(Cherine Fahd, "The Sleepers", 2005)
Compare Thoreau-s passage about "the sleepers" from Thoreau's Walden - which ends "I am glad to
know that it takes a gang of men for every five miles to keep the
sleepers
down and level in their beds as it is, for this is a sign that they may
sometime get up again" (anthology, p. 82) with the following excerpts from the poem "The Sleepers" in Leaves of Grass (version from the 1871 edition). Then write your own creative text about "The Sleepers" (it might be a poem, a short story, a journal entry, a letter...). In the end, in a separate paragraph of about 5 lines, justify how your text relates to texts read in this class.
20
The sleepers are very beautiful as they lie unclothed, | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| They flow hand in hand over the whole earth, from east to west, as they lie unclothed, | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The Asiatic and African are hand in hand—the European and American are hand in hand, | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Learn’d and unlearn’d are hand in hand, and male and female are hand in hand, | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The bare arm of the girl crosses the bare breast of her lover—they press close without lust—his lips press her neck, | 185 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The father holds his grown or ungrown son in his arms with measureless love, and the son holds the father in his arms with measureless love, | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The white hair of the mother shines on the white wrist of the daughter, | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The breath of the boy goes with the breath of the man, friend is inarm’d by friend, | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The scholar kisses the teacher, and the teacher kisses the scholar—the wrong’d is made right, | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The call of the slave is one with the master’s call, and the master salutes the slave, | 190 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The felon steps forth from the prison—the insane becomes sane—the suffering of sick persons is reliev’d, | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The sweatings and fevers stop—the throat that was unsound is sound—the lungs of the consumptive are resumed—the poor distress’d head is free, | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The joints of the rheumatic move as smoothly as ever, and smoother than ever, | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Stiflings and passages open—the paralyzed become supple, | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| The swell’d and convuls’d and congested awake to themselves in condition, | 195 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| They pass the invigoration of the night, and the chemistry of the night, and awake. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
I too pass from the night, | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| I stay a while away, O night, but I return to you again, and love you. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Why should I be afraid to trust myself to you? | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| I am not afraid—I have been well brought forward by you; | 200 | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| I love the rich running day, but I do not desert her in whom I lay so long, | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| I know not how I came of you, and I know not where I go with you—but I know I came well, and shall go well. | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| I will stop only a time with the night, and rise betimes; | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| I will duly pass the day, O my mother, and duly return to you. |
10 comments:
Tanto Thoreau como Whitman exploram o tema da ignorância benfazeja. Nos excertos de ambos os autores, esta vasta maioria que permanece num estado de ignorância é denominada "the sleepers", e o sujeito da enunciação desempenha o papel de indivíduo esclarecido que expõe a maioria. No entanto, em "Walden", a ignorância está relacionada com o ímpeto positivista da industrialização, que, mantendo os homens concentrados num único objectivo abstracto e longínquo (o "Progresso" - "getting to Heaven in season", pag.2113), os distrai do que é a vida e de como esta deve ser vivida - como homens, e não babuínos, melhorando as nosssas vidas e não a tecnologia à nossa volta, e "stay[ing] at home and mind[ing] our own business" (pág. 2113). Por outro lado, em "Leaves of Grass", a ignorância é muito mais geral (visto que a variedade de "sleepers" enunciados é muito maior) e distrai-nos não tanto de como viver a vida mas da ideia de que iremos inevitavelmente morrer (se bem que as duas ideias acabam por estar relacionadas). Assim sendo, a noite simboliza a morte, e a ausência de sono simboliza a lucidez acerca da morte. Daí que, excepto o sujeito da enunciação, todos durmam menos o "murderer that is to be hung next day" e "the murder’d person" - os únicos, de todos os "sleepers" mencionados, que tiveram de ou têm de enfrentar a morte. A interpretação da noite como símbolo da morte é também apoiada pelas últimas duas estrofes, em que é repetida a ideia da ciclicidade da vida ("I know not how I came of you, and I know not where I go with you—but I know I came well, and shall go well"; "I will duly pass the day, O my mother, and duly return to you."), fazendo lembrar a famosa citação bíblica "By the sweat of your face you will eat bread, till you return to the ground, because from it you were taken; for you are dust, and to dust you shall return." (Génesis 3:19).
