in the last week, i've read three books- fugitive pieces, miss smilla's feeling for snow and curious case of the dog in a nighttime. i bought one, too- marvelous human mind, for 1.5 £ in Amnesty international shop at the Gloucester rd. always wanted to have one. Now I do.
My words, from the other hand, became scarce. Maybe it's just the city, it is overstimulating.
Maybe it is poets whom I made friends with- they speak my worries and my fears in a manner I could never do.
Maybe the time has yet to come to write all of this down as supposed to.
When i become old and bold, and could not care less what would be thought about my words and deeds and genes.
