…and there he was, thoroughly mobbed by rust and moldy wood, sopping in the lashes of last night’s rain. There was nothing human left to him, nothing but the colors of his greenness, the scarlet dye of his soul. The solely idea to be seen was hurting his groin, was chewing up his liver like a murrain. Somehow, there was nothing organic in his pain, it never is. The pain is only the creation of the mind. The death, the fear, the monsters of appearance, the vanity, the zestfulness of beauty. There is nothing organic in the pain.
Scotland is not your ‘relax in the sun like a bug’ typical destination. Scottish people have an old saying: ‘It’s a dreich day!’, which pretty much sums up the weather: cold, damp and miserable. If you travel to Scotland, you have to Read More
Last month was bonkers. Everything spun around my boyfriend’s birthday. He turned 30, so the long awaited trip finally happened: one week in Scotland, hiking and boozing, like bloody Celts. And here we are again, back to work, melancholia mood-on, blisters healed and the extra kilos Read More