baldhorianas

Tonight I went to Natasha’s. We were listening to Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin; Natasha translated the songs from French so I could understand, she was stopping at every bit. Leave it, leave it Natasha , I said. And we listened all the way through. I cannot remember the name of that one about the mouse’s pink tail sticking out from the hole on the wall. It was very descriptive actually, hiding from love, hiding from blue skies , the mouse hiding in the hole. Then I told her the anecdote of me getting drunk with a beer with no alcohol, and she told the anecdote of her love life in Paris. She is a crazy one, Natasha, and she is in love with Paris. We always end up talking about Paris and she plays French songs. I keep telling her I’ll give her Rayuela, everybody who loves Paris should read it. In what language should I get it though? Italian, French, Macedonian? Probably it's not even translated anymore, probably it's impossible to buy. Then I came home. It’s not a long walk

I've got a bit rusty and I need some boost To fix this blog, to get excited, to get some rest And to start writing I'll buy a digital camera I need some colour And some illustration of my life my present life and my former and my future I'm leaving this place, so soon, so late. I don't know If I can be excited, or if I should be, or if I should just take it calmly, as it's beginning to be a normality in my life My present life and my former and my future. I have a ticket. I fly the 2nd of march I'm on my way

I was living through the seconds My composure was a mess I was miles from tenderness It was dark outside The day it was broken in pieces Everything is flat and dreary I couldn't care what's in the news Television is the blues Television is hysterical laughter of people I dont know it could be me, I'm always asking for more I keep running round in circles I keep looking for a doorway I'm gonna need two lives to follow the path I've been taking