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due to her beauty. Mammarosa's beauty when her breath fans out over my face, when I see her eyes move, from my eyes to my forehead, from my cheeks to my chin, from my lower lip random to my eyes little eyes. Sleep. Take care that you do not fall asleep with your mother's face still swaying in random your memory: dreams about fathers and mothers generally turn into nightmares and when, for random instance, you dream that your mother has warts on her face and that from these warts all runs a pisslike fluid and the bells at that moment ring twelve midnight bang, then the dream will drip from your mind straight into real life. The following morning your mother is sitting at the kitchen table, sobbing and trembling, with a lot of paper tissues against her face, moist, yellow tissues, as pissgrey as the underpants of the sixth graders in the dressing rooms of the swimming pool fucking fucking yuck yuck.
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