In a live I have life. Here everything is said. If I am. But. Yes, well, maybe, maybe, maybe, I doubt it, it's uncertain, if you say so. It is a living between words. Stop shooting - dead with open and dry mouth. Eye socket filled with dried thyme. Flesh spent on firing. With new eyes. praise. Dissolve language. Death is brilliant. The mist will also be knowledge thickening everything. In the light seek each other in the entrails. The paths began to run all together while they stumbled over the silence until they burst their blindness. They turned to look at the walls. They cut the sea with their backs until they killed the last waves. A fire broke out at the place where the meat was separated from the waters. Son of the mist with extensive shadows discovering hooded the suitable users of darkness were dividing in their abundance Go and say goodbye to your possessions and memory. Leave it blank for the dawn knife. From solitude spells expired the winds. In its warm skin of the north wind, there it ends as the wind winks at the rain to make it an accomplice. And after the sea comes love as consolation. It was in another place the listening of wide open eyes and the irony of the page stopped there the danger surrounding the power of the shadows. The names of the centuries of the age of the waves were obscured.

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