And where do you say we start  to shake ourselves of our memories and reason?   To greet the bewildered road with our soggy  and aimless feet. With eyes streaming, now downcast from the round sky,  fingering the small hole at the centre of all the thinness.   You look something…

    (image)   (text) This is a land where only wild birds live. I strongly imagine you doing something big; the land holds itself. Maybe you should ask nature what she thinks about an image with your body? We have to invent a new language to communicate with other…