+
+
"1844
Ever since she was a young child, it had always been extremely easy to lull Laura to sleep. All it took for her eyelids to grow heavy, her thoughts to grow foggy and her mind to be carried off to sleep was repetitive motion and some repetitive, soothing sounds. It came as no surprise, then, when she first travelled by train at the age of ten, that the ride had on her a completely anaesthetic effect. Having family in Jackson, Mississipi, she travelled by train every other year to visit them. And every year, without fail, she was peacefully lulled to sleep by the locomotive’s slight oscillation.
On the summer of her 20th birthday, it had taken a record of 10 verses from her poetry book for her to give in to slumber. Many hours had since passed, during which she had drifted in and out of sleep in a tranquil haze, alternating from resting her head on her sister’s shoulder to resting it on the windowpane. She kept having the same dream: she was in the drawing room, at home, and she was trying to tell her sister about a letter that she had seen a man give Papa, but she couldn’t seem to get her point across, as a loud and anguished voice kept talking over her, urging her to listen. It seemed, though, that she was the only one capable of hearing it, as her sister gave no sign of awareness, and looked at her as if waiting for her to complete her train of thought. When she tried to look around her, however, there was no discernible source of sound to be found. Her dream-self kept growing more and more anxious, struggling between the decision to go look for the voice and the decision to keep ignoring it, until suddenly she was violently ushered back to reality by the abrupt halt of the train’s movement.
Her hand grabbed the window sill tightly as her eyes flew open, absorbing everything around her. Her sister had laid a protective arm across her to prevent Laura from falling forwards, and her mother was holding on to Papa’s arm with a grip that had turned her knuckles white. Most passengers stared bug-eyed at each other, and some tentative heads were slowly rising from their seats. Outside, the night was pitch black and summer rain fell heavily.
“Papa” said Laura, worriedly. Her father’s gray eyebrows were furrowed in deep puzzlement as he half-heartedly patted the hand that gripped tightly to his arm. For a moment, he seemed as though he were about to speak, but said nothing.
For a moment, there was silence in the carriage. Then, all at once, the passengers broke out into indignant babbling and the occasional outcry of panic. Minute after minute they grew louder than the cacophony in Laura’s dream, but the noise came to a staggering halt when the young girl shouted “Look! Outside!”.
In spite of the window pane’s condensation, a very bright light could now be discerned amid the darkness, moving slowly but surely. Brushing her sister’s arm aside, Laura walked up to the windows opposite her seat before anyone else had the chance to, rubbing the condensation away and almost pressing her face against the glass. What before had only been a luminous shape was now, very clearly, a lantern, carried by a man not too far from the train. Walking with him were several other men, one of which the conductor, carrying what first seemed to Laura a pole, or a very long log of wood. She gasped as she saw an arm fall from the men’s grasp – it was not a pole, but a human body! The arm was dark, barely standing out from the darkness of the night – he was a negro. Closer to the lantern, Laura now saw, was the man’s head, blood dribbling from his mouth, illuminated by the grim light. “Runaway slave” exhaled the man beside her, whose face was also pressed against the glass. Laura had a moment of confusion before things fell into place – it was the slave who had caused the halting of the train by having been hit by it. The man carrying the lantern, she now saw, had blood on his hands as well.
She never slept in trains again."
+
+
O meu micro-conto relaciona o texto de Thoreau com o poema de Whitman e o discurso de Douglass. O sono metafórico é tornado literal, sendo a protagonista uma pessoa particularmente "alienada" e "ignorante", uma vez que adormece com muita facilidade. Este sono acontece num comboio, que colhe um homem - "if some have the pleasure of riding on a rail, others have the misfortune to be ridden upon" (pág. 2113-2114). Laura é portanto acordada do seu sono, metaforicamente, pela morte. Esta morte é a morte de um escravo, cujo "mestre" caminha junto a ele com mãos sangrentas - "YOUR HANDS ARE FULL OF BLOOD" (pág. 1831). O sonho de Laura, em si, é também simbólico, sendo que a voz que a chama pode ser interpretada tanto como metafórica, como pertencendo, magicamente, ao escravo.
