Nothing less than the sound of footsteps Condensing into a shape. Sneaking into the murky urban caf鳠of crispy mornings. Realized it was a mirror after hours of work. They are filth. And also easily lost in the labyrinth of the theory of their Own art - this easily percepted. Within the 4 years Of rain it became my own microscopic Macondo. It all meant little, if Nothing What is the frase I look for... Chaotic Dementh. Ah yes indeed. Been there before, fair lady? A Copper medal I won At the chill-kill that day: Putrid Run, Salt... Torment, Thirst. Two fierce feasting parties wishing me warmly welcome in The aftermath of their own cold war. Neo-colonialistic freaks, Says I. Tempers increase to hatred and vanish - in cataleptic Disorders. An apparatus of something, don t really know what, Remnant of the good that succumbed in man once? The absolute Legion of oddity. Now guess what in the world machina mimesis is?