I have nothing to say believe me nothing to add to the world's routine and
yet for the sake of the one who calls herself Candida I will try to conceive
a baby with five fingers for each perfect little hand a poppie back from the
human mire a thought my double wearing an unfamiliar mask I am not
disappointed in this request I will do it to overcome my stress but do not
expect anything worth recording since all my days and all my nights are
nothing but a strive to sink into an inner song and be distracted from the
thought that I am condemned to bear my limits and be in flesh and bones a
woman carrying her body around so that when on my tracks I always bump into
a curious block a young man with longish hair smooth skin a doll so perfect
in his white projects what point I am not going to talk of this I will just
let you know how he looks like so far the guy has one leather jacket and one
pair of shoes legs of a gru no good nobody would guess he is also man of
science matter of fact his house of mature mellowness is all superfluous
with traces of previous visitors a lover a despot an art designer but listen
when you look for a direction through the body of an opponent Mio Dio this
is not going to work and all I can do is to pay a price for my few goods so
that satisfaction may come through sweet eyes sharp mouths and add a micro
pleasure to an acute desire he thinks it's a sad when you learn that nobody
is going to care about what you do and whether early or late when you go
home and find nobody you wish a lady's charity to sooth your sorrow of
course a comedy I serve my office I say I do my service I am not a nun whose
irregularities would pervert an entire convent you know better than me not
all is Candid see what comes next my friend you who arranged for us to write
under the imperative of flesh and its barometers lady of my soul my dearest
adorn your brain and be impassable when you will listen to this man's coarse
language, possibly a gift granted every two months about the same amount.
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