In any case, blind under my lamplight, I apologize to the magic carpet that more than once has raised me among presences not altogether alive but more than radiant. And which the alcohol of each night does not chase away, nor that of each dream in which I have harbored some desire, some anguish, something hated, something loved, something beautiful or something horrible, something living or something dead.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Eva The Fugitive - pg. 100
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