My darling,I am waiting for you.How long is a day in the dark?A week?Fire is gone now,and I'm
horribly cold.I really would somebody drive myself fast outside and there would be the sun.I am
afraid I waste the light on the paintings , no room leting these words.We die ,we die rich with
lovers ,and tribes ,taste we have swellowed bodies we have entered and swam up that cripers,feels
we trepidant like the gloomy cave .I want to engrave these monk to my body where the real
countries while the boundries drawn on maps named of powerful men……"
"I know you will come and carry me out in the panist of winds ……that's all I wanted ,to walk in
such a place with you,with friends,and us without maps……”
"the lame is gone out.I'm writing in the darkness ……"
