whispering sweet nothings, to a world of blissful ignorance. allow me to say,i shall allow, & ye can play in the dance room of pessimists.The symphony that plays the light is to the north, They hang like dogs on silver chains and twinkle like a broach of the brightest diamond, upon the darkest velvet cloak, in the distance, in the shadows, the place that i call home.BIORaw Truth Comes Only From The One who Creates it,
There Exsists no Word such as untrue in Art, But the need has always been there to create it .
Art is a Gift Given to Those Few Who are Chosen to Create Here on Earth.
We Interpate Life only, for one could not build such beauty ,peace & escapisum
in the realm we know as Fantasy. without the experience ov life as the substance
& foundation ov all things real & or relevent.
Mostly Considdered as Misfits They hold the Key to all that has been and will be.
Emanet Kaos 1678