Litttletttale

“Music removes slowly and spread my previous lives as succulent feast. There not appear to be many. It is concentric utopia of eternal statics exoteric from being.

Revive with my tears the possible hesitations incredulous to be myself. This is Bethsabe. Century xxx society went up in smoke. Small communities cultivates the ground. I am a quiet time recreating the future moment incredulous when recording these lines in a quantum message.

Absurd, seem the universal resonances that our human design retakes in a collapsed Uranus, Saturn does not exist. Our Galaxy died, we live on a planet away from an eccentric star. The symbols of ancient Chinese explicits the language from a vocal chords which was killed.

Music re-tames my nostalgic feelings of broken notes, wielded by etheric instruments. Broken landscapes with exploded colors of microwave infects of morbid and fetid lilies, tasteless of specific environments. At glow, it is supposed defenestrated from celestial Olympus, I make up the broken doll of a fateful oblivion.

By redeeming the equations, I seek the optimal solution, simple mathematical phrase which drum-rolls the excess metamorphic of the shroud , holy at dessert, perennial knowledges, nostalgies of outmoded ideas. Looking for divine man spreads along the universe, pantheism of Pleiadian civilizations, that insipid, flitting and chattering, trying to calibrate the parsecs of the hyperspace dead.

No matter, it is possible in adjacent Universe, my friend dimensionless try my understanding. That is fear, fear of inflation, surpluses quaternas projected self-absorbed candles with androgynous light. Miserable and swine undaunted of weariness vertiginous .

There are no seasons, no sun. There are several stars who do not get down, no dawn. No night. No day. There is no water. No lie. Roll the autopoietic life of molecules haunted from themselves.

Summary of charms of overcome physical, the theory of everything died when we find God. It is a vulgar being, we live without hope, what matter, no time there are.

Eternal mutated to moment, it is obvious that the passenger crashed his mind against his etheric mantle. Physical bodies are memories of sculptures bathed of dirty neutrinos.

Neither emotions do matter, remember there is no time, there is no suffering. There is infinite parallel metaverses be in infinite dimensions.

 Who cares!

I use writing as a trace of the past that tries to communicate with no form probes of the universe spins electrons forces by non locality, but the network sounds, instant information access at psicosecond to my essence.

No sex, orgasm is frozen on the way. Remember Bethsabe tastes like damn oyster, a churning sea of methane and sulfides. Noone fishing, noone sails. The boats are burned.

The morning came in last discoloured eternal absences. «

Jorge Gauna