Go, come back home, turn back, you can’t be all alone, just slow down, think of how things used to be. Reminisce on those repressions of you and me, things weren’t terrible; there were some amusing times to be had. Remember the charming ancient cottage house, remember the nonchalant Catalan step, remember the cooling breeze drifting off the luminescent lake, remember the endless emerald lawn, remember the dogs smiling and playing with their daddy, remember the numinous touch of my hand on your face every trite night, remember us making love on polished French windows with grace.
Enough. Quickly, swipe away ever building conservative shitstorms that constitute the past, shove away Elle memories from molesting you further yet again. Études brut? Carpe daimōn, clavier Vionysius.
leksi knew he’d had enough of life in the sticks when his uncle Maks died in his own Viking funeral, an incident involving vodka, a firelighter and the teetering presence of firewood—damp, but not enough. The smell of burnt maple lingered around the lean-to and the kitchen garden for weeks. When Aleksi recalled it even years ahead, he was sure, it would be the smell he associated with his planning and preparation, with his transition to the next stage of his life. ...click here to READ MORE
