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My urge is to escape to nature. To have my feet sink into the planet's bosom. To have my skin brushed by wind and my limbs washed by the ...
My urge is to escape to nature. To have my feet sink into the planet's bosom. To have my skin brushed by wind and my limbs washed by the ocean. Perhaps I will manage my death so expertly that I can grow trees from the rot of my flesh. My dream is to die in a forest with a bellyfull of seeds. But I am not dead yet! So how can I live in concrete and advertisement, breathing in metal and billboards? I have to help myself escape.
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