. breakfast

Sometimes, I feel like the almost-shadow of the almost-real. The world around me seems overwhelming: streetcars passing by, leading nowhere. Murderers marauding the silent alleyways of faded memories. The sex maniacs. The housewives. The Dow-Jones index.

Inside this swirling chaos, I’d like to sit up straight, but almost always end up reading books upside down. I try to gather my mind, my senses. But I rather stay in bed with a good cup of coffee and read a novel. Imagination is the key to distance. All that I can say, is that


i. r e a l l y. l i k e. b r e a k f a s t.


I was fourteen when I was first kissed.

That night, I had a dream in which I was a dead pidgeon lying with my wings spread open. I remember I feeling like Little Red Cap, lost inside the woods. For some reason, I tend to think that this two things are connected in a reason that escapes my understanding. But whenever I have b r e a k f a s t I get the feeling that the universe is a wonderful place.