A regular world craved for his last hour. A highest court for the world has came to play a bass's last game. What a beautiful sunrise I observe today. A meadow bloom filled with all kind of flowers. And sea is still since the middle of the day and sky is clear with no excess passion. I go through the world where I was born but what I see today? Beauty, silence, tranqulity. What would i do if that wasn't formed? Everything good has a property to end one day. Sky rapidly turn dark in a matter of say. A comet moves like a dark abyss no one turned their eyes of this even sea became as doll and the birds turned into stone.
Initially there was continous silence. But thunder of upcoming something jammed all noise sky gone to wonder byeond horizon. Emptiness. A daughter asking on hands of her father. Last moment, last despair. Prayers of the people. Were heard by saints. In the very last moment something went wrong. There was no explosion. The understanding of things to come further softened. The wings exlipsed the sky in the scope of this world. Something saved our world, but it's different now, absolutely opposite to it's initial stage. And I realize, we're to blame ourselves.
Dans sa forme la plus pure, l’acte de création doit être d’une structure surréaliste et antinomique. Être issu des cachots profonds de l’esprit, ne pas être tordu par le filtre infâme de la raison, qui arrache l’ombre des nuits, l’aube des jours et la tristesse des larmes. Des âmes avortées, jetées à bas dans un tombeau immense. Naître dans les étoiles, ne pas naître les yeux levés vers elles. Naître du venin de l’obscur, ne pas boire à son calice.