A thousand times the mysteries unfold like galaxies in my head.

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MOTTO: I love the love you bring It takes more than ten years of our petty infant life to realize that we were born alone. From this moment on, the search is vivid. We dodge dicks and pussies, we dodge hookers and freebies, we dodge the dreams and desires of others, we dodge the snow and the rain, the storm of emotions for that one thing that makes us human. Our desire to be left alone with that one person that makes a difference in our loneliness. The person in whose soul "I love you"s never dig up the void, but rather make it of a creamy consistent flavour, so  that you can eat the void with a soup spoon. That someone that ripples our sinapses and makes silence confortable.

I miss my mirror image. Each time i shout at the mirror only echoes fight back. Loud and clear, they scatter my memories on marble. Memories of glass, memories of shattered stone. The infinite loop of my dreams gets lost in the embrace of the mirrored self. Hello. I have forgotten...

This hug of the month was posted on request. I wanted to linger a little longer with it, until the person it is dedicated to could actually get to see it with his own Internet connection, not from an impersonal PC at school. But it seems it was not to be, dear old friend. The show must go on. People want you. You see, there is this thing.

Today was a safe day. I could pursue the dreams and the dinosaurs. There's only one problem - the world is getting excretophage. I saw a pigeon picking up little bits of dog excrement on the street today. My own dog ate her own poop...

What does one year mean? One year means you can share a pillow but not your feelings. It means more make-up and higher heels. Numbness. That formal feeling Emily Dickinson describes: After great pain a formal feeling comes-- The nerves sit ceremonious like tombs; The stiff Heart questions--was...