Miles written pain(t)

Moments of madness and total loss of control overcome me. My life shows off. The memory of the brown bear attacks us all. There is no escape from the pain(t) but we can stop thinking about it when we have a computer connected to the internet. I must draw. These words shouldn't be together. I draw. It's a must. Better now. Roll over the antiart(ic) and give the web an output. Input some air. Put it into letters and keys. Open the doors of the kingdom and fly through the consciousness messed up by all the emotional flow. Streams are not rational and they adapt. Kill your wish and fly. I have a strobe in my head. Flash it over again. Flash is my next goal. Maybe it shouldn’t be. Revolved memories, jazz solos, depressions that almost killed me (twice). Double yourself. Not a quark. A bark. BIBÓ TINTO. This means bad stuff. Almendra and I fly back to my friends. They'll say they still remember me. Who knows... who feels the Old Devil Moon that Miles played in the other room yesterday. Triumphete mumbling in the wor(l)ds of orgasm and happiness. Avoid sex make love and then you get a big nail on your head. Kill Bill. Kill the gates to hell. And Cerebrum will look at you right in the eyes. You will frieze but you'll have fun looking at the Camden Town of art.