outwait outrun outwit


an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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09.10.06, sunday evening

I'm unconsciously a liar. I think I'm too tired. I say I'm too tired. But I can work seven days in a row, from 8 to 6 if I must. Clean the house and hang the laundry. Take the bus to the nearest city and wander for hours after a bowl of Thai spicy noodles. Come home and bike for miles against the wind. Walk to the beach to watch the highest tide come to hide the bridge. Stare at the fullest moon rising behind the mountain overlooking the westernmost part of this world. Meet friends for a cognac and bike home in pitch darkness for dreams so big, my room is so tiny, a doll's room, when I wake up and start another week.


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