As you know, and I know that you are not the imbecile people you consider, mister, there are moments where something of relevance is lost. Lost in a permanent fashion. The fashion of the damned. Put aside cognitive war and slow death, then the latter is perhaps the best way of spiritual cleansing. Purity. Allow me to enjoy the sweetness of the utterance. Just for a second, for a minute, an eternity for me. Now consider this: lose purity. All of it. Any honour left in you? Had merely a black & white image of it left when I burnt it. Faith, death and the ill day-dreams....flames are my victory in urbanum infernia. And hence believe I have to set the photographs afire. The daunting black...was it the sixth moon of sadness for him? Pale-white, [bad word] bluntly, understanding a crippled heard despite all hardships. Never really seen a rainbow that putrid but does that darned make my beloved red any worse? Cursed day dreams. May is gone.