3479
╝∼╚
Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ
∈ The Lovers ∋
♆ trAVEl liKe a T ♆
♆ hEARtaTTack ♆
♆ nEXt tiMe ♆
♆ poWerwoRds ♆
♆ slEEpeR ♆
♆ tHE TrOUble OF a FoUL ♆
♆ tUPPer wiNe ♆
♆ wAkE Up thIs mOrnIng ♆
♆ bIRDs oN tHe wAY ♆
♆ manY DoGs ♆
♆ A Ok ♆
♆ dECOmpOSE ♆
♆ yOU cAN sHAVE tHEM ♆
♆ i doN'T likE YouR sHoeS ♆
♆ aT thE EnD oF A dAy ♆
♆ ?ß? ♆

Waving becomes speed painting. Here. Now. No repititions. No return. Mistakes, internal freedom, improvise me! Birth and death of hundred lost, injured melodies found in my sonic-pop-galaxy. Past. Present. Romantic Futurist , I had pity on them and they had pity on me for 30 seconds, 1 minute, 3 hours, 1 day and then i let them die. I knew that they were not going to return and shovelled to them a grave in my ears. From time to time I visit this crypt. Memento, dairy of live, red, white, black chronicles…"
₪ WAVECRYPT ₪
₪ 2010 ₪