Os Adormecidos
Esta noite deixei todos os pensamentos, bons e maus,
Vi pela janela os prédios e a serra e fui para além.
Tornei-me real, tornei-me só um homem
E só como homem observei os outros homens que dormiam.
O trabalhador, com ambas as mãos chegadas à almofada.
O recém-nascido que parece conhecedor e envelhecido.
O velho que rejuvenesce, apagando a diferença.
O assassino perigoso, confiado e atento e humilde.
A criança pesando contra o colchão, o pobre contra o chão.
A mulher rígida, uma rainha; o orgulhoso, sem pretensão.
Um rapaz forte é como uma criança aninhada.
O desesperado escuta abandonado com atenção.
O colérico exibe um ténue sorriso, tão quieto.
Todos eles confiam, se esquecem, se entregam.
Todos eles solenes, sábios, escutando, o mesmo.
O sono é somente de quem dorme.
Os que dormem juntos estão separados
Porque as paisagens que vê são só suas
E aquilo que ouve é apenas seu.
O dia leva aquilo que foi ensinado
E que apenas o que está acordado pode perceber que foi
E que é tão importante que cria aquela proteção,
Como um cobertor macio e quente,
Que impede o cão de ladrar, o quadro de mostrar
E o que está acordado de se mexer, de perturbar.
E o dia junta depois o que a noite separou.
Regressei, de detrás da serra, pelos prédios, até ao meu quarto
Não acordei do sonho mas adormeci sem expectativas.
Quando acordei, os pensamentos regressaram
E a eles juntou-se o real, pois sem lembrar nada
Também eu tinha escutado.
Inspirei-me no poema do blog e no que já tinha lido de Whitman. Tentei fazer o mesmo que Whitman fez: ver como as pessoas são mesmo e descrever o que realmente vejo.
Thoreau’s view on the technology of his time is very well known. In Walden (1854) we can read his critique, as he was not only concerned with and against the impact said technology had on Nature, as he was also concerned with its impact on Man. It controls man, robs him of his time and pursuit of simplicity and makes him ignorant. The end of Thoreau’s pun on sleepers is also a great ironical “wake up call” to those mindless workers who died and kept dying on behalf of the construction: "I am glad to know that it takes a gang of men for every five miles to keep the sleepers down and level in their beds as it is, for this is a sign that they may sometime get up again" (p.2114).
Whitman’s account on sleepers is fairly different. He enumerates a great number of people whose ignorance is brought by sleep. His concept of sleep has the same democratizing force as his concept of death. This is seen clearly through the anaphora “hand in hand” (20), but also through the rather random enumeration. In Whitman’s eyes, death is an inherent part of nature and here sleep has a close relation to it. In section 21 it could be interpreted that the motif of night symbolizes death and that the speaker isn’t at all afraid of it, as he is part of a cycle. He is aware of the oncoming death and of it being an invigorating process of returning to our roots: “I know not how I came of you, and I know not where I go with you—but I know I came well, and shall go well.” (21).
---
A time of anaesthesia,
Of slumber amidst turbulence.
That is the highest evidence
Of folks wooing inertia.
In the end the doors open
And they’ve arrived somewhere.
Does it matter though, given that
Their minds are still (and) broken?
What is a train without its fuel?
Sadder!
What is a man without his mind?
A sleeper!
The train moves forward,
But they regress.
Is it that harmful, since we’ll all be dead?
This poem is an allegory to public transportation. The “inertia” and “anaesthesia” are a reference to the stillness and numbness often seen, which relates to Thoreau’s view of the railroad and of the train and the effect they have on people.
The first two verses of the third stanza convey the meaning that a “train without fuel” is sadder. To Thoreau, a train is already sad on itself, due to its invasive nature. A train without fuel is even sadder, given that then it has no purpose at all. With the comparison present in this stanza I aim to lead to a reflection on trains and their use. If they’re so useful and that’s why they play such an important role in today’s life, then we’re also more useful when we use our mind and the great time we spend travelling.
