Kate Strawberry Playground darkkaura @ 2008-02-11T18: 24:00

seems to come and the days, one after another, you have to go removing pages from the calendar. But not true.

Time is not a line, not even a circle, much less watch a few hands. Time is not ticking. Time becomes, spirals, go back, it gets itself out and launched into space, time is distorted and days are never repeated, never last the same.

numbers deceive us again. The other day was February 6 as it was a year ago. Was eight, fully Friday, the city on skates, the bancCristina oy jokes almost as if we had spent crystals. It was night, lying between the seats of the cinema and the sandy beach, night to discover that there are still mythological creatures found under stars who play surf at low tide at night to become a tightrope walker, invent a moon trapezoidal drop to the sound of the sea when you next head to the ground and in the end, all those signs that advertise an upcoming flight. It was Saturday in metro-on-ground, Saturday in the theater and Saturday under blankets, Saturday movies, music and coffee, on Saturday, but noospermitoquemuráis.

Furthermore I have decided today was not lutions, not least a logical and orderly Monday. Today, Monday, was with her at Disneyland, but the song does not say much for the place, and entered the labyrinth, of course.

Tomorrow it may be Tuesday, the gossips will tell you that last Wednesday on Wednesday, these intermediates seem to belong anywhere, "and who knows if after coming on Thursday, and end week seem just that, a weekend.

If one does not want to be eternal, but infinite, and today is always yet to be Friday for all the time you have knots, trips, which