Fever Fuckery

“Kada smo još bili zaljubljeni i nismo imali djece, vodili bismo ljubav i zatim bi mi šaputao stihove na uho dok bismo ležali zadihani i preznojeni. Stihovi su uvijek bili o nekom cvijeću, o orhidejama - jer „podsjećaju na pičke“ - o nekakvim južnim vjetrovima, morima, a spominjao je i neke egzotične začine i tkanine, kao cimet i baršun.”

(He) looked straight ahead, out the window, where he saw a tiny white light moving slowly over the silver river. A drunken thought entered his mind: Was all light holy?

“Don’t ask me who I am because that scares me. Ask me something else. I can tell you about my memory: about the world of solid matter steadily evaporating and memory becoming the last foundation of my personality, which had almost completely vaporized into a column of steam.”

Io sono innamorata delle parole.