(Notice, I)
Dear Sister: I'm about to give birth a book. The other day we played with the band at the CCEC. It was amazing. Absolutely unbelievable. After playing and singing always end up shaking; the other day was even more intense. I do not know what giving birth to a book after that. Well. Actually the book comes from some time ago. From when you were eight years. Every time I ask your age I always say "eight years." Maybe it's because I'd like some things were immortal. Certain moments in time, eg. I wish there was that kind of immortality. Fuck the Christians and the Greeks and the inhabitants of Jupiter. The thing is that the book has been growing for some time. And now comes, you are advised to leave. It's like a crying doll. Did you see those boxes surprise cartoon, where a doll out crazy? Well, yes. I keep thinking, Now, in the features of the face of that doll, in the noise of the springs. And music. And over time. Let's give birth to a book as well, right?
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