIVE, FLESH
Rise up corpse and walk, nothing new under the yellow sun. The last of the last of the coins of gold, the light that flakes away under the layers of time. The lock on the breaking heart, a thread of silk, a thread of lead, a thread of blood. After these waves of silence, signs of love’s black mane, the sky more smooth than your eye. Neck twisted in pride, my life behind the scenes, from where I see harvests of death undulate. All those eager hands kneading balls of smoke, heavier than the poles of the universe. Empty heads, bare hearts, perfumed hands. Monkey tentacles aimed at the clouds, in the furrows of those grimaces a straight line stretches taut, a nerve twists. “La mer” the sea sated. “L’amour” love. “L’amer” the bitter smile of death la mort.
The fascinating concept of originality, drawing inspiration from others Pushing boundaries, exploring new media, and…
An autumn morning, a notebook and the street cleaner Meeting Benches is a website…
Complexity and tension between rationality and instinct In the field of online artistic insights, Meeting…
Looking outside dreams. Look inside yourself too, you will unravel He uses his digital art…
A song, the loneliness and the joy of helping to be helped Dastilige Nevante is…
Awareness: Look outside to dream, look inside to wake up Meeting Benches is a website…
This website uses cookies.