Who am I? I`m the one who listens to whispers in the silence between heartbeats. I`m a collector of moments when reality is thinning like a spider`s web. My hobby is not just "mysticism". My room is a place where reality is thinning out. Candles are burning here, and the smell of wormwood
Intellectual provocation. Not a direct hint, but a game of wits, a veiled dialogue where desire is read between the lines, in a hint of a common secret, or in a quote from an esoteric text dropped as a challenge. Attention to detail. A spectator who notices how the candle flame flickered from my
Turns Off
Blunt directness and vulgarity. Demands, flat jokes, primitive hints. It destroys the whole atmosphere of mystery that I-create- Disrespect for boundaries and environment. Disparaging comments about attributes ("why these old books?"), demands to remove "junk" or turn on a bri
