piątek, 14 września 2012


Between birth and death, said poet , there is only eternity.
The sun falls directly on the face through the window in the wall.
Live and love.

- Jazz is infinite -said Spanish in the evening.
No sign of snowflakes in the air..

'The sun rises slowly ..
I'm coming back to her studio, which she hires.
She's thrilled..

There's someone else.
- I've met him at a pedestrian - she explains.
I have to make myself comfortable. Make myself a cup of coffee or pour some vodka. 
She's going out  anyway..
Moth usually flowing out from her burrow.
Begging for grub, fed what she will dug, tracked, hunted.
I sat in front of the  machine and tapped until she came back and grabbed me frome the state of perdition.
And long, long time nothing ...
Moth disappeared. \
Her world was plunged into eternal nebula.. She feared for her existence.
It was the most important thing for her.
To survive.
She had to escape, just to not get crazy.
Injured by it all....
No one was able to stop her. '

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