THE DEPARTMENT OF FORGOTTEN DRAWINGS (A Division of the International Fanzine Front)

Desire

2011-02-10T13:16:00.000Z

Sensation

2011-02-10T13:14:00.001Z

Par les soirs bleus d'été, j'irai dans les sentiers,
Picoté par les blés, fouler l'herbe menue:
Rêveur, j'en sentirai la fraîcheur à mes pieds.
Je laisserai le vent baigner ma tête nue.

Je ne parlerai pas, je ne penserai rien:
Mais l'amour infini me montera dans l'âme,
Et j'irai loin, bien loin, comme un bohémien,
Par la Nature, - heureux comme avec une femme.

Sensation
Arthur RIMBAUD
(1854-1891)

These things are things that now must be no more

2011-02-09T11:56:00.000Z

And the day seemed a night

2011-02-09T11:49:00.002Z

(...)

The boy lay dead, and the day seemed a night
Outside. The rain fell like a sick affright
Of Nature at her work in killing him.
Memory of what he was gave no delight,
Delight at what he was was dead and dim.

(...)

Antinous
Fernando Pessoa
1918

The boy lay dead

2011-02-08T14:08:00.000Z

Hadrian’s soul

2011-02-08T14:06:00.001Z

The rain outside was cold in Hadrian’s soul.

The boy lay dead On the low couch, on whose denuded whole,
To Hadrian’s eyes, whose sorrow was a dread,
The shadowy light of Death’s eclipse was shed.

(...)

Antinous
Fernando Pessoa
1918

Some facts never exist

2011-02-08T14:03:00.000Z

The time and place and manner of my death are three facts that don’t exist yet

2011-02-08T14:02:00.003Z

The time and place and manner of my death are three facts that don’t exist yet.

Facts exist for whole centuries and then suddenly cease.

Pluto used to be a planet and now it is a chunk of debris, number 1341340.

My grandmother’s house stands on the hill above the sea where she left it.

When I come back to visit I discover a crater in its place.

This room is full of facts.

All day I let the cat out, let it in, then let it back out again.

I mean this metaphorically.

Some facts never exist.

It is winter. It is summer.

All night the branches tap at the glass.

- Trans - Neptunian Object by Suzanne Buffam.

An Essay (on colour)

2011-02-01T14:55:00.001Z

No Turning Back

2011-02-01T13:59:00.000Z

Separation

2011-02-01T13:57:00.001Z

The separation and hostility between the "world" of art and the "world" of everyday life finally exploded in Dada. "Life and art are One," proclaimed Tzara; "the modern artist does not paint, he creates directly." But this upsurge of real, direct creativity had its own contradictions. All the real creative possibilities of the time were dependent on the free use of its real productive forces, on the free use of its technology, from which the Dadaists, like everyone else, were excluded. Only the possibility of total revolution could have liberated Dada. Without it, Dada was condemned to vandalism and, ultimately, to nihilism -- unable to get past the stage of denouncing an alienated culture and the self-sacrificial forms of expression which it imposed on its artists and their audience alike. (...) In Berlin, where its expression was most coherent, Dada offered a brief glimpse of a new praxis beyond both art and politics: the revolution of everyday life. - [The Revolution of Modern Artand the Modern Art of Revolution]

Rumours

2011-01-27T19:17:00.000Z

Psychogeographical Maps

2011-01-27T19:16:00.001Z

The production of psychogeographical maps, or even the introduction of alterations such as more or less arbitrarily transposing maps of two different regions, can contribute to clarifying certain wanderings that express not subordination to randomness but total insubordination to habitual influences (influences generally categorized as tourism, that popular drug as repugnant as sports or buying on credit). [Introduction to a Critique of Urban Geography, GUY DEBORD, 1955]

Alien Monkeys

2011-01-27T19:12:00.000Z

Untitled

2011-01-27T19:11:00.001Z

In all that has happened over the last twenty years, the most important change lies in the very continuity of the spectacle. What is significant is not the refinements of the spectacle’s media instrumentation, which had already attained a highly advanced stage of development; it is quite simply that spectacular domination has succeeded in raising an entire generation molded to its laws. . . . Spectacular domination’s first priority was to eradicate historical knowledge in general, beginning with virtually all information and rational commentary on the most recent past. . . . The spectacle makes sure that people are unaware of what is happening, or at least that they quickly forget whatever they may have become aware of. The more important something is, the more it is hidden. [In, Debord’s Comments on the Society of the Spectacle (1988)]

Details (Box 1, 2009)

2010-12-09T10:31:00.002Z

See the sunset with no sleep

2010-12-09T10:31:00.001Z

I've been thinking too much about you
See the sunset with no sleep at all
Constantly thinking about you
And i can't get through this at all

Trentemoller, Moan

The construction of situations is the creation of real time and space

2010-12-03T14:32:00.000Z

It is not enough to burn the museums...

