April 1, 2012

I’m in a sea port, walking on wooden passageways very close to a stormy sea. Salt water frequently jumps on my path. Few people are standing still, looking at the sea. Most of them are women, but none of them has an identity. I repeatedly go back and forth along the passageways (now I realize that this setting reminds me of a ferry boat I took last summer). Sometimes I come close to some of these characters, and I realize that large pieces of their head have been cut away, or that portions of their flesh have been surgically removed with great precision. They say that it’s fun to have these cuts, and that I should get one myself.

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