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Text is my sweet dream or a brothel.

2003 Takayuki Kido
printed on Tokyo Underground Public Review "SPEAK" Apr., 2006
A dream called a text, or a brothel. While being brought up by the beautiful arm which accompanies gently, and is slept and carried out, the shoulder, or the neck, a joke and the endless uneasiness which it has and which it suited, was understood by the skillful swirl and supported to some psychological dependence and careful stroke adhere forever, and does not separate.
-- Do you like me well?
-- Yes!
-- It is unavoidable if you are so, let's go together. Until the morning sun of the other side of that gently-sloping hill sinks.
We began to walk with our hands connect. The byway which pierces through a field, like the long-legged uncle in a book. When it was growing dark, we who continued walking for many hours went into the town which has been visible at last. The town was our favorite town made with the stone. When we dropped in at the back lane on the outskirts capriciously, the brook was flowing quietly in a corner of a small open space without the sign that there are people. The river where the premature joy which has not been said enough, and got tired of hearing that is noisy flows relieved our 2 persons' tiredness. We sat on the riverbank and I held tobacco in my mouth. An illusion, a right angle, and parallel lines tended to be little by little clear among us, 2 persons. The boy feared that can seem to finish bearing, however it became clear simultaneously. I was doing the way which is not known. The boy should have repeated like this in the heart -- I am not your pet -- I had read it in the picture which the boy drew on the ground casually. The picture consisted of lines with all sharp portions. The line drawn deeply thickly very finely -- it had announced beforehand easily the loneliness from which departure of a boy and I were recovered.
A dream called a text, or a brothel. When I woke up from the arm, I paid the highest respect to the body which may never be unable to meet, fighting with the horrifying desire of stopping there eternally in a businesslike manner as much as possible etc. so that it may be usual.