People need to fuck more.

Lately I find myself with cheap- literature- pretentius- sponges, with southerner parrots whom can’t stop to crying by the corners with a ridiculous loss feeling. They should regret more about the language in their history. Desert virgins tales.
I found an anti-me, hypocrisy becomes a person, cultural garbage, visual artist. Sure.
Poor lost lives. Poor anchorages. Poor of those that think found themselves here. Your lives suck. Poor of those that sarcasm means beautiful. Poor out-of-place minds, how make you happiest if you say hapié. Pseudo lives is what you have, ergo I have.
Corse lives in your corse ilusion. I shut up but not talking. How believe itself with the right?

Note: Provocation wears condom. Wink wink.