It’s a slice of humor afterall that the righteousness in living has never meant anything to an unencumbered end. Life at its barest is an opportunity for sins. The lust, the greed, the fallen addictions…all hidden in the process of a performance. A long cold drag of a nothingness, a celebration of being nobody and everybody in a moment. In wild conscience we know the futility…and still we love, we wander, we reproduce in a way to touch a stream of remembrance. The desire of becoming a whole lot of platonic translation. The modern world has too many ways to tell what’s bad in becoming rather than letting things be done in whims. Be naked in the sultry afternoon and let the guesses pass by the window for a change.

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Photograph: Tuli Loz

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