Tuesday on Wednesday ... but ... A 
... unconventional path animate the streets of the human search. They hide behind the folds of a smile and drown in a flood of tears. Everything is lost and nothing is destroyed. Things change places and sometimes it is hard to find them: they remember a caress in a locked drawer in a cupboard in the attic, or comestai scruffy beggar in the streets of downtown. The location of the road on the way is always to be done to head higher, but not too much detail will be lost and unwanted memories trampled.
entries come together one evening and relax, leaving room for a universal sense of belonging in this world, which, although finished, drugged, disillusioned and cynical, is the only way that divides us from the abyss of nothingness. I pretend not to understand and realize they do not know but what I have to tell I would not miss any frame.
... unconventional path animate the streets of the human search. They hide behind the folds of a smile and drown in a flood of tears. Everything is lost and nothing is destroyed. Things change places and sometimes it is hard to find them: they remember a caress in a locked drawer in a cupboard in the attic, or comestai scruffy beggar in the streets of downtown. The location of the road on the way is always to be done to head higher, but not too much detail will be lost and unwanted memories trampled. 
