Little Red and Bo are not the women that you know. You think you've met, perhaps before, in childhood, maybe so. But spin, we do, through space and time, we're never going back. The Fairie Tales grew mouldy, in neglect they've gathered plaque. While you were busy elsewhere, all their hearts have turned to black.
Return once more from whence you came, remember what you've lost. Observe now what has happened, what your negligence has cost. Bo is digging men for gold, and Red is getting sauced. Prepare for unexpected moral boundaries being crossed.
Lightning struck me in the head, unlocked me with a key. And now I receive messages from rock and air and tree. But am I free to share my thoughts? to say the things I see? Is our speech unshackled in today's society?
Gør som tusindvis af andre bogelskere
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