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It was 1990, I had psychedelic neurons, I thought psychedelic, I saw psychedelic in color. Riding on a little cloud, I entered a big mushroom, and the gnome who managed it simply said "Other Way Out" and the air became colorful and from above "Plain Of Nazca," I could slice the atmosphere like a pie. Damn the Sun Dial, all those colors were too much just for me. I managed to capture what floated like a little fish in the shop.
Plains Of Nazca
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Days that spread their essence in a mortar gray sky almost as if they wanted to emphasize the supremacy of a melancholy that knows no seasons, but stirs its negative pathos precisely in these moments of uncertain, cloudy, apathetic, misanthropic weather. Thank goodness for music, a fantastic vehicle for excursion… more