Mosquitos are great, they are great than a Sunday afternoon, they are great than milkshakes made of moon. I used to let them stay on my palm or any fleshy area and suck as much of those pristine blood as they want, after that there was the spiritual part; the part made of space and supernova and being. I used to follow them all over the places; the horizontal plains,  the glass walls, even if it means to perform an interstellar travel. How I wish the god, the physicist of higher dimension, would see us as those mosquitos. And rather than bringing big bang on our souls, makes us poet and romantic for an unattainable squall.