Violence is a creatress. The problem isn't violence but creation which must be one. Woman is everything that the word does not recognize and therefore that responds under the shape of real. Without this acknowledgment, reality has to breathe. This is the sense of reality that looks at you, listens to you, touches you, smells you, lives you and dies you. Reality is an intestinal and artistic parasite. His job is not to cheat and his nature is intellectual.
The violence against God was to preserve paradise and hell. Thanks to that violence we've been able to write this and be good. You've helped me to kill God. At the gates of paradise, we just have the truth left that we write to discredit reality. We are getting closer to the zero movement which should be the sum of you and me. Paradise doesn't need us anymore. At the gates of the lost opportunity, I no longer need us.
Paradise is the system or supergroup. The supergroup creates constantly its own arguments in order we to have problems to not understand. We write subordinates to flee awfully. We stay alive so we do not have to be so smart. We hate others because we are afraid that reality do breathe. We hate reality for the same reason, that is, because we want to save us. Reality is still the only way to embrace you though. The form one that gives us back the selfishness that we were stolen, the zero movement, where us is not the sum of anything.
We live in the reality's look but we continue to beg the child and the animal to let us play and dance. It is true that reality also has hope and an ideology. It is true that reality also wants to be an animal. The problem though is that I still want to be that damned and intelligent animal who stole my future, the one who left me with only a lot of sterile dreams.