The last stanza is closer to Whitman’s view on death. Since they “sleep” they are not aware of death coming, like the speaker in Whitman’s poem (21). However, that is disregarded and a reference to resignation is made. Whitman though, does not face death with resignation, rather embraces it.
KANSU EKİN TANCA
“When it appeared to him that his life had no difference from a regular train, he was staring through the window into the darkness. “Middle of the night”, he said, as if someone would hear him. He stood up, waited, sat again, and thought; he was not awake. He was not awake because all the other people were sleeping, and he depended on them, so he could not spend his time separately. When there were lots of sleepers near him, it occurred to him that he did not have the chance to think.
He tried to sleep. He wanted to wake the others, but well, he needed to be with the sleepers. In each faint voice coming from them, he hoped someone to talk to him - the hope that he always had when he could not sleep.-
When it became clear that his life had no difference from a regular train, his gaze was at the old woman who was sleeping. Ten minutes or twelve. He should not spend more than that- without a proper sleep, without any intention to feel sleepy.- He made his bed, sat, closed his eyes and thought; he was not asleep.
Yet for most of the people, these hours were the best. The sleepers’ own trains were resting and while they were resting, the different train cars were forming a big – big was not enough – a great train. Till the morning they filled the railways, but eventually they were stuck with each other because there was no free space for them to move. So now, they were resting in their new place. Trains’ owners, the sleepers, relied on each other’s train cars.
Ten minutes or twelve. He was silent yet not asleep, and dreamt his own train. The others were sleeping, the old woman, the sisters, and the couple. In the middle of the night, only his train was not resting. This single train was the sign that maybe all the others might wake up again."
In the short story, I demonstrated my character with the help of my reflections on Whitman’s poem while creating the setting with my observation of Thoreau’s passage. Thus, my character is not sleeping all night and he is “stepping with light feet”. He also wants to join the other sleepers who act in a similar manner, and thus who are different from the main character. In the descriptions of his movement, I imitated Whitman’s rhetoric and used more than one verb linked to each other. I used 'the hope' suggested by Thoreau and expressed his ideas with the ambiguity felt by the character.
"I once had a husband"
I once had a husband he was a sound sleeper, let me assure you. We, married couple that we were, slept in the same bed; in the same position every night. His hand on my hip, my hand on hip and oh how I loved him. We were, at first, very close. Years went by and in the surface everything was the same. We still slept in the same bed, our hands in each other’s hips. One day, though, the hand on my hip was vile. However, the day’s ugliness did not disturb my husband who was still a sound sleeper. Never stirring in his sleep, many nights did he sleep in the bed that we shared and that I now hated. I wanted things to change, but I could not find the courage for I was afraid of that loving hand that rested on my hip every night. But then, one day, I realized he was a man beating up his wife; using physical violence to keep me down because that was the only way he had to control me and I needed to get up again. So I did.
In his poem “The Sleepers”, Whitman writes about a married couple who sleeps calmly in their bed, whereas Thoreau refers to the hope he has for the sleepers (humans) to get up, so I tried to imagine a situation where a person who is at peace has the need to stand up for himself/herself, being that Thoreau refers the sound sleeper and the beginning of this text is a slight modification of his own words: “They are sound sleepers, I assure you”.
Tip, tap, tip. With arms outstretched, a child marched along on a rail. The child hummed a familiar tune, the feet tapping along to the rhythm. At one point they stopped, looked and listened.
Around the child laid countless bodies. A silent wind passed through them all. The only response was a single person shivering and turning to the other side. The child smiled and noiselessly walked over to that person. No other body rose. The small one looked over the responsive one, observing the marks that were decorated along the skin.
"Hey! Heeeey," the child called out, tapping their shoulder, "C'mon, it's time to wake up!"
With a stretched out groan, the person finally blinked and became aware that they have Awaken. With a still blurry vision, they noticed hands of others that were outstretched to the person. Slowly, the hands recoiled and linked to others. All, except one. The person blinked one more time and noticed a small hand just four inches away from their face.
