Born in México

I was not born in the sea, was born in October and the inertia of the fall, matching the appearance of certain forms of drawing. The line up and has the form. The cadence that leaves in its wake, its novelty.

The desire to rip the silence. Unleashing what is not reflected by mirrors.
Murmuring in a jiffy, the signs we are. The freedom to say or shut up. Embark on the riders as firefly night.
Feel the vertigo of the fall. Filled with yellow. That the heartbeat of the world is an echo and that time is calcined. Creation is a thirst for water ice. Browsing, it appears that the port is close, but the birds tell you that at the end just lifted fences: Camp clouds.
You have to start again. Thirst is not easy even if the names. Drawing is a theatrical event. Putting the drama on stage. The game always, which keeps us together. Which allows us to have the soul waterway. Leave a hug that light is naked.