2010-12-03T14:31:00.000Z

It is not enough to burn the museums. They must also be sacked. Past creativity must be freed from the forms into which it has been ossified and brought back to life. Everything of value in art has always cried aloud to be made real and to be lived. This 'subversion' of traditional art is, obviously, merely part of the whole art of subversion we must master (cf. Ten Days That Shook the University). Creativity, since Dada, has not been a matter of producing anything more but of learning to use what has already been produced.

- idem, ibidem.

Human life?

2010-12-03T14:29:00.000Z

In the end

2010-12-03T14:27:00.002Z

In the end, for all its fury (and Symbolists and Anarchists worked side-by-side in the 1890s) revolutionary art was caught in contradictions. It could not or would not break free of the forms of bourgeois culture as a whole. Its content and method could become transformations of the world but, while art remained imprisoned within the social spectacle, its transformations remained imaginary. Rather than enter into direct social conflict with the reality it criticized, it transferred the whole problem into an abstract and inoffensive sphere where it functioned objectively as a force consolidating all it wanted to destroy. Revolt against reality became the evasion of reality. Marx's original critique of the genesis of religious myth and ideology applies word-for-word to the rebellion of bourgeois art: it too "is at the same time the expression of real distress and the protest against real distress. It is the sigh of the oppresses creature, the heart of a heartless world, just as it is the spirit of a spiritless situation. It is the opium of the people" [Marx, Contribution to the critique of Hegel's "Philosophy of Right"].

- The Revolution of Modern Art and the Modern Art of Revolution, written by Tim Clark, Christopher Gray, Charles Radcliffe and Donald Nicholson-Smith.

Note: mistakenly described as a "manifesto" by Chronos Publications, which published it as a pamphlet in October 1994, this text was never published by either the English section of the Situationist International nor by the SI as a whole. It appears to have circulated as a "confidential" manuscript.

Forever and Ever

2010-12-02T13:24:00.001Z

Your eyes are an island

2010-12-02T13:14:00.001Z

You're a ghost on the highway,
And I'll love you forever
Ghost on the highway
And I'll love you forever
Forever and ever
And ever and ever
Your eyes are an island
And I'll own them forever
Your eyes are an island
And I'll love them forever
Forever and ever
And ever and ever
You're a ghost on the highway
And I'll love you forever
Ghost on the highway
And I'll love you forever
Forever and ever
And ever and ever

Ghost Highway, Mazzy Star
"She Hangs Brightly", 1990

Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away?

2010-12-02T13:13:00.000Z

Crystalised

2010-12-02T13:10:00.001Z

(...)

i’ll forgive and forget
before i’m paralyzed
do i have to keep up the pace
to keep you satisfied

things have gotten closer to the sun
and i’ve done things in small doses
so don’t think that i’m pushing you away
when you’re the one that i’ve kept closest

(...)

Crystalised, The XX

We have never met

2010-11-11T13:43:00.000Z

It's easy to forget

2010-11-11T13:40:00.001Z

(...)

The moment we believe that we have never met
Another kind of love it's easy to forget
When we are all alone then we do both agree
We have a thing in common this was meant to be

You close my eyes and soothe my ears
You heal my wounds and dry my tears
On the inside of this marble house I grow
And the seeds I sow will grow up prisoners too

(...)

Marble House
The Knife, "Silent Shout" (2006)

We have passed each other in dream

2010-11-10T12:40:00.001Z

We dream of each other until we wake

2010-11-10T12:38:00.001Z

I dream that I meet you deep under
the deepest place of the Earth, Atlantic trench, seafloor

Between Nanga Parbat, K2 and Everest,
the roof of the world, there I'll give you a celebration
Where I can no longer see forward
If you come, I'll see you come from the edge of the world
There is nothing interesting here
Just the ruins of Atlantis But no sign of you

I believe you come no more

We have passed each other in dream
You dream of me, I of you
Don't worry, I won't wake you
Before you wake yourself

(...)

