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this raising and lowering, rushing of blood a very common fish, but blue, beak facing ahead, the magpie sweeps the branch, melting blending the link in between concious and unconcious, continously answering under a false name, she tried to change the companyıs name, to vary the syntax in order not to perish from the monotony of that name, not lose her voice, language refused more and more to obey her, after three years she had to leave this job, the sounds refused to cross her lips, she couldnıt lie any more, the threads she had spun were too disgusting for going on weaving, she withdrew and wanted to go far off, the arms stayed close to the sides of her body, only the fingertips moved on their own, groped from inside for the wall of the belly, all fingers tried, the middlefinger and the forefinger were most groping, sometimes both held fast the tiny fish, grasped it at its tail fin - but then, if the fingers just due to moodiness suddenly loosened themselves, it sliddered even more swiftly away, then it slowed down again, the blue became more radiant, its flapping of fins found a rhythm, Magpie drew nearer, getting bigger and rather voracious, Fish sometimes could see the imprints of her claws, and hoped she wouldnıt pierce her through, if Magpie closed one of her eyes, through the hub of the world she could see the small blue fish, how beautiful he is, she called his name, WORM she called,

continuid...
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THE WARM FEET START WALKING
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