In this book there are no flying shrimps or even more so artiodactyl cockroaches plowing the seas, but it does have poems, a lonely man, a bloodthirsty tyrannosaurus and an unfortunate boy fighting with his parents and reality. It all starts with... But I won’t tell you why. It's hard to say how this might end. But one thing is for sure: this is an outstanding book of pages. Its author is an unsurpassed nobody. You almost certainly haven't heard of him. There is text written on the pages. The text consists of paragraphs. Paragraphs from sentences. Sentences from words. And, finally, words are made from letters. The letters consist of something unknown, beautiful and oversaturated with pain.