White Thick Lotion Cm

Berghain.

She told him that it was a bit like the gate of hell, or at least that was the feeling that she would have had such a door, the snow around People raised, expectation, and the building that seemed to spring from nowhere in the night, she had told him they would have to wait very cold, they would believe faint with cold, and most people who could not enter, who were waiting for hours before returning the same way white. She had told him it was different and yet somehow, still more immense, and the man who tattooed his face all the gauges, sent them back one by one, the ink was etched in his face until to make a mask like the snow without cold, he almost wanted to leave, not to be seen, not to arrive at this man, as if immutable in all ages there had been anchored there and the door closed to the image of his face.

She had told him that inside it was not the same, he could not imagine, before being immersed whole, to feel, deep, almost lost because it was too big, too empty, it was dark, cold again, and the endless stairs, to get there, and when he arrived, it would also in some way other than anywhere else plus he had never been otherwise, there would be no mirror anywhere, as if not see, really, there would probably not that feel of it be, to be in his body, penetrated,-trance, maybe, and trance, more than forgetfulness, more than the drunk, something else again, a kind of freedom oozing out of the flesh, up again, be about to faint, but this time with a different failure, burning, and then he would

as he never had seen, was this the reason that it took him, and yet forgetting to warn him, leaving him lying a moment to lose, he would find, somehow, everywhere, slipping from one moment to another, from one person to the other without being able to grasp the feeling, just like a subtle presence that would be impossible to set up the back, but was it really still somewhere in the dark, was it not, rather, it only the body, vented, or even another body again offered to another, open it probably would distinguish it, the fumes of his body, an arched shape and screaming in silence giving to see the image of his cry, his face tilted somewhere where he could reach it, and probably it was not her, it could be her, with among others the enjoyment, the body of enjoyment and cons It's unknown

he would like he never saw her, I found her finally to herself lost, on his whole body against him, grabbing her hair, not like the unknown probably with violence, but then slowly, without a mirror in the bathroom, where she watched in vain for his own reflection, he would, after the violence of herself exhausted, vomiting desire, and a strange smell, a bit sweet,

and finally the morning sun on the frozen snow, and his body abandoned.