La Vie Insolite

Beauty in all beauty's forms and disguises. Girls, boys, places, objects, words. And some vices thrown in for good measure. Quite a few.....
Dead Can Danc3

—The Writing On My Father's Hand


Tuesday: no description  

A vague cloud of adjectives, at first contact, a sense of the verb rather, the too-apparent in auditory illusions … when chasing signifiers, any writing would return without booty, seeking sense, that spot in the field of vision, explaining diagram more instant then the nerve … 

In quest, a listening linked the other, the joints have disappeared, the boundaries of a sky spreads within us … in cycles, cycles of cycles, the advent of a happy vocal, repetitive chaos overfilll out of a title, The Writing On My Father’s Hand from DEAD CAN DANCE, and so many facets, these emotion chips moved, moved.

Let’s play

(via goodmemory)