Thursday, March 27, 2008
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Who am I? I hate this question. When you meet someone new, and you start being interrogated, as if you were a criminal. What if I told you I didn’t know? What if I told I had no story to tell? Would you be disappointed? I’m sorry, but I don’t dream, I don’t make up stories, I live reality. A reality that doesn’t exist. I’m a musician, and my instrument is time. I’m a poet, and my words pray silence. Maelström.