Intro.. ...Back Draw... ..Along Poems.. ...More My father taught me to worship patina - "it's not dirt: it's your touches - this is not a hole: Lena - it's an opportunity for a beautiful original patch - objects are not born with souls like people - objects acquire a soul through everyday use.." :he claimed stroking the wooden arms of his favorite chair: "this world is full of sad things: which are doomed to end up soulless." :he muttered as he sipped coffee from his sixty year old mug. While he was alive: I didn't listen to him very much - I was interested: like most people: in nice and new things - and if eccentricities - only according to the latest fashion. But when he died: I put on his wool sweater: I hid my hands in its sleeves and hugged myself - "and people lose their souls by living without love:" I added. That vile monster robbed me of my love: and condemned me to a life without a soul: so I killed him for it with those black office scissors - I plunged them into his heart: as soon as I ran into the archive - I jumped on him and stabbed him - and once more - and deeply. And I added a little red patina to the strap of my watch. But - when I pulled him out from under the lamp to look at his disgraceful dying - and saw the incredible peace in the warm smile on his face - I understood: that I had satisfied him in everything. He invented and planned it all - and I made it happen. He had probably been conscious for a good few minutes: and was waiting for me - the green message "transfer completed successfully" was flashing on the screen. His fading eyes whispered: "maybe next time baby.." I set up a new proces with my parameters: I pushed his dead body under the shelf with my feet and lay down in his place. Before I was lost in the kingdom of dreams and miracles - I thought: how to kill a genie painfully - and just simply to delete him seemed most inadequate to me.