Scattered On The Wind. Questo articolo non è disponibile.
Lingua: inglese
Editore: Independently Published, 2021
Serie: Libro 1 di 2 - Tohu Wa-Bohu
- Brossura
- Nuovo
Da: PBShop.store US, Wood Dale, IL, U.S.A.PBShop.store US
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Venditore AbeBooks dal 7 aprile 2005
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Brossura
Condizione: Nuovo
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New Book. Shipped from UK. THIS BOOK IS PRINTED ON DEMAND. Established seller since 2000.
Codice articolo L0-9798754313552
- Titolo
- Scattered On The Wind
- Autore
- Desade, Josef
- Editore
- Independently Published
- Anno di pubblicazione
- 2021
- Condizione
- New
- Rilegatura
- PAP
- Lingua
- inglese
- ISBN 13
- 9798754313552
- Disegnatore
- Rosa, James
- Peso dell'articolo
- 200 grammi
- Serie
- Libro 1 di 2: Tohu Wa-Bohu
In this companion book to Desade's Tohu Wa-Bohu series, follow Bas as he travels back into the past on a journey seeking answers in an attempt to cleanse his soul.
"There was a fire that burned within; that lusted for the taste of sweat, tears, blood and other sultry fluids. He lived for experience, to feel truly alive in a world of facades. The ecstasy of carnal pleasures, to the self inflicted sorrow from physical pain; to feel life flowing through his soul. But all he saw around him were moving lips that spoke no words...distracted eyes with no vision...hollow mimicries of that which he sought. He was a drifter. Leaving behind words inscribed by skeletal hands, the ink running over the page with elegant grace; drying, just to fade on yellowed pages that were left unread. Perhaps the words were meaningless, better forgotten; fading like the faces he glimpsed in transient dreams...
"There was a fire that burned within; that lusted for the taste of sweat, tears, blood and other sultry fluids. He lived for experience, to feel truly alive in a world of facades. The ecstasy of carnal pleasures, to the self inflicted sorrow from physical pain; to feel life flowing through his soul. But all he saw around him were moving lips that spoke no words...distracted eyes with no vision...hollow mimicries of that which he sought. He was a drifter. Leaving behind words inscribed by skeletal hands, the ink running over the page with elegant grace; drying, just to fade on yellowed pages that were left unread. Perhaps the words were meaningless, better forgotten; fading like the faces he glimpsed in transient dreams...
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