"Good, you're finally awake!" a cheerful voice greeted them, uncannily not creating an echo through the somber environment, "Now, c'mon, c'mon, there's work to be done! We all can't stay sleeping forever!"
The person hesitated and still acted unsure when they clasped the child's hand. Reflexively, they brought out a hand to stop a cough only to realize that one was never coming. The throat, for the first time, felt fine as it was. As the two stepped over the bodies, the person built up courage and massaged the throat. After a three beats or four, the person finally managed an "Um".
"I get it, I get it," the child chattered, "It's not fair that you're the only one working. Well, you're not! There's others too. One every five miles. And your job is easy-peasy. All you've got to do is check the railings, make sure everything is goes on smoothly!"
The two finally stepped over the railings. The child looked up to the person and smiled. The person looked down at the child. A sudden emotion overwhelmed them and they knelt down to hug the tiny being.
"Don't worry," the being whispered, "I'll be back."
They both parted. The person, still on their knees, began to inspect the railing. The child turned around and began to sing: "Old John Brown's body lies a-molding in the grave..."
In my short story, the person is a mixture of excerpts of Thoreau's text and Whitman's poem. It's mentioned that the sleepers Thoreau mentions are actually the railroad ties, hence why it is the person's job to check the condition of the rails. Instead of a gang checking for "every five miles to keep the sleepers down and level in their beds as it is", the opposite happens with a child looking for a person to be up. The condition of the person is a mention from the poem "The Sleepers": "The sweatings and fevers stop—the throat that was unsound is sound—the lungs of/the consumptive are resumed—the poor distress’d head is free".
The bell rang and Ms. Emerson walks in class. Ready to dwell on some physics. It was always the same format and theory, there was nothing new, never. Every student knew it by heart already: the quatrains of atoms, the rithym of the planets and the topics of the psychians. The moment she starts lecturing, almost 70% of the class doze off, some even fall asleep. Focusing only on the 16 still awake, she changes completely her tone and starts a dynamic but very quiet class.
"Hi! Welcome to Non-Sleepers Class!" - she whispers. Facing our shock and awe she continues - "I've decided to start a total different method of teaching. Do not tell your other teachers, not yet, I assume that their reviews wouldnt be so good..."
Suddenly she is urging us to leave the classroom. Quickly but discretly we leave the school and leave the Sleepers behind us.
"Where are we going?" - asks a small freckled girl - who is extremely beautiful.
"We are going to catch a train and talk about politics!" - Answers Ms. Emerson grining - the first time since ever, I reckon - and continuezs to urge and pushing us forward.
I start feeling the richness of the day and what a spectacular day it actually is!
After reaching the train station we hop in the first, not bothering to see where it is headed.
It was a strange, different train because it did not have classes, toilet divided by gender and everyone seemed to get along. It was such a different sight that the one I grew accostumed: rules, separation by gender and classes and war.... Furthermore, it had only windows, even the floor was glas so you could see the tiles:
"They look like the rest of the people that we left at school!" someone shouts in the midst of the excitement.
We ride until the train abruptly stops. The track is being repared and some men are taking the tiles of the track. Every person in the carriage wakes up: the married couple, the Deaf and Blind Association members and everyone starts asking questions.
I doze off and stare at the window, not wanting to see "awakening" of neither of the sleepers around me. I notice that we are stuck in a middle of a cemitery! Thousands and thousands of graves: drunkards, soldiers who died in the war, some onanists. The whole dead garden extends itself over 5 miles of land.
The rich day fades and I see myself being surrounded by the night. And, in spite of everyone else being disturbed, I relish at the sight of the stars and the Moon.
"It is my natural habitat" I conclud.
The travel becomes more smoother than ever. It is a glorious train! But - The Irony! - you hear a sharp and strong crash, which makes the train balance and rock from one side to the other, you hear something:
"Whitman! Whitman!"
You try to answer but you just fell over the train in to the abyss. In your final descent you hear a sharp bell ring, somewhere
"Whitman! Wake up!"
