...and then a hand, you will never know whose hand, pulls down the shade. And there you are, outside. And there I was, outside.

female, 20, Berlin, sadly not: ...a person who you can tell has a deep inner certitude of self which comes from being all of one piece, of not being shreds and patches and old cogwheels held together with pieces of rusty barbed wire and spit and bits of string, like most of us...

You’re a shelf of books with out the pages, a wealth of thoughts locked up in cages. So if blood runs through your veins, don’t you suppose it’s such a waste to be composed in such a way?

meep: iDon'tLikeYourTurtlePuppet