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, January 30, 2007
Scratches
Η περιποιηση της:
Τον εβαλε στον ατμο. Τον αφυδατωσε πληρως. Στο σωμα του μπαινοβγαινουν χιλιαδες μικρες καρφιτσες. Σαν αποξηραμενος καρπος φρουτου. Τα βραδυα πριν κοιμηθει του καλυπτε με λιπος ολο το σωμα για να αναπληρωθει το φθαρμενο δερμα.
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