The standard is under Autism
What memories do we leave? Which white snow for what is - is gone? Too many standards in these hesitations, too spiritual expectations, too little satisfaction.
I eat pork and my only god is time,
desire for transcendence,
need to kill what passes, destroy the divine and finally find the missing
Too much romance, égosensisme
too little autism in my letters,
always the same desire and yet this phlegm.
