from the one from what is not born not to go even less in a closed night hidden for you I go when the pain is over r e f, h - m , o, , Sometimes the forest does not let pain be seen. Between branches, pain. Between green pain. Bark colour. la y se e Nail pain and damage. Between the viscera of the same meat. Between your own fat that becomes sensitive to pain. Every gram with me. Pain floating in a sea of ​​living fat, adherent, sticky, parasitic on the inner side of the skin.

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