1:05:05 I rose from the high-chair with the paper from grandmother's orange grove in my hand. My bride! (Just look at her, at her fingers which have engulfed so many men, and guided them in between her lips.) She matches all my senses, I declared in...
It seems that my alternative senses oppose specific measurements like kilograms and meters, and rather present its results conceptually, as dreamy, suggestive and approximate values. Figures and decisive words, the language we use to describe the physical world in three dimensions belong to people like the Ballet Master. "I found it hard, if not impossible, to count conceptual doors and spiritual windows." - You may very well dominate us now and then, I said. - Bring out your masculinity on me and the tall, slender newly pensioned star dancer in his early forties, if you want to, because now I know a little more about how I can be closer, more intense, harder in a manly way.
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1:03:41
The Ballet Master started his morning class with some light warm-up exercises. Mother was there, and that which mother did not do with me, I did with Amanda. - Demi and stretch! Amanda the Immigrant, her falcon and the younger Vito had recently arrived the ward for hopelessly ill children. They slept, tied to machines trying to cover improper lust with a kind of situational survival talent. Her hot, fading forehead against the palm of my hand, struggling with the medical sciences' spiritual, blind, shiny, impervious textual constraints.
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1:03:42
A wordy surface that suits the author's novel; worn out and stubborn, by some held for barely being legible. Yet much was well spoken, well done. We are with you, and we are with you with our best wishes. - But I still have a strong feeling of not daring, not being mature enough, or not allowing myself to see what lies underneath, inside, on the back, I said. - Even so, your book has the most honorable basic idea imaginable, you added comfortingly. "Where the energy-versions of reality is like its own reflection, overlooking the swan lake around the author himself, as he sits on deck with our friend drinking coffee with rum, enjoying Westonia bombing Neutronia; Amandas country."
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