Just to keep it all in some one place
No, I have not forgotten Kame, and no, I have not switched my affections elsewhere - it's more the other way round. That is - once my affections lay elsewhere, and I suddenly felt an urge to remember those younger days of my existence as a fan - when the state of fandom still felt alien and bewildering, and I tried to figure out what it was as much
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Comments 5
Celebrating your birthday
more in spirit than letter
one bottle of red wine
into the first and only
Patty Smith’s concert
in this bitter and beautiful city
where she said she could stay
feeding on coffee and light
wish that you always
may hear a music inside
a sweet bass-solo of life
it’s a melody, it’s a rhythm
for it’s only when the music stops
that we are growing old
Like a droplet of scented oil
like a droplet of scented oil
on the water
you do not mix well
and in whatever crowd
you stand out
however you’d want to
hide inside it
just to ride with
the common excitement
but once again you’re spotted
by those who make a sport of
this hunt and you’re a prize-hit
blitz-blinded
you stare blandly
from out the photo
light-startled deer
stopped in mid-flight
mid-fight
by the weary
wisdom of nowhere to veer
put the shades on,
cover you face with beard,
shake out your shaggy hair over the eyes
hide
in the only place safe
inside yourself
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When you are glass as in the “see-(you)-through”
The people tend to hardly notice you
It even seems that with a Midas touch
You turn to glass all what you only touch
All that is dear, all the things you do
Remain unclear and unnoticed too
Your love, your hurt, your leisure and your work,
They even do not hear when you talk
No need to beg, no need to bend your knees
The world is unaware of your tears
And this is what does really break your heart
The heart being glass, it is not very hard.
And people wonder at a sudden spleen
As little splinters get under their skin.
Wrap this moment in cotton…Bertolucci, my dear ( ... )
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Come to me imperfect
In stigma and disregard
Tired after a hard days work
Torn by your inner questions
Desperate from the things
That you cannot change
However you wanted
Or even have tried to
Come to me imperfect
In fear and need
Woken from nightmare
Suffering from hang-over
Or from a simple flu
Feeling ashamed and lost
Feeling worn out and used
Feeling your own age
Come to me imperfect
Fall into my hands
Let me be a healing herb
An assuring presence
An artist with gentle brush
Painting out the tired lines
A goblet of heated wine
To chase off the winter chill
(That’s what a woman is for)
Come to me imperfect
And be my guest
Let me feel you might need me
If for a shortest while
Let me bring you back to perfection
And let you fly
Back my exotic bird
Back to your far away heaven
(That’s what a man is for)
That’s how predictable I am
In my own imperfection
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