"Dreams of a moth, spinning silk
and powder; bodies wearing tongue masks where a door hung before. On that matter, trembling and crumbling: love and labor. Butter is old, and still melting. Language
is binding and ferociously slippery, curiously adrift. Muscular tone sets the tone.

Dreams in mouth, melting and crumbling, spinning tongues
and other matter, find their psychoanalysis. Gold is better, language is blinding and blinded, slippery and sticky. Looking through a crown, defined by a muscular
tone, skilled skinware and cavernous air, more rooms come into being."

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Raimundas Malašauskas