| The letters piled up and the three day old milk stood still in the fridge. The words turning in my head just didn’t sound right spoken aloud. They left a sour but familiar taste in my mouth. I longed to dream. Colours. Shapes. Emotions. I’m wearing thick woollen socks and counting the keys on my keyboard. |
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if photography were just a mechanical process, then all photographs would be the same
- wolfgang tillmans.
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<..master, if I'm an angel, paint me with black wings..>
amadeo
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Und der Blick ins Leere.
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I will be waiting, time after time.
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