Wednesday, 28 March 2012

Patti Smith

"I don't consider writing a quiet, closet act.
I consider it a real physical act.
When I'm home writing on the typewriter, I go crazy.
I move like a monkey.
I've wet myself, I've come in my pants writing."
                --Patti Smith

Jane Birkin

Vintage style

Sunday, 18 March 2012


A lonely handshake,
blurred dance and fuzzy embrace.

Hearts yearning.

Heads turmoil.

Souls destruction.

In beds of dying embers 
my heart lies bleeding.

I wait.

I wait.

A lost connection,
of thought, of hope,
of lucid transparency.

Seeing me clearly,
and wanting me as I am.
With clear headed ease you succome to me,
becoming the piece I had lost.

Two hearts bleeding and burning as one.
With certainty and conviction.
You trust in my eyes.

I will not deceive you.

I will not disservice you.

I wait.

I wait.

For a stuck still moment.
Inhibitions take flight, numbed senses finally tingle in arousement.

Holy Mother!

Christ!The Bones, The Blood!

True ecstasy.

Total combustion.

Apocalyptic hemerage.

Fatal kiss.

I wait.

I wait.

Blossom and Blue

The blossoming sweetness of stars and sky
and all the rest

falls in front of the hillside before us like a basket.
and turns the abyss below to blossom and blue.
                     -section of Mystic
Arthur Rimbaud