there are mornings that follow from such deadly sleeps that this i awakens, having forgotten the past series of selves, as a universal friend of the senses localized by this body here, now: thoughts come and still without effort. the light from the sun feels like a caress, the breeze like eyelid kisses, petrichor pleases the nose and refreshes the lungs, a glorious morning for the i’s to behold. another inhale (death, hate, dark), another exhale (life, love, light): warrior-breathing.
arrepios ensolarados
Rafa, I read the wired article on blk goo you posted...Have you seed the author's prof pic?...