finally

regardez.. dehors.. il neige...
je me nomme vlad st-amour. je suis toujours en vie.. il y a une de ces chansons que je n'ose chanter qu'avec moi... noel c'est l'amour , c;est la plus belle saison..
im all set cuz i am a loup-garou who still look .like a puppy ..
a real sweet sweet puppy ... so know one will know .
how thirstly i get hungry for whyskey . and more. tomorrow. is my mother's birthday .
one name . lucie. in the morning . i will pick you up my beloved lucy .
we'll go for une marche tres lente , langoureuse mes traces dans la neige.

rainy day tasted scotch but honey .

i dream of apple pie exactly like the one kerouac described in his books, always ice cream. don't forget the ice cream... i'm gonna loose my job soon but i feel like i shouldn't care . the pockets might care when they'll be empty of money but maybe you'll put your hands in there and i won't care no more if i ever had money . we'll make so much ginger cookie in little body shape to feed our belly. i am home. alone but it's o.k. it's getting way more then o.k when i do laundry,when i make coffee, when i drink scotch-whyskey.. in the middle of the day spare the hours before i have to ride in the wet-street.. parc down t'll i walk into mexican sharks, they won't eat me.. they'll feed me . what a lovely surreality .. i'd rather see clear. my glasses are clean, i see more sparkles in every colors the way perfect sinema feels like... i can't touch my body. because it's bleeding. but i want too.. for once i want to touch someone else then you . you you ... me and i.. are finally listening tothe music that most suited me. a long time ago but it will last forever.. angels of light .. to believe i am beautiful. i want no jealousy. i want sucreries... ok .. my words got cut .. for a reason.. for the melody you voice makes in my eyes.. i... am .. falling .. falling .. no i won't hurt my knee. i'll fall into cotton blacl candy tasting cloud... ... love.. is not a word.. love is life .. life show you that passions exist .. when i'm melting in my chair... drunken with the sound of your name .. all over my lips... they are red and i just bite at my silver toungue.... comecome come come come come coem .. to me.. i won't scream hard enough to brake mirrors.. i want then sharp to reflect us . in real.. visionary. only ghost have no shadows.. i am life.... aware in divine scenery.drunkenly.. thirsty 8 days is no more sounds like infinity. will you .love. me..

i want the angel.. by jim carroll

I want the angel
Whose dreams are fatal
They cause the snake's milk to run and curdle

I want the angel
Whose darkness doubles
It absorbs the brilliance of all my troubles

I want the angel
That will not shatter
Every time I whisper, "Girl it does not matter"

I want the angel
Who's got the proof
She signals her devotion from the rails on the roof

I want the angel
That comes to stay
She don't let lawyers and ambition lead her away

I want the angel
Whose eyes are raving
Who takes what I'm giving and not what I'm saving

I want the angel
Whose bones are so sharp
That they can break through their own excuses

Well, to be a blind man,
Hey, that would be a fine thing
Then I could dream at night of total strangers
And all the music would be so spaceless
And all the women would be so faceless,
They'd be so faceless they'd be like old film
Just like old film I never did process

I want the angel
That knows the sky
She got virtue, she got the parallel light in her eye

I want the angel
That's partly lame
She filters clarity from her desperate shame

I want the angel
That knows rejection
Who's like a whore in love with her own reflection

I want the angel
Whose touch don't miss
When the blood comes through the dropper like a thick red kiss

If I could break through I could be certain
But this obsession is like some fiery curtain
All the numbers reduced to zero
And those who died young, they are my heroes
They are my heroes, they took the walk
Where the heart made sense and the mind can't talk

I want the angel
Whose child don't weep
She's got dreams designed for eternal sleep

I want the angel
That will not change
Into a four-legged monster in love with the strange

I want the angel
That never chooses
And don't come running back every time she loses

But I want the angel that never loses

now .. just just now..

montreal.. you are like this addiction i wanna leave sometimes.. but you have became such an easy sin to cover all.... i feel you in my skin.. you are a cheap but delightful i consume of you .. and i'm redeem over our relations. suit me and i'll suit you like the perfect silk dress in july .. i'l stay here t'll july .. i'll leave you sometimes.. because you drive me crazy .. i find myself wherever i go .. but when i stay .. then.. i can't lie.. you mirrored me all over brick walls no onetoughts they were crystal.. see through.... but fuck there is s much details in the sand. in silver sand .. i wish we i could find more gold and turn it into money . less work,,,, more more for you and me .. .
i .
i . more then the city
there is you .. and i am being honest like a child who have stolen too much candy blushes with no reasons. i let you know of everything.
and i hope that's o.k. je n'ai de comptes a rendre pour personne. mais j'ose te parler.. en ecrit si calme about this reality .. te dire ces choses qui me sont nouvelles.. nouvelles de l'au dela but i am alive.. so alive.. there will be sparles like gunshot to hurt no one when i see you . . . . . sometimes your body meets another story that would look good in a fashionable magazine.. but i don't read nomore these fashion magazine... i told you before.. i like old ancient poetry . in times where lovers would surrender . their toughts dripping in perfect copper ink. all over the paper... redemption become peace . rain cleans my history . and rust is now beautiful on the fences that protects my body ... until your rain drop in my reality . i wake up and i'm fine .. with my dreamings on my mind.. and it takes no time for the devil to wrap me in his feather of silvery .. but he loves me... and i'm an angel .
an angel of light .. let me go .. where no one know .. and i'll find you there ..
there where the wind blow.. and i'll be your shadow... still wanting to touch you.

