- , 2001 - 2001
Droiture through Pishogue
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I'd love to be back one day. Though nothing happened so significant in
the place I had left other day, unless the tubes became longer and Jenny
played her guitar better with more passion... Grateful eyes of her lonely
fans showed nothing more than passion. That passion had no chance to
disappear going nowhere on the lonely streetcar, the one named "desire", no
matter we stood on the tips of our feet. We'd been looking in the nights of
erotic dreams and swimming in the stereo floods of radio still. Raped sounds
of lonely women grew in the freaky lights of street disaster.
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Don't you want to be just a rock'n'roll girl with all those natural
cosmetics of pain and taxi drivers songs in the windy streets. Like the
starts of all stars in midnight routes with hurting horizons... hurting
eyes... with 'yes' and blue motives of pregnant sadness. Soon the baby is
born. He caught her smiling in front of the TV news break; in his special
way he would gently carry her face blank and motionless to the rest-room of
ending stories.
I need defence in any bus I enter like the miracles stealer wishing
million pardons from passer-byes watching suspiciously. No friends. No
leave-takings. I wish I stole your heart instead of all those useless silent
joys of watchmen rushing after me. Great darkest psychology plays hard with
silver substance of your body. I was such a bad sofa for your hands, so soft
inspector of your gaps and stretches, so . . so, though no one should
intrude........
With the same feelings occurred the night before Angel came to LA.
Lipstick stuck in the mouth of the one she saw in the mirror with no visible
head leaning to the no one's shoulder. She knew it would be like that but
she could utter the only word of love that she hated to pronounce. That word
tortured her articulation, and by all means she always tried to avoid it in
use. However she could neither swallow it nor rip it with teeth and tongue
at the very moment she came to LA. Oh, she could stand silently in the queue
of ticket buyers, or she could split within strange prayers in the dim
churches or hide in car jams drinking gasoline and playing cards with
lonesome passengers. Or she could repeat the ending of the most fabulous
wrack, she could start...... At least....she could start. But she changed
her blood group and never more responded to her name. Yellow pages must have
saved it.
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They have gone in the books of TV stars. They don't know even why. Alto
changed his mind and started to recover. She found out the way out. He knew
where is the way, but he did not realise how painful it was to be out of the
way. We are drinking in the bar of lost desires and recall how beautiful we
were before somebody told us we would be happier no more. We thought we
would ... so long and dramatic awaiting.
Don't worry, baby, everything's just going to be fine..... no seeking
for my hands ... don't you feel them. Don't you fly alone in the most
fabulous space sleeping in the synthetic minds of your groovy toys. Morning
will come with the news that no more well is drilled in Kazakhstan. Everyone
should know. Stars are deeper in the pocket. Two lines on the escaping
surface of my face are clearly seen in mirrors of invisible desires. And
eyes are starting to rain.
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Waiting for the trivial telephone call from Mr. Nick Zana I realising I
should be a polite young man however could not stop my creative invasion of
the oil world. I was a pacifier looking for my pass. Stuart Satclife came to
me at night. A girl in a rouge jacket puts a stone in her pants. No one
predicted that it appeared to be a rolling one.
No one in my dreams resembles a piano player. Though Stephanie was too
persistent in looking for the password enabling her seeing..seeing a piano
player in any dream of hers, thus she got lost in dreams, of hers.
I was the one living once and again leaving home and just trying to
read your heart....
getting old at a speed of light... dear.. how shameless it is from my
side to make you using your time making me losing my mind.. hard to
recognise the ability to write quite a sincere letter to a person like you
as if taking a chance to escape nowhere from personal 'inner' phobias. If we
get to know each other... hope we would.... you'll probably find it
remarkable to interpret these abortions of my life.
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Prussian blue.
Norway seemed to be dedicated to the snowball giants. A piano player
left Norway for any place. He's on the rode. Wether he remembered his
sarcastic flat in the heart of Prussian blue or didn't nobody could be sure.
He studied the most complicated rhythms and piano compositions and newly
born cheeks of his beautiful dream to see Stephanie... And that day he lied
on the warm sand in Benin looking in the sun and everything was perfect, he
saw her face and definitely recalled his history in Prussian blue.
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The Who explained me a lot and who I am, though Kate Bush distinctly
understood me, however random nights of seldom lights disturbed the city
song of love and passion. She was with eyes of the man who's come from
distant clouds. And walking on the moon lonesome sounds heard I heard.
What is ..
Please
Lease and tease ... mea culpa
Cease and bring me home from source of breath ... me...breathless .
It is so wonderful you are recording my remote voices from the behind
of sorrow. Reveal so so so tenderly in line in stripe of flow low flowing
blow...........
Friends of Lea. Do it now. In pain and un-skinned implanted in
decentness of any baby's dream.... Careful. You lock your life. Secrets are
still strong and indispensable.
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21.11.2001
Last-modified: Tue, 15 Jan 2002 09:05:23 GMT