Serene, placid, rhythmical step on the carpet of grassy, pale forests of unexpectedness. We parade throu the soft winter orbits, wandering in the hopeless cold nights, deceit smiles. Musical, delicate, stage-like performance under the elaborate moonlight of wisdom. The very last bold bird chirping during the encore, galvanizing soft, luxuriant trees to dance. A gentle fox gaze, hides in the greenery of unknown, lurking with a pinch of danger. The wind guzzled all the sounds, suddenly - do you still want to play with us? Eerie silence draws near, epilogue steps softly, gradually, tranquil wilderness, liberty. There is nothing to fear. There is no more danger. We can get back to sleep. White dream of the stranger.

Love? There is no such thing. Whatever it is that bind families and married couples together is not love, that’s stupidity or selfishness or fear, love doesn’t exist. Self-interest exists, attachment based on personal growth exists, complacency exists, but not love. Love has to be reinvented.

We write outside the canon. For voices too strange, too honest, too dangerous. The new cursed ones.

Placid, serene, late night shore Birds flying over the sea of unknown Sand grains encompass the weary feet Moonlight empowers poetic l’esprit Undiscovered paths in the deepest soul’s valleys There is an oriétur in these tenebrous maze of infinite Unexplored peregrinations of human mind That cannot be foreshadowed, cannot be certain Let us whisper the confession of the night full of nothingness On the journey to the end of the night On the journey to the black midnight

In winter we’ll travel in a little white carriage through the snow-softened alleys. Gently we stir as the tenderness silt up our tempestuous veins.