It's the sense of touch. In any real city, you walk, you know? You brush past people, people bump into you. In L.A., nobody touches you. We're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much, that we crash into each other, just so we can feel something (Crash, 2004)
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Unde ne facem cumparaturile, ce retete punem in practica, cum ne decoram hruba, ce flori ne imbie diminetile
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toma
O colectie (mereu crescanda!) cu fotografii facute lui Toma. Viata de zi cu zi a lui fi-miu, documentata ca la carte...
It takes a crane to build a crane It takes two floors to make a storie It takes an egg to make a hen It takes a hen to make an egg There is no end to what I'm saying
It takes a thought to make a word And it takes some words to make an action And it takes some work to make it work It takes some good to make it hurt It takes some bad for satisfaction
It takes a night to make it done And it takes a day to make you young brother And it takes some old to make you young It takes some cold to know the sun It takes the one to have the other
And it takes no time to fall in love But it takes you years to know what love is And it takes some fears to make you trust It takes those tears to make it rust It takes the dust to have it polished
It takes some silence to make sound And it takes a lost before you found it And it takes a road to go nowhere It takes a toll to show you care It takes a hole to see a mountain
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