Brumes et pluies

Ô fins d'automne, hivers, printemps trempés de boue,
Endormeuses saisons! je vous aime et vous loue
D'envelopper ainsi mon coeur et mon cerveau
D'un linceul vaporeux et d'un vague tombeau.

Dans cette grande plaine où l'autan froid se joue,
Où par les longues nuits la girouette s'enroue,
Mon âme mieux qu'au temps du tiède renouveau
Ouvrira largement ses ailes de corbeau.

Rien n'est plus doux au coeur plein de choses funèbres,
Et sur qui dès longtemps descendent les frimas,
Ô blafardes saisons, reines de nos climats,

Que l'aspect permanent de vos pâles ténèbres,
— Si ce n'est, par un soir sans lune, deux à deux,
D'endormir la douleur sur un lit hasardeux.

— Charles Baudelaire

judy ... el siept of deciembre.

jezuuuuzz.. have merci o que oui.. j'ai osee negligee mes ecrits, mes oublies.. i've spended so much movements, on the keyboards for you and you and you ... and it's o.k. i regret nothing. but i havn't taken the time to write for me.. me mm eme me mememe em . and tonight there was no riding for me, flats on my bi-(ice)cycle the bus becomes a truly rest for thinking , dreaming, creating photos with my eyes, in movements while waiting for cold-shot in burning lights... there will always be whyskey to surround me. o lovely. again i was piss on this no-one yet have invented the type-writing process ink from my delirious thinking in an outside warning, no more walking , just thinking, so fast my body is broken over, my mind is still on fire. i swear to god my life wouldn't that be easier if all i'ever tought so could drop so.. on the paper without me having to actually stay more and more awake... insomniak.... i am like an alley dog sniffing changes in the future.. i almost tought i would get lazy in my formal dishwashing job right by my house.. and all is right by my house.. but i am a cowboy, remember so i willl soon hop back into horses and fuck off my home just in time before this society starts to search again for me ... i'll pay off my sin, not my debts i said my sin they are sweeter like honey on my toungue, let me suck it all down ... once again. there is nowhere to find me. this city have vanished it's coffee they don't allow me to smoke no more... i am a pulmonaire's cloudy lover in need of more dust where i can hide my love like a spider-web i'll grow it from the tip of my fingers all over your walls. but you will not be afraid .. trust me... i intend to be a good boy so santa will come visit me. and we can be flakes in the snow fall... i'll build a fire inside . our shelter .. smells of ginger .. i like it when you write me .the word is honey

sherrier.

what's up with typing and smoking... tha's me in front of the computer.. coffee and whyskey ....arrgghh days r full of ice.. i ended up downtown not enough money to get back home, but o so perfect my friend miggan lives there.. so i dropped by . her and a bunch of frantic girls in need to hit the bars left .. im so glad i get to stay here .. in her empty flat, where i can shower then write . sit alone .outside .look . more rain to fall.. fall. over the city .. and in .. morrows i'll be walking slowly again, back to my work in the mexican kitchen, steps-foot. dreaming of movements and pillows .. and yeah '' i dream sometimes a little too much i could just have someone to come home to, someone waiting for me , so i would have more then a reason to come along in a place i still call home.. something like a road my feet could follow .
au travers de la nuit ... i walk n .. .. hollow...
there is always the space, the waiting for another vampire moon scalling...
( it' s memory lane from songs. ) waiting for me... i have such bad shoes to wander in the nights..
i would have probably made more sense in the times where Rimbaud use to walk on tables au dela de tres chere poete indigeres ..
i still know how to pray .. i have left in the snow , a child just like me ... to walk slowly .. like un enfant esseule.. a forsaken child.. i love this word. ( esseulee) an older woman i use to work with had a cd , incredible music ... and the album is called like that ///l'enfant esseulee.. she tried to pushed me so hard into making this freaking movie i should be doing .. but it's more complicated then that... the movie is me.. and to live is another story ....