Tactics ... tick ...
Your tactics of the morning, your tick to your train gnawing your way to your grind. All your attempts to get out of it as are all thy storms. They keep you from your destiny and t'apercevoir that your way is all marked out, that your work brings you more than you imagine.
And if you attract you the chance to be a treasure?
Tries to break this rhythm t'étiole,
Tests for your life another farandole
Find yourself a spark like a firefly.
What you think can turn into tentacle tent adventure. So many others strove to take you all this time you t'échines avoided. Drops the tempo typical of people who rush to leave and persecute, and torment their tailgating and everyday ... breathe ... your lungs ... and let the quiet back ...
Draw a line on your home automation vision of life.
Makes room for the artistic.
Let fly your wishful thinking.
Sing your dream sleep.
And dares not to the magic
Be subtly anarchic, not mechanical
Be fiercely bucolic, not encyclopedic
Be totally truthful, and certainly not nostalgic
Become choreographic
music Become
Become mosaic
Become poetic
you transform Then while superb viaticum ...
you invent a thousand faces in your mind that will make your dimples to infinity ...
Me, I discovered texts toys that I carry higher my sixth sense and much farther than all your silences, "over the Rimbaud (rain-bow), I created the scenes in my world city, a place that fits me, not too twisted enough good side, and composed of "Verlaine (to-wool)" that warm my body and I retricotent the heart and soul ...
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