Einstuerzende Neubauten - Stella Maris (English)

We sailed through endless skies

2010-11-10T12:32:00.000Z

Corto

2010-11-10T12:31:00.000Z

«Il n’y a personne qui soit en accord avec soi-même...»

Hugo Pratt - Extrait de Corto Maltese en Sibérie

Two hearts with accurate devotions

2010-11-10T12:28:00.000Z

They say we can love who we trust

2010-11-10T12:26:00.001Z

“We can fight our desires
But when we start making fires
We get ever so hot
Whether we like it or not

They say we can love who we trust
But what is love without lust?
Two hearts with accurate devotions
And what are feelings without emotions?”

La Roux, In For the Kill

A Luta Continua

2010-09-19T15:46:00.000+01:00

(In the Hands of) Chance

2010-09-14T13:20:00.000+01:00

Chance

2010-09-14T13:19:00.000+01:00

"I am simultaneously and contradictorily both happy and unhappy: 'to succeed' or 'to fail' have for me only ephemeral, contingent meanings (this does not stop my desires and sorrows from being violent ones); what impels me, secretly and obstinately, is not tactical: I accept and I affirm, irrespective of the true and the false, of success and failure; I am withdrawn from all finality, I live according to chance..." [— Roland Barthes]

Paralized

2010-09-14T13:18:00.000+01:00

One Falling Star to Another

2010-09-14T13:16:00.000+01:00

"I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till i drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion." [— Jack Kerouac]

The strangest moment of all

2010-07-15T14:00:00.001+01:00

The sun was reddening

2010-07-15T13:59:00.000+01:00

"I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was - I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn't scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost."

— Jack Kerouac (On the Road)

Beneath the Skies

2010-07-15T13:58:00.000+01:00

What is that feeling?

2010-07-15T13:57:00.000+01:00

"What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? - it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies."

— Jack Kerouac (On the Road)

Deep In the Woods

2010-05-21T14:07:00.000+01:00

Death

2010-05-21T14:06:00.000+01:00

"For Death must be somewhere in a society; if it is no longer (or less intensely) in religion, it must be elsewhere; perhaps in this image which produces Death while trying to preserve life. Contemporary with the withdrawal of rites, Photography may correspond to the intrusion, in our modern society, of an asymbolic Death, outside of religion, outside of ritual, a kind of abrupt dive into literal Death." [Roland Barthes, Camera Lucida: Reflections on Photography]

Department Archive (Box: 56)

2010-05-19T21:46:00.000+01:00

Department Archive (Box: 34)

2010-05-19T21:42:00.000+01:00

Meaningless

2010-05-12T18:24:00.000+01:00

Love Is Like a Bottle of Gin

2010-05-12T18:19:00.003+01:00

It makes you blind, it does you in
It makes you think you're pretty tough
It makes you prone to crime and sin
It makes you say things off the cuff
It's very small and made of glass
and grossly over-advertised
It turns a genius to an ass
and makes a fool think he is wise

(...)

It makes the sun shine, makes it rain
You just get out what they put in
and they never put in enough
Love is like a bottle of gin
but a bottle of gin is not like love

The Magnetic Fields
Love Is Like a Bottle of Gin
69 Love Songs

Faces

2010-05-12T14:13:00.001+01:00

Untitled

2010-05-12T14:11:00.002+01:00

I wanted to run out and kiss her fantastic beauty and say: 'June, you have killed my sincerity too. I will never know again who I am, what I am, what I love, what I want. Your beauty has drowned me, the core of me. You carry away with you a part of me reflected in you. When your beauty struck me, it dissolved me. Deep down, I am not different from you. I dreamed you, I wished for your existance. You are the woman I want to be. I see in you that part of me which is you. I feel compassion for your childlike pride, for your trembling unsureness, your dramatization of events, your enhancing of the loves given to you. I surrender my sincerity because if I love you it means we share the same fantasies, the same madnesses" [The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volume 1: 1931-1934]

The Garden of Death

2010-05-10T14:42:00.000+01:00

In Vain

2010-05-10T14:41:00.000+01:00

i shall imagine life
is not worth dying, if
(and when) roses complain
their beauties are in vain

(...)

