Patience of Nemesis
Say nothing. I have Italian right now, but it turns out that my patience is ending. In addition - like never before! - not yet finished, the edges not yet sanded, still wet, not yet sealed (!!!), and already flying through the Cosmos. Extremely. In an hour I have a visit (I quote Chick) of the REAL ITALIAN, notebooks scattered across the floor, La Bambola in the background, and I, stuck in Earth, fly in orbit. At serious speed.
Because. If Patience breaks out of the picture so strongly that it can't be stopped, it means ... NEVER END . And this is much more than the truest in the world of Italy and his Chick.
Yes, I know this need for drama. Screw thunderbolt on Earth and observe the results. But I'm God for something, right? Probably not to hang out ?!
In the meantime, please, she broke free, even flew into Eligius regions, infinite, unsigned, in a wet dress, insanity.
Without any lightning strike, with love. Of course, literature. And art.
For literature and art.
As if, damn, literature was not an art.