Kay Ugma Damlag

/ Thursday, January 6, 2011 /

This is one of those moments when you ask yourself, the Universe and the empty mug in front of you - if dreams could only talk, what language would yours speak? Would it sound like a confident Londoner, a desperate Spanish chaffeur or a laid back Australian surfer dude?

It's 4 a.m. and all you can make out on the other end are garbled vowels and consonants coupled with an accent too thick and heavy. So you simply call it a day. Another day when dreams you find difficult to understand are put off again; hidden in cupboards, left in dark corners and tucked in-betweens.

Kay Ugma Damlag.


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