no amorous oblation without a final theater: the sign is always victorious.
I am condemned to be a saint or a monster: unable to be the one, unwilling to be the other: hence I tergiversate: I show my passion a little.
From word to word, I struggle to put "into other words" the ipseity of my Image
weekends spent microdosing before participating in meticulously planned orgies and other forms of rationalized libertinism—tales from a smart-watch world in which the only taboo left was wasting time.
Lázár once told me, half-jokingly, that there’s nothing as true as calumny.
