Out of The Box,Right through The Door

The stranger's gaze is smooth,so he slurps from the decadence of the spirit of the civilization and gazes at the world as if it might have been born out of the debris of a wretched,evil ship."We live on the edge,captain!",the edge is born of infinity and it turns,turns around in the due course of wind.



Only at night,all your empathy for the lost pieces of debris arise like spirits who have gathered for a thirst left unquenched.The night lamp is born,so are the books on your table and your fingers browse through infinity,through planets and souls in search of a poem.A piece of malice,boredom,serenity,delirium and hatred cartographed together by the spirit of an artist.But what's the use? What is the damn use of it all,Comrade? It is all a deep,deep intoxication that runs down your spine and instead of fear,tears down into lament!


I have got this recent realm of ideas that are a combination of political ambiguity,hardcore Nihilism and an urge to hold that back,empty eye sockets,daily household chores and a lack of dreams. So,I have made my mind. I will take time. And an article would be coming up everyday ever since 4th August,2017. Until then. See you guys sooner than you think I will! Fr Rainer Maria Rilke to Foucault to Camus and Fellini,we will cover every edge and perspective we've missed for a long,long time. We're officially running a "under construction" status.Whole lot of love for staying tuned.  

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