nothing in the everyday dies because everything is dead already: the repetitive buried under its own repetition, hidden beneath the surface.
is carrying chaos within oneself sufficient to give birth to a star?
Un Poco Fria, 2025
nothing in the everyday dies because everything is dead already: the repetitive buried under its own repetition, hidden beneath the surface.
is carrying chaos within oneself sufficient to give birth to a star?
Un Poco Fria, 2025