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 ....