A scorpion that stings itself. A soul that wants not be a soul. A sickness happy in its sickness. An interiority that longs to give birth to the outside. A wound that dreams of being cauterised by the sun.
A scorpion that stings itself. A soul that wants not be a soul. A sickness happy in its sickness. An interiority that longs to give birth to the outside. A wound that dreams of being cauterised by the sun.
Lars Iyer's Blog 