Time is one to build with supposed Gods to deceive Man in efforts starting from the behaviour of the animals to the ways of immortal. Although the minutes on this terrestrial plane seem momentary and far too a small number to see and touch all the beautiful things, knows that it is far from the end. Another door will open in a hall gilded by stars and the brilliant beams of the purest light. You were always and will be always.
This illusion created by these beings on the high one confuses Man and the farm with key in an invisible cell of fear and despair. He learns how to adore the combination of sand glass until he is consumed by building it with time. However, the effect envisaged is this: Some human beings learn how to order and change even time. Sights of the daily life and life of imagination are scrambled together and suspended in a new magic reality which exists during all the hour apart from of terrestrial size. The Gods smile, because, with all their powers, even they cannot create the poetry of the mortal artist.
Poetry takes many forms and sizes, and can appear in a real form and of effect. It outwards brings the colour to a world and speaks about the words without language in the flickering of an eye and the beat of a heart. It is a way in which very important the human ones can communicate between them without same conscious effort. The artist draws the strange and spectacular flowers from his spirit and undulates the pedals through of the same skyscrapers and mountains - wrapping people in rich fabrics and invigorating that even the Gods do not know. O how they play with Man - initially in good nature and then in the bitter jealousy!
Good soft artists of sleep. You will still awake in the light of the sun diffuse in fields greenest, as the fawns gently lick the dew of your eyes.
"Fashions fade. Style is eternal." -YSL