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Here, all seasons are definite and winter does weigh heavily.
I had previously lived in Barcelona, but also an area of Galicia called Pontevedra.I can hear the chewing of cattle-the wet grass macerated grass between the large heft of their jaws.Them, whose bovine mass are destined to the jagged outcrop at the reaches of the field where their calcified osteo-artifacts will bleach white in the final throes of the August summer in futures forthcoming.Of note is that I had also decided not to look at the title page or spine to seek an author while “reading” the book.As I continued to page through the book, my desire to leave looking at the spine or title page for later was at a contemptuous level.I remember having a feeling of sincere interest in the book, but also a feeling that the work, though attempting to demonstrate a rational observance of the crushing oppression of ideals fed young women had somehow taken a u-turn and became a display of enforced aggression and possibly secondary exploitation of the focus group.
I had decided that I would forgo any conclusion on the matter until I saw more of her work.
Within six steps towards the ever-distancing loom of the stable gate my leather boots groan and suddenly a great rattling of the underbrush above me on the hill produces a panic within my chest.
At this hour and under this full miasma of a moon formed from the milk of God and cosmos blares above my rugged head its opacity looms engorged to a capacity unimaginable.
I have a thing for blood red and also applications to the horror genre and who can resist another book with a hole in the cover?
Opening the book, I was struck by the stark feel to it.
We become rendered as suet for the tallow to cleanse future generations of life without despair and we fail.