I Have Moist Glands
horror, like some poisonous fog bank roll in upon my mind, forcing me
into bed. There I would lie for as long as six hours, stuporous and virtually paralyzed, gazing at the ceiling and waiting for that moment of evening when, mysteriously, the crucifixion would ease up just enough
to allow me to force down some food and then, like an automaton, seek an
hour or two of sleep again. Why wasn't I in a hospital?"
mon corps nu
mes pensées exprimées dans les mots des autres et parfois le mien
et moi
“Well, I run the office, and tend the cabins and grounds.. and do little, uh, errands for my mother.” (Psycho, 1960)
