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𝕴 π–—π–Šπ–’π–Šπ–’π–‡π–Šπ–— π–™π–π–Š π–‡π–Šπ–†π–ˆπ– π•Ώπ–”π–˜π–˜π–Žπ–“π–Œ π–Žπ–“ π–™π–π–Š π–˜π–Šπ–† π•Ύπ–Šπ–“π–˜π–Šπ–˜ π–ˆπ–”π–“π–‹π–Žπ–“π–Šπ–‰ 𝖆𝖓𝖉 π–π–Žπ–ˆπ–π–Žπ–“π–Œ π•Ύπ–Šπ–†π–—π–ˆπ–π–Žπ–“π–Œ 𝖋𝖔𝖗 π–‡π–—π–Šπ–†π–™π– π•³π–†π–“π–Œπ–Žπ–“π–Œ π–‰π–”π–œπ–“π–œπ–†π–—π–‰ π•±π–—π–†π–“π–™π–Žπ–ˆ, π–‹π–†π–ˆπ–Š 𝖙𝖔 π–™π–π–Š 𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖗 π•»π–”π–˜π–Šπ–Žπ–‰π–”π–“'π–˜ π–Œπ–”π–™ π–’π–Š π–‡π–ž π–™π–π–Š π–™π–”π–Š π•Ώπ–π–Š π–”π–ˆπ–Šπ–†π–“'π–˜ π–‹π–Žπ–‘π–Žπ–“π–Œ π–’π–ž π–“π–”π–˜π–Š & π–™π–π–Šπ–ž π–ˆπ–†π–‘π–‘ π–™π–π–Žπ–˜ π–‡π–šπ–—π–“π–Žπ–“π–Œ π–‡π–Šπ–π–Žπ–“π–‰ π–™π–π–Š π–Šπ–žπ–Šπ–˜ π–‰π–—π–”π–œπ–“π–Žπ–“π–Œ
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May 24, 2019
May 24, 2019 at 12:16 PM UTC
Ambrosetheconqueror
BΜ΄uΜ΄rΜ΄nΜ΄iΜ΄nΜ΄gΜ΄ Μ΄bΜ΄eΜ΄hΜ΄iΜ΄nΜ΄dΜ΄ Μ΄tΜ΄hΜ΄eΜ΄ Μ΄eΜ΄yΜ΄eΜ΄sΜ΄
𝕴 π–—π–Šπ–’π–Šπ–’π–‡π–Šπ–— π–™π–π–Š π–‡π–Šπ–†π–ˆπ– π•Ώπ–”π–˜π–˜π–Žπ–“π–Œ π–Žπ–“ π–™π–π–Š π–˜π–Šπ–† π•Ύπ–Šπ–“π–˜π–Šπ–˜ π–ˆπ–”π–“π–‹π–Žπ–“π–Šπ–‰ 𝖆𝖓𝖉 π–π–Žπ–ˆπ–π–Žπ–“π–Œ π•Ύπ–Šπ–†π–—π–ˆπ–π–Žπ–“π–Œ 𝖋𝖔𝖗 π–‡π–—π–Šπ–†π–™π– π•³π–†π–“π–Œπ–Žπ–“π–Œ π–‰π–”π–œπ–“π–œπ–†π–—π–‰ π•±π–—π–†π–“π–™π–Žπ–ˆ, π–‹π–†π–ˆπ–Š 𝖙𝖔 π–™π–π–Š 𝖋𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖗 π•»π–”π–˜π–Šπ–Žπ–‰π–”π–“'π–˜ π–Œπ–”π–™ π–’π–Š π–‡π–ž π–™π–π–Š π–™π–”π–Š π•Ώπ–π–Š π–”π–ˆπ–Šπ–†π–“'π–˜ π–‹π–Žπ–‘π–Žπ–“π–Œ π–’π–ž π–“π–”π–˜π–Š & π–™π–π–Šπ–ž π–ˆπ–†π–‘π–‘ π–™π–π–Žπ–˜ π–‡π–šπ–—π–“π–Žπ–“π–Œ π–‡π–Šπ–π–Žπ–“π–‰ π–™π–π–Š π–Šπ–žπ–Šπ–˜ π–‰π–—π–”π–œπ–“π–Žπ–“π–Œ
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9
"Hubo un dΓ­a en que el dΓ­a no engaΓ±aba, en que sus manos tristes no sostenΓ­an un cuervo indiferente como los labios de la lluvia, como el rojizo hastΓ­o." Hubo un dΓ­a en que la noche aΓΊn soΓ±aba, aΓΊn se perfilaba agridulce como el graznido de una cebolla, como la luz del espacio indiferente. Esos dΓ­as son largamente pasado, de ensueΓ±o esas noches difusas, ensueΓ±o de luz de alba, de nacer de dΓ­a. En estos dΓ­as sueΓ±o con tus noches, con tu paradisΓ­aco mirar naranja y tu dionisΓ­aco sabor azul. En estas noches lloro por tu pΓ©rdida, por los sentidos perdidos, por los placeres privados; y aΓ±oro con aΓ±oranza tu existencia vana. // "There was a day in which the day didn't deceive, in which its sad hands did not hold a raven indifferent like the lips of rain, like reddish boredom." There was a day in which night still dreamt, still took shape bittersweet like the croacking of an onion, like the light of an indifferent space. Those days are long past, of dreams those dim nights, dream of dawn's light, of day's birth. In these days I dream of your nights, of your heavenly orange look and your dionysian blue taste. In these nights I cry for your loss, for the lost senses, for the deprived pleasures and I long with longness your vain existence.
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Aug 3, 2018
Aug 3, 2018 at 3:00 PM UTC
Nisselen
Nighttona
"Hubo un dΓ­a en que el dΓ­a no engaΓ±aba, en que sus manos tristes no sostenΓ­an un cuervo indiferente como los labios de la lluvia, como el rojizo hastΓ­o." Hubo un dΓ­a en que la noche aΓΊn soΓ±aba, aΓΊn se perfilaba agridulce como el graznido de una cebolla, como la luz del espacio indiferente. Esos dΓ­as son largamente pasado, de ensueΓ±o esas noches difusas, ensueΓ±o de luz de alba, de nacer de dΓ­a. En estos dΓ­as sueΓ±o con tus noches, con tu paradisΓ­aco mirar naranja y tu dionisΓ­aco sabor azul. En estas noches lloro por tu pΓ©rdida, por los sentidos perdidos, por los placeres privados; y aΓ±oro con aΓ±oranza tu existencia vana. // "There was a day in which the day didn't deceive, in which its sad hands did not hold a raven indifferent like the lips of rain, like reddish boredom." There was a day in which night still dreamt, still took shape bittersweet like the croacking of an onion, like the light of an indifferent space. Those days are long past, of dreams those dim nights, dream of dawn's light, of day's birth. In these days I dream of your nights, of your heavenly orange look and your dionysian blue taste. In these nights I cry for your loss, for the lost senses, for the deprived pleasures and I long with longness your vain existence.
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35
A year has passed since I crashed my motorcycle. The road rash had since been cast away. The fast paced life was smashed together. A singular bash that cached my memory. Lights flash and whiplash has new meaning. This thrash blinked my eyelash three days later. Dreary forecast laid flabbergasted.
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Oct 26, 2016
Oct 26, 2016 at 3:00 PM UTC
itsjustring
Motorcycle Crash
A year has passed since I crashed my motorcycle. The road rash had since been cast away. The fast paced life was smashed together. A singular bash that cached my memory. Lights flash and whiplash has new meaning. This thrash blinked my eyelash three days later. Dreary forecast laid flabbergasted.
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