an illusory drama
hidden behind a dead tree, the sun, he thinks he's a poet and plows through the material world playing chess with the fog and the desert
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the silence of the horizon intoxicates me, nothing can be more soothing than the desert in the world stretched by green fog, where atavistic corpses intertwine with simulacra and kites that travel next to ephemeral androcephals and raise their agony in steam /////// a project from classic sketches passed through A.I. filters, by CATALIN NEGREA
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ephemeral sphinx
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