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)
Prin casa
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...
Joyce was blind and near death when he was being interviewed in Switzerland. The interviewer said of his wife, Nora, "She's been your secretary, your housekeeper, your editor, your muse, your guide, and now she's your eyes. What do you have to say about that extraordinary intimacy?" And Joyce said, "I would know my wife's fart in a room full of farts."
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