Long time ago i was wondering in a middle of a grey city: where and what can help me to avoid shit on shoes ??? It could be funny to see someone in shit, here in the street, public area. Like in games. It smells the "over". But really how can we describe the purety of this world where limits are imagination gap. Where reality is always mix with projections from eyes to eyes to the wall to the world to everything.We do always work. We do work as camera. We feel the light of situations and give stamps on it to get a reason way of thinking something cool for mind and forget what it hurts and in the same time past arrive and knock the door to say: man you 're always dreaming and wondering and you known what at this point. Complexity to say something in this strange language and easy flow on the pad of the computer. Something happen. I can't stop the soap in the finger. Something run somewhere to bring me wind and red face in front you. When words arrive like that and go inside. Deep. In place where they talk with organic things to get out by eyes. Then you put a picture. Your picture on what you think we are. Maybe you're right. Maybe you can, can find something like a archeologist. An old poetry in a way or a big shity text who hurt and then you feel me as a cake with green mushroom on it. Psyché. It seem to be a little complexe... But in reality it means nothing it's only words on a server somewhere in a country where cows are purple and give chocolate milk as ever. There is a rainny day and nothing really to improve, to increase. Arrows back in heart and angels fly witout helping me on the stairs to heaven. One day i 'll stay asleep. Never awake again. And then nobody can feel something on me and i can't give pictures of this little car park near the street i was leaving and finish the chaos of this fucker....