Where the rock's shy foot, where the discouraged plant will no longer spread the seduction of its seed, where the ice-axe strikes only sparks, there I have found my pasture, above the blue kingdom of the flies. I am an animal of the heights. I can't say as much for bread. Let those who search for nourishment bother me no longer with their hideous whispering.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Le Con D’Iréne - Closing
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