Like having fucked up dreams as a kid. Foggy, hazy nightmares or Twilight Zone/Star Trek original series type weird dreams. But remembering them now and mixing them up with real memories. Maybe burying them into a subconscious of mystic realism. Remembering to play with wood blocks, making haunted libraries you can then walk into and imagine the Virgin Mary kicking your ass Terminator-style through these wood blocks while your sister comes in like Godzilla stopping out the last three hours of work you put into this architectural masterpiece. It’s startling, but not complete upsetting. And you wake up and your the sister looking at the brother sleeping in the bed below you. vazios by bella e cadu on COISAS QUE MATAM is exactly that uncomfortable certainty. It’s not your wireless/BluTooth connection, it’s sound hitting the canvass:
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