I left my country, that country is only one season, a day begins with the awareness of a purpose inhumanly that cycle where we are going, every saint return to dance, I then re-start, and if I let life is on the line, if it was for me and for him that line as a set of infinite points, then I hugged her. My country is a waltz, old and rosaries in hand, women face wet with holy water while holding Schopenhauer between the stomach and intestines.
gaze enchanted
photographic exhibition of the Holy Mangiameli, lyrics by Sandra Quagliata
Tuesday, June 29, 2010 at 20:30 'equidae' 'NegozioGalleria', Via S. Michele 20, Catania
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