'We're sitting closest to a screen to receive image first, to receive it fresh'. Nous somme suspendu aux lèvres de tragédien and filling with a desire mixed up with the acrid bouffées de fumée which is way of bitterish feeling of everything starting to wither inside.

Alors, we are going to the art exhibition of brusque Picassso, though in my state of mind I would rather breathe brisk air in the park and buy some spray of primrose and armful of roses in their better blossom colour - white ones are fading out on my bedstand turning into mere pergameneous semblance and it's hurting me as Wilde from the cover of 'The Happy Prince' riverting his dreary wistful eyes on this lingering Death.