Aujourd'hui je suis très loin de ce matin d'automne
Mais c'est comme si j'y étais. Je pense à toi.
Où es-tu? Que fais-tu?
Est-ce que j'existe encore pour toi?
Je regarde cette vague qui n'atteindra jamais la dune
Tu vois, comme elle je reviens en arrière
Comme elle je me couche sur le sable
Et je me souviens, je me souviens des marées hautes
Du soleil et du bonheur qui passaient sur la mer
Il y a une éternité, un siècle, il y a un an {...}

Gabry Ponte - Radioattività

Imagine a dark pantomime...
The long limbs of an ambiguous figure...
Overly dramatic gesticulations...

Mephistopheles!

I am perhaps imagining something similar, yet more sinister and twisted than the variety show of The Master and Margarita.

J'ai baisé ta bouche...

Perchance, venturing into those realms that I daydream about will bring a balance

Once the winter sets in and I am back in the city, I shall…

`scour and find some galleries or showings of (hopefully) beautiful art
`spend real time alone
`truly excel at my internship position
`read literature, modern novels and anything to inspire and stir the senses

As for other individuals,
in making no compromises in my life, I realize exactly what I am doing and the associated repercussions. The time will come… (the walrus didn’t quite say this, but I will live it down)

after all, there is always that one – the one and only child (who is quite far from being childlike), especially when she writes lines such as, “he had forgotten what it felt like to bask in sunlight and feel the warm rays hit his eyelids, making him see red.”

tell me and call the willow tree... night upon the abyss and a longing beneath
dream of falling, fear of betrayal; wish upon countless falling starts
recall the past – this faraway gaze drifting along the moonlit horizon

but that is not what I meant at all,

“Now then, let us begin. When we are at the end of the story, we shall know more than we know now…”

This is one of my favorite children’s story… I must have heard it more than ten times as a child, in various languages. Oh, how I sometimes wish it was read to me once again.

In life, everyone has their own burden{s}.
I refuse to be one of those people that unloads my problems on others.

The fog evaporates as I awake
waiting for you
As I run from summer days and lonely nights and sleepless haze and I awake
I disappear.
The mountains fall –
Cascading blue
You crossed my heights
Hills like white pinnacle of strength
In dreams of you
Unforgiving
I do not shed a single tear
Eternal words may sum to little
questions
unanswered
await a response

Lately I have found myself singing quietly into my scarf as I walk in the cold.
Naturally, it is my own material – unfortunately, I usually forget the really great stuff shortly after it escapes my lips

"You gave me a beast, and I wanted a mind, so stroke the thoughts, maybe stimulate time,
You gave me a word, but I just wanted you to be mine.
It's hardly a secret clue,
that I'm secretly wanting you."

the sun shines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said I was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that was one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why I liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many things he didnt know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father and old captain Groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and I say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in front of the governors house with the thing round his white helmet poor devil half roasted and the Spanish girls laughing in their shawls and their tall combs and the auctions in the morning the Greeks and the jews and the Arabs and the devil knows who else from all the ends of Europe and Duke street and the fowl market all clucking outside Larby Sharons and the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes and those handsome Moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sit down in their little bit of a shop and Ronda with the old windows of the posadas glancing eyes a lattice hid for her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the night we missed the boat at Algeciras the watchman going about serene with his lamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

James Joyce, Ulysses

I do not long for something remarkable.
Yet, ultimately, this is precisely that which I wait for.
How long shall I wait?
Upon reading and rereading, it seems the mundane inevitably unfolds into a profound realization, thus, making up that which one becomes.
Thought and a significant lack of forethought lead me,

“…To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question…”


T.S. Eliot

Oftentimes, I wish to be elsewhere...

It may not help that this song has been running through my mind ever so frequently lately…

Le soleil brille à pleins feux
Mais je ne vois que tes yeux
La blancheur de ton corps nu
Devant mes mains éperdues
Viens, ne laisse pas s'enfuir
Les matins brodés d'amour
Viens, ne laisse pas mourir
Les printemps, nos plaisirs

L'amour c'est comme un jour
Ça s'en va, ça s'en va l'amour
C'est comme un jour de soleil en ripaille
Et de lune en chamaille
Et de pluie en bataille
L'amour c'est comme un jour
Ça s'en va, ça s'en va l'amour

C'est comme un jour d'un infini sourire
Une infinie tendresse
Une infinie caresse
L'amour c'est comme un jour
Ça s'en va mon amour

Notre été s'en est allé
Et tes yeux m'ont oublié
Te souviens-tu de ces jours
Où nos cœurs parlaient d'amour
Nous n'avons pu retenir
Que des lambeaux de bonheur
S'il n'y a plus d'avenir
Il nous reste un souvenir

L'amour c'est comme un jour
Ça s'en va, ça s'en va l'amour
C'est comme un jour de soleil en ripaille
Et de lune en chamaille
Et de pluie en bataille
L'amour c'est comme un jour
Ça s'en va, ça s'en va l'amour

C'est comme un jour d'un infini sourire
Une infinie tendresse
Une infinie caresse
L'amour c'est comme un jour
Ça s'en va mon amour

Charles Aznavour

Caress
Undress
A tress {gently moved}.
Supposition,
disposition.
Outwardly content,
controlled
Yet dawn breaks in several hours and all I have are
confused
tormented
thoughts

I wish to go galumphing along the briny beach!

The Jabberwocky

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought--
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arm, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe

(Lewis Carroll, The Annotated Alice).

The moon prefers your face to mine
and in my sleep
my dreams; divine
conjure images of a time
but still I wonder…

I need an instrument
for my regret
My sanity is lacking
Yet I forget the truth,
the past,
the memories

And I forget the early morning breeze as you walk near
and touch me
and whisper in my ear
and hold me

near
as I fear the waking

Fuck you,
local and global maxima and minima of multivariable functions with a ridiculous amount of terms

fuck you.

I like you better at night;
when you are dark and lonely

I would like to place them {all of those individuals}, in glass cubes for observation
as my misery washes over their blank faded gazes of contentment
while I search for a beautiful life

Yes, I would like those cubes stacked.

Alone;
I am alone.

Unable to comprehend the differences
between general discontentment
and the present gaping feelings of fear and needing
Aloof compromises may not lend themselves to coherent conclusions
To be lonely in a crowded room
Isolated around seemingly close friends
Content when alone and yet the ever-present lacking void
Is this a life-long quest for an inexplicable source of fulfillment or gratification
Is this truly unhappiness; have I ever been happy?

I remember a time; the past – thousands of kilometers away…
It is here where I am unable to reach
I am disinclined to believe this can change