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Wandering, looking for wonder, clueless and shoeless machine, travelling over and under, here and there. My skin made of amalgam is shining, catches the sun and reflects errors, misprints, underlining, cases and spaces in texts; сharacters, symbols and letters, mountains, rivers and trees, big and essential matters that people face and my keys lost out there somewhere by an anonymous lake... God, I will call you unfair wonderful brilliant fake, if omnimeaningful Logos doesn't exist, doesn't mean. Whether the wonder is bogus, wander, my writing machine. * См. перевод в комментарии 1. |
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