Pollock Films by Darcy Prince Muse, mature in personal life, disappointment, but the growth in the arts, constant surprise. Though they love her in any part, it could be all the remedy one needs. Her and me. Talking of poetry, books, philosophy, self-portrait and paintings, music, film, and the colors of the earth wondering if the devil is in the details. Those remain in original character, yearning to grow authentic, move along with the mystics in the mysterious of this life, and those who notice them, ponder of them and rare are the ones who will know them. But it comes everything it was intended. He kills all the mundane that make it so. conformity and lies. Though I sleep to dream, I have to meet. And in the darkness of truth is where I finally learn to see. Trying to matriality, pain one does in life, like meaning. I should know. Do that again. conformity and lies. Though I sleep to dream, I have to meet. conformity and lies. Though I sleep to dream, I have to meet. And in the darkness of truth is where I finally learn to see. Trying to matriality, pain one does in life, like meaning. One will see the fruits of authentic character pulling out. The thoughts. Think. Okay, there we go. A cult to the love. A mind all too active in its loudness. Silent and stillness of a person. Because talk is cheap. Angels and demons wrestle inside. I do not laugh, I do not cry. I am sweating out the will to die. Not fearing the infinity. Poetic in the romantic scene. Impericiable in it. Borming poetry in forming hearts. Exploding in active light. When lover smiles. Where both angels and demons leave. When muses rain over. Inkingdoms of love. Inquiet. Romantics for pure holy love. All love is lived by longing. An endure. Someone a vision and a clearance pure. Wulcing to sessions of love making. To the poet touched by a woman. Changes all. Touched by a woman. Changes all. Unbounded and wild passion. Altering everything. Instinct in the blood. This anguish self revealed. Being naked to the soul. Waiting for all. While no waiting till love happens. Pring Quiti is a harsh matter. Not a harsh matter. Damn it. To again. This is the problem with one takes. To the poet touched by a woman. Changes all. Unbounded and wild passion. Altering everything. Instinct in the blood. This anguish self revealed. Being naked to the soul. Waiting for all. While no waiting till love happens. Pring Quiti is a harsh matter. Where the benefits for humanity. No longer to masterful. She masters the words for all poetry. Anastasia. Intimidating intelligence. Disernable to words spoken. From her a pillar of culture. Beauty beyond any angels. An inner arms. Everything is beautiful. And pain has never felt. Embodying small lines of poetry. And something that symphonies to begin to play to. Where being human is to fall in love. And to last longer. Then lifetime spanning generations. Is to give into love. And it won't sound like music. Or what the poets say. Maybe it's magic or your net created. All I know. It is something touching, holy. Amber of immortality. And that's all she wrote. Thank you.