Wsjr towards which we go in his complacency

 Me s first words. I imprison them. Flat waves. Boring they sound. In some books they are seen as symbols of ancient hieroglyphics. Cry-stone. You are gone Seasons marked by the edge of the sun and shadow. There remain the sequence of marks of that mobile border. Marca in the desert is seen passing while the ghosts of the infinite mummies became dizzy with the slow movement. You will know what this means! Even asleep in their eternal dreams. Wsjr towards which we go in his complacency, blessed welcome to the suite of the invisible transcendental journey.

Write en miroir. Palimpseste sur painting. Mirror Sub-Irrealism. Random intratextuality.