I only just finished reading "Skin. Talks about sex, class and literature" by Dorothy Allison, a book i keep coming back to again and again at regular times -
my reaction to the thoughts and stories changes from time to time, i shift from appreciating some aspects of it more than others as i myself change and evolve,

but what always hits me and leaves me without breath is the sheer potence of her writing,
her ability to use language in such a way that it creeps under your skin and doesn´t leave you alone for days and days
and you do not have a choiche whatsoever

today the sky is this colour
blu but milky

strange august this is