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Its not that its ok or its wrong but its interesting and beautiful.


Alice's mouth was just a small mouse hole until she opened up inside.


My idea of adventure was a peg leaving a hole.


He said De Sade wrote boulders in a wilderness.


 May my voice be the breath of an infinite rose orchard.


To write debts death can't cover.


His negativity was a flower garden one couldn't help admiring.


Silence is the mental space for flowers to grow.


Is formless beauty more beautiful than the most realised form of beauty?


Fragment I saw on the roof of an elevator in a dream:  This is a helpful message for men who have wives but do not have themselves.


If I were to remember without limitations...


If you still have a love of breathing then death is probably not the answer. Only when you no longer are breathing is death the solution.


So that's what it means to be a creator. How vulgar.


◄ The Flesh Of Thought

Terror Raged And The Mind Fed It Cruelty ►


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