Kristina’s boyfriend broke her arms, so that she could not write e-mails to her other boyfriend. Now her boyfriend is threatening to brake her legs, because she is typing her e-mails with her toes. Kristina endures a number of agonies, as if searching for sainthood. She lives with an artist who sold his soul to the machine. She is a flesh and blood clock, spending endless hours standing in the window telling time with her limbs. She eats burnt red roses with thorns.
