CONCRETED ACCESS

From time to time, I am surrounded by unfinished sentences that you tend to attribute to heroes of novels that have disappeared. As life is somewhat outside of time, anything is possible, and we will definitely wander into a special landscape where we can prepare an improved edition of our being; the insidious wrinkles of stress problems are smoothed out and we can fill the cracks of Time with foolish dreams without remorse.

Maybe we don't get lost in the mysterious system of signs. Having crossed the fine line of silence, we can say anything, our words will not be swallowed by the deliberately brainwashed propaganda, the five-minute charm of minute-man blue, a few lousy seventy-something posers. Looking for points of connection, we wander among the shapes of the fine but beautiful network that is worth interpreting, because we can feel that we have made the right decisions.

He would surprise those in front of him with sudden Indian runs and changes of direction: nodding, the wonders of creation move one by one; it shouldn't end up like a zoo; he would somehow like to jump over this herd, or he could perhaps run away over the shoulders, to return to his own. This morning could be truer, and by the time the vulture-like cameras drop the wire, the circle of the raiding lion pack closes right behind him.

In vain! Effort is useless. Everything goes back to the way it was. It's better that way for Paul Pátó.

Immerse yourself in the environment, everything will turn on itself, and many will not even be able to live the continuation. in fact, I didn't feel anything, I jumped down, my arm caught on the wire fence, we set off into a motherless world, if necessary on foot. As adults, the brutal chemical temper shrivels the majority, some slaps made me angry.