Long time no write. So many times trying. As strange premonition that the imagination has pipelines that lose, get muddy and the images blurred. Perhaps all is said, perhaps there are no stories to tell, fiction and reality fades and three-dimensional screens. And the shame of knowing that every little story would be better told otherwise, with other proportions. The fear out there with something vulgar, that does not improve the silence or white monitor. And to prove myself, dream of men lost in strange cities, seeking truth, knowing who will die or be killed.
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