something at the end of the body dies.
The body of words, nothing but air between two holes, as he said Carmelo Bene. Different module does not change the state of things, if you do not accidentally or for a short time. The dialogue is not the hypnosis that would be, but fart.
died on free will, choice delayed until the collapse becomes obligation.
die gestures of life, drowned in full of words and replaced by the act "by force" by the gesture "I do" by the gesture "I had no choice, or act purely participatory cigarette, drink or vote .
dies the body of the project, as soon as it builds and falls caught in the meshes of the dumbed down the meaning of those who look distracted and bored with life.
Die object of art, too many authors and gorged repetitive exhausted in the act of killing a bit of boredom 'at a time, they will die too.
Stop worrying about polar bears, worried about you, all this will outlive us how life survives the virus. Dead
creating healthy and creative use of objects. The ergonomics, man became nanny to serve and was beaten to death by a turbo-global and unforgiving.
objects that vibrate out of the body want to get in there waiting for the era of cybersimbionti, there is assimilating technology. The prosthesis is the most coveted gift for the debut, it improves, it makes us more beautiful, you tank, fire retardant, it survives.
god died on television, killed by his son, the monitor. Is
home computer is WHERE?
No, Home is Where the porn is free.
dies the thrill of the (remote) command, sacrificed ecstasy can be virtually anywhere, the act begins final corruption of the physical body, man loses his ability to interpret (albeit briefly) the space and time.
Die intellectual process, reinstupidimento human and artificial intelligence. Crazy memory dies after being kidnapped and segregated. The last time I saw it was out of the brain, was found lifeless in the mounting. By dint of recording, registering and overwrite, you will only see around most empty-headed and hard disk full.
died doing the real actor, the doer, is the machine the printer, the press.
died on common sense, the world's population doubled in forty years.
died on the planet, life is the cancer that devours it.
died physics, the idea of \u200b\u200bus dies in the middle of all the documentaries on the area speak of energy, fuel and exploitation of resources, but not if they have found life at all, and basically, our fellows are not interested , we want to consume more, expand, reproduce, destroy all a bit 'at a time.
died on way to feel unique and special, but that was enough to move to Tokyo.
dying crushed in the space agency and the frail body of the old job, pact between the kings and popes, daily abuse justified by noble effort and willed by God weir the chimera of social emancipation, he falls like a donkey on stage, closes so the curtain of the old theater the poor, beggars ahead with the new, disguised as the poor rich, the bourgeois mimesis you save lives. No more makeup, costume, sweat, no endless tests, repeated late debut centuries, deference, servility and gratitude. Pretend it is the essence of modern life.
dies the body of religion, such as whiskey was good and old, but the old and the distilled, drunk with their spiritual supremacy, went crazy and started having children.
dies comparison, has not held up. The whiskey there, promises simpler things of God, and keeps them.
died asphyxiated by the network, the objectivity of the information. Everything is true and it is also true, all experienced of all, everything is available, but the quest for truth has become more mediated and monitor the objectivity of the result is strongly influenced by the subjectivity of researchers. If it's written somewhere is true, if it brings money is true, if it is real fast. The people's right to show you that sends you a link.
died of infection, the dialogue is viral, the thread does not exist, the aim is to speak more than the other (with) to win, subdue, no longer understand and grow.
Die culture, they had forgotten her, have not fed, years ago it was a beautiful lady and still scopabile, faded and wrinkled like a hag, died alone in a house filled newspapers. Some substances contained in printing inks, combined gases of putrefaction, they mummified. Will always remain so, the old world of thanks, stoned young people continue to dance to the rhythm of a pneumatic drill in the usual abandoned factory. Death
mercy and compassion, killed by indifference. Nobody feels anything, narrow escape, if the individual feels the community is shaken.
committed suicide the moral vacuum of crushed to be confused with moralism.
died philosophy, was a beautiful brunette with giant boobs and smiling. Spira exhausted by a wistful sadness that resembles that of those who were abroad among people who speak languages \u200b\u200bother than their own, a sadness that had lasted a long time.
Die commitment, with his youngest children, crushed by the trucks on the road of individuality. Will never get someone down here to read more?
0 comments:
Post a Comment