You open your eyes and see that you are in your class room, with Ms. Emerson staring at you unfriendly like.
"We do not pass Sleepers, Mr. Whitman! Even if their sleep is so strong and peaceful that they seem they are dead!"
This short-story tries to include both Thoreau's metaphor and Whitman's idea. The set of the classroom which turns into a voyage is to fix the idea of revolt that "Leaves of Grass" founded on it's society, just as the teacher revolts towards the teaching method. There are some quotes, words from both "Walden" and "Leaves of Grass" in order to make the presence of this works more clear and obvious.
Preciso de sair. Preciso de me levantar. Estar na cama não ajuda nada. As minhas pernas doem, a minha cabeça dói, o meu coração doí. É de noite mas não tenho sono, as minhas pálpebras não querem fechar, não te querem ver nos meus sonhos. O último comboio sai daqui a uma hora, preciso de me despachar se quiser ver o amanhecer no jardim onde costumávamos passar as nossas tardes.
Quando chego à estação tudo o que sinto é cansaço. Cansaço e saudade, que ultimamente me escorre pelos olhos a uma velocidade incrível, assim como os comboios. Cheguei cedo demais. Ao olhar para a plataforma vazia várias coisas me surgem na cabeça. Sei que não devia pensar nisto quando sinto tanto a tua falta, pois és a única coisa em que quero pensar de momento, mas sabes que tenho uma curiosidade incomensurável. Quem será que construiu estas linhas? Quem será que devotou horas, dias e meses a construir isto para que eu possa estar aqui agora? Para que eu possa ir de encontro a ti?
O comboio chega e eu entro. Retiro da mala um livro. Sabes que ando sempre com um livro atrás. Desta vez é uma compilação de poemas de Emerson. Ainda me lembro de quando costumavas recitá-los para mim. Era quando eu era mais feliz. Ao chegar ao jardim, o sol já começa a querer espreitar pelo horizonte. O céu está tão bonito. De manhã é quando eu estou acordada e tenho o amanhecer dentro de mim.
Nem dei pelas horas passarem. Quando olhei para o relógio já era hora de almoço. Durante este tempo simplesmente pensei. Pensei em ti, em mim e em nós. Em tudo aquilo que passámos. Deixaste-me demasiado cedo. Ao olhar para os casais deitados na relva, tudo me lembra nós. Quão calmos e quietos estão. Quem me dera que o meu cérebro estivesse assim, calmo e contido. Ao andar pelo jardim observo as pessoas que por aqui passam e que se deitam na relva, a absorver o máximo de sol possível. Casais, crianças, irmãs, pais, mães…Muitos deles adormecem, e adormecem profundamente sem medo e sem hesitação. O que importa é que se têm uns aos outros. E eu não te tenho a ti.
Deito-me na relva como toda a gente. Já não quero pensar em ti. Já não quero sofrer. Não quero sentir saudade e dor no peito cada vez que ando por este jardim. Quero ser livre, e se isso significar que tenho de te expulsar dos meus pensamentos, então tudo bem. Não quero acordar de manhã e pensar que não aproveitei o resto da minha vida e descobrir que, de facto, não vivi. Portanto digo-te adeus. Um adeus dos meus pensamentos, mas não um adeus do meu coração. Um dia iremos estar juntos novamente. Daqui a 70 anos, talvez. Quando os nossos corações se unirem, mais uma vez, como no dia do nosso casamento.
Para sempre tua,
Beatriz.
Esta carta contém elementos dos autores propostos. Faz menção aos comboios, e aos “sleepers” que construíram os caminhos por onde este passa, referidos em Thoreau. Deste autor também me inspirei na citação “(..) When I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” (2112) Também tem uma citação de Thoreau: “Morning is when I am awake and there is a dawn in me”. (2112). Ao mencionar os casais, crianças, irmãs etc faço referência ao poema de Walt Whitman em que “the married couple”, “the sisters”, “the little children” “the mother” são mencionados. Por último, a ideia de as pessoas se deitarem na relva é retirada do “The sleepers” de Cherine Fahd.
Post a Comment