In the length of sophistication beauty arises to a level of passive labels, like the front page of the Sunday paper that tells me I ought to read the insides, chosen by a group of management responsible people who demonstrate a manner of knowing what the world is eager to read, I ought not fit into a group of writers who assume to know what Sunday is all about, when even I don't know what to expect as I pass the paper in a rush to my favorite part of the grocery store, the fruit section, crossword puzzle me there to alphabet what a red strawberry can do to the hands and lips of a woman in need of wine...
(c) since 2011 Ebony Larijani
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