
A toast
“He hated tomatoes back then.”
How trivial a sentence. How little does it say about you, a man of the Arts, someone with an actual body of work. Why does my memory reduce you to that? Continue reading A toast
“He hated tomatoes back then.”
How trivial a sentence. How little does it say about you, a man of the Arts, someone with an actual body of work. Why does my memory reduce you to that? Continue reading A toast
There are no more boundaries between private and professional life; everything blends together and, when spiralling down, sucks the entire backdrop into the black hole. Continue reading They hear me