Remir Tried to Be Stiolified by Thalamus

In front of a man called Candido Portinari, words flowed from the heart of an artist confused about his paints. The green of his hair disguised the discoloration of his artistic soul, who believed in bad words in bad faith. Torquato was easily entertained by what he showed, he saw nothing but good paintings. But from there, a feverish body was born, gagged by its own manly figure. In the corner of the rubble, there would always be doubts and questions always answered by the reverse gears, but nothing would ever overcome that contact of the dead soul with the lifelong body, but what was the point of warning that plastic only conserved, and were biochemically inert? Since they always believed in the Bisphenol A myth, there would be no more salvation. Save, save O great Mercia of lavender! Since his subjects will no longer march, at least that he rest in the sovereignty imposed by plastics.