jueves, 31 de octubre de 2013

All Hallows Eve


























sábado, 26 de octubre de 2013



lunes, 14 de octubre de 2013

Un nuevo sueño

All pictures in this post belong to hlaus.
(Click, click)















jueves, 10 de octubre de 2013



So your mouth tastes like sunshine, baby, but your eyes are all cool buried in my arms
And the breeze takes us deeper and further into the heart of a moment that is gone

And the scent of your heartache, baby and the taste of your blood run within me
And there are red flowers in your spit when you enter my mouth under the bed, down on the floor

So take me under the floorboards, I would love to feel like wood
Take me back to the retards, cause the world just makes me sick
There are colors in the air when I fall to the ground
How we'd love to fall more often

There's a band in our cellar, baby, and they're playing a song of the drunks in the street
And I can hear when they're playing their love songs cause the kids in the yard stop playing with their toys

So take me under the schoolyard, there are kids there who got lost
Their mouths all shouting asphalt and their bodies torn apart
There are colors in the air when I fall to the ground
I can sense a world of heartache
But I love the sound
Of your hair
When it falls down from the pillow late at night
On the brink of illusion, it's the devil in my eyes
Waiting for the moment to kill me inside
How we'd love to die more often

So take my hands, love, there's a burst inside our minds
Feel my hands, love, cause I'm numb from the neck down
And there is fire, love, on the balcony right here
I can see our bodies burn but sense no fear

And your mouth tastes like sunshine, baby, but your eyes are all cool buried in my arms
And everything matters for a second as we fall to the floor


*

miércoles, 9 de octubre de 2013


"Pienso en bisontes y ángeles, en el secreto de los pigmentos perdurables, 
en los sonetos proféticos, en el refugio del arte. 
Y ésta es la única inmortalidad que tú y yo podemos compartir, 
Lolita."


Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov.













A veces me da miedo lo poco que parece que me importan las cosas. 


Cómo parece que paso (siempre) de puntillas sin mirar atrás.


Lo poco que parece que se ven las estrellas en la ciudad.






Irónico todo.


 

camina, camina...

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... y camina

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desde los cielos, hasta..

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the end of St.Petesburg

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