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The Bottle of Klein

The Bottle of Klein

Don't you realize that I am inmortal?

Somewhere between a theorem and a whisper lies this collection: pages steeped in old ink, haunted corridors of memory, and the strange mathematics of fear.

A physicist turned chronicler of the macabre tends to this archive — Buenos Aires nights, forgotten alleys, and voices buried deep beneath the hum of the city. Here, stories do not merely live… they linger.

Never laugh when a hearse goes by,
or you may be the next to die.
First they wrap you in a big white sheet,
then they throw you six feet deep.
It all goes well for about a week,
then your tomb starts to leak.
Ants run in, ants run out.
Ants play pinochle on your spout.
And then your corpse turns a sickening green,
and pus runs out like whipping cream.
So never laugh when hearse goes by,
or you may be the next to die.

Don't be shy... Step into the light

Beware what you ask, for it may come to pass...