The story I'm going to tell, is not my story.
It is the story of someone, who is telling a story which is very similar to his own.
The dream I will remember, won't be mine.
It's the dream of someone who remembers a dream, that is very similar to his own.
I think of stories I like to make stories.
To tell them. I know this must sound like the dream of little Iasonas. What will he be when he grows up.
When I wake up, it'll happen again.
It'll start all over...
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
To every thing there is a season a time to every purpose under heaven. There is a time to be born a time to die a time to kill a time to heal a time to weep a time to laugh a time to seek a time to keep silent a time to speak a time to love a time to hate a time for conflict.