Walking with Satie

Tracing back my steps in time
All I do is think about you Charlotte
And the love is left behind
I first saw Paris in Soho when I was thirteen

Sitting on a coffin drinking coffee
I wore black on black with negative feelings
I often go to Paris to live yesterday tomorrow
Because Paris is a place of dreams

Francoise Hardy, tous les garcons et les filles
Juliette Greco, Jeanne Moreau and Catherine Deneuve
And I'm walking with Eric Satie
Along the boulevards of Paris in the springtime

Un orchestre d'oiseaux, every so often breaks
This map of feelings
Drifting through these landscapes of love
Watching strays from Pere Lacheise

Can you hear the cats purr?
Can you hear the master?
Stone against their velvet fur

Girls who travel the metro
Stroking white mice they carry in their pockets
Lost in a day dream

Daydreaming to be loved by someone
Hurtling myself down into the metro
A train of Latin and African percussion
Turns my day into night

The rhythm of life
The constant arguments between lovers
He wants to listen to the news
She wants to listen to the music

Birmingham Blues

Mi-am muscat buza si apoi mi-am adunat hainele aruncate aiurea pe jos.
Oglinda e un purgatoriu incert azi.
Pare ca peste tot in camera e un ocean de carne, par si piele.
Inchid ochii.

Ma topesc incet in podea pentru a mia noapte.
Sub lumina rosie, indoiala se plimba peste mine,neagra, un rau de cerneala.
Ma simt blocat in aparatura interminabila.
In metal si circuite.
Si e frig. Atat de frig.
Din cand in cand, amintiri vagi vin si dispar in cateva secunde.
O pereche de ochelari, o fata intr-o cada plina de spuma.
Totul pare atat de departe, nu stiu daca sunt amintirile mele sau...

Deschid ochii.
Vantul se plimba usor printre blocuri mediteraneene.
Pe masa de sticla, reflexia norilor curge ca un rau ce dispare inexplicabil.
Un fel de jurnal ale caror foi clipesc in bataia brizei pluteste pe marea de pe sticla.
Undeva in casa, o pisica toarce satisfacuta.
Privind acoperisurile de caramida, nu pot scapa de senzatia ca traiesc ceva ce nu e al meu.
Inchid ochii.

Strazile orasului cultiva toamna cumva, alungand viata de pe ele,
prin ploi interminabile.
Undeva, pe o trecere de pietoni, un barbat intr-o rochie de seara se grabeste in necunoscut.
Altul, chel, intr-un costum de inger priveste descumpanit asfaltul.
Si eu eram inger odata.
Acum doar ma imbrac intr-unul din cand in cand.
Am alte lucruri de facut, mai putin divine.

Baieti umbla plini de sange si oase acrilice, dintr-un bar in altul.
Flacari timide de viata, in timp ce Mortii isi poarta mastile acasa.
Isi imbraca pisicile in costum si isi pastreaza in lux, confuzia.
Ploua infernal si prin betonul care claustreaza, soferi putrezesc asteptand la semafoare.
Nu recunosc nimic in lumea asta. Nimic familiar. Doar sunetul interminabil al ploii.
Rulez o tigara.
Deschid Ochii.

Cineva imi atinge abdomenul, apoi aluneca usor mai jos.
Ne lingem si ne futem.
Nu pare nimic uman in asta.
Ii observ incaltarile.
Cumva, lumea se dizolva in jurul lor.
Simt nevoia sa imi cumpar si eu ceva.
Un tablou, o masina.
Vreau sa captivez cumva.
Ma gandesc o clipa la toti copii care umbla prin gunoaie.
Prin pamant macinat de armament.
O clipa, apoi gandul dispare.
``In a room with no doors I will give myself to you.
In a room, in my house, you`ll be seeing through my eyes.``
Stau pe canapea, Ma uit la tine, stand la fereastra, plangand.
Afara, in lumina soarelui, eu ma sarut cu altcineva.
Inchid ochii. Dementa interminabila. Apoi liniste.

Ganz Leise Kommt Die Nacht

I am not growing older.
Engorged with thousands episodes of experience, I continue to live submerged in chaos.
I remain suspended in confusion.
There are days in which I lay in bed discouraged of how irrelevant I am. To everything.
My paths lead me to oceans, to cities glaring out into the never ending waters. That is why I probably never liked mountains. The sense of finality I got from reaching the top. The disarming questions: Now what? Where to from here? So I go on about my circular life.
Entangled in metal and meat. In vague answers to questions I`m not entirely sure I understand. There is so much I do not understand. And it all flows out of me, like a haemorrhage of uncertainly.
but I exist, in my own absent manner. Always in the sky, just beneath the clouds. On roofs. Watching armies of others like myself.
Sometimes I sleep. And my breath lets out my soul, to wander. And it goes to so many places. And it stays there for days on end, wanting to move away from me.
During this time, I wake up empty each day. And I go to work and I laugh and say things I don`t mean. Everything without an echo of doubt in my voice. I am convinced that I am well without it.
And when I feel that I have fixed myself, I hear it soaring in the air. Floating on seagull wings. On the sound of waves crashing to the shore. It brings with it fiery sunsets and mornings of beautiful silence. My soul, the animal that writes poetry on the inner walls of my chest. The force that keeps me in the rain some nights, waiting for something that only it knows what it is.
So we fall asleep frequently, in the morning light, me and him, both dreaming of our own different worlds. It of tattoos that shine in the sun, of eyes that glare back at us from books or windows. Of liquor that warms the mind and leaves the skin less tense. Turquoise buildings and myriads of  orchards of sound. And I...I dream of not getting ill. Of not being pathetic. Not being forgotten.

Exile

Since I huddled in exile
my women are made of gin,
running on rum.
And they run fast.
Far
Forever.