My Attempt Continues III
2005.05.22 1:37

(As my highly symbolic novel goes deeper and deeper, it takes pains to translate it.)
...If everything exists, there's no my nose. Because into my nose I had given a mad screw, a ballpoint pen like a watch, little by little for a long time. If I've got a thought, it's a sound. No news. A primitive figure changes since long ago, a deep light my head is aware of, and it's also a cool drop as if it were pouring. One big needle in the air of wrath as if it were boiling. They've got no chances to get out of it, rule over me, annihilate me, annoy me, oppress the feeling whether summer is better than winter, smashed the wild pig and put them into my eyes, decrease my sense extremely, killed my reason which ordered that I should hate a guy, am I serious that order I should know God, am I me?
(Later on I will arrange, now it's time to take a rest again.)
I am exhausted. If I had things to see to seek for a console land, an upper arms of a woman, I feel comfort, the bosoms that are her figure are as natural as possible. That's also a life, and an integration. Therefore I feel tired and went to a distant desert, found three stars, admire Magi as Angels, breathed a sacred breath to the Tristar, hate the ones who want to be the art themselves.
I deny. I'm exhausted, totally exhausted. I saw an upgoing shooting star far away.