E. E. Cummings

Headless Boy

2010-05-10T14:36:00.000+01:00

No Project

2010-05-10T14:34:00.002+01:00

THE REAL creativity of the times is at the antipodes of anything officially acknowledged to be 'art.' Art has become an integral part of contemporary society and a 'new' art can only exist as a supersession of contemporary society as a whole. It can only exist as the creation of new forms of activity. As such, ['new' art] has formed an integral part of every eruption of real revolt over the last decade. All have expressed the same furious and baffled will to live, to live every possible experience to the full — which, in the context of a society which suppresses life in all its forms, can only mean to construct experience and to construct it against the given order. To create immediate experience as purely hedonistic and experimental enjoyment of itself can be expressed by only one social form — the game — and it is the desire to play that all real revolt has asserted against the uniform passivity of this society of survival and the spectacle. [The Revolution of Modern Art and the Modern Art of Revolution - Timothy Clark, Christopher Gray, Donald Nicholson-Smith & Charles Radcliffe, unpublished text (1967)]

Dead Sun Rising

2010-05-10T14:33:00.000+01:00

Unitary Urbanism

2010-05-10T14:30:00.003+01:00

Unitary urbanism is a critique, not a doctrine, of cities. It is the living critique of cities by their inhabitants: the permanent qualitative transformation, made by everyone, of social space and time. Thus, rather than say that Utopia is the total work of art, it would be more accurate to say that Utopia is the richest and most complex domain serving total creativity. This also means that any specific propositions we can make today are of purely critical value. On an immediate practical level, experimentation with a new positive distribution of space and time cannot be dissociated from the general problems of organisation and tactics confronting us. Clearly a whole urban guerilla will have to be invented. We must learn to subvert existing cities, to grasp all the possible and the least expected uses of time and space they contain. Conditioning must be thrown in reverse. It can only be out of these experiments, out of the whole development of the revolutionary movement, that a real revolutionary urbanism can grow. [The Revolution of Modern Art and the Modern Art of Revolution - Timothy Clark, Christopher Gray, Donald Nicholson-Smith & Charles Radcliffe, unpublished text (1967)]

Death Club

2010-04-30T14:08:00.000+01:00

Untitled

2010-04-30T14:07:00.002+01:00

The media invite us to "come celebrate the moments of your life" with the spurious unification of commodity and spectacle, the famous non-event of pure representation. In response to this obscenity we have, on the one hand, the spectrum of refusal (chronicled by the Situationists, John Zerzan, Bob Black et al.)--and on the other hand, the emergence of a festal culture removed and even hidden from the would-be managers of our leisure. "Fight for the right to party" is in fact not a parody of the radical struggle but a new manifestation of it, appropriate to an age which offers TVs and telephones as ways to "reach out and touch" other human beings, ways to "Be There!" [The Temporary Autonomous Zone, Ontological Anarchy, Poetic Terrorism, By Hakim Bey]

To Disappear...

2010-04-30T14:06:00.000+01:00

Simulated State

2010-04-30T14:05:00.000+01:00

In sum, realism demands not only that we give up waiting for "the Revolution" but also that we give up wanting it. "Uprising," yes--as often as possible and even at the risk of violence. The spasming of the Simulated State will be "spectacular," but in most cases the best and most radical tactic will be to refuse to engage in spectacular violence, to withdraw from the area of simulation, to disappear. [The Temporary Autonomous Zone, Ontological Anarchy, Poetic Terrorism, By Hakim Bey]

Bleed For Me...

2010-04-23T14:15:00.000+01:00

All Words

2010-04-23T14:14:00.000+01:00

love is a place
& through this place of
love move
(with brightness of peace)
all places

yes is a world
& in this world of
yes live
(skilfully curled)
all worlds

E. E. Cummings

not even the rain, has such small hands

2010-04-22T13:39:00.000+01:00

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

2010-04-22T13:37:00.001+01:00

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

(...)

E. E. Cummings

more seldom than a wave is wet

2010-04-22T13:36:00.000+01:00

love is more thicker than forget

2010-04-22T13:33:00.000+01:00

love is more thicker than forget
more thinner than recall
more seldom than a wave is wet
more frequent than to fail

it is most mad and moonly
and less it shall unbe
than all the sea which only
is deeper than the sea

love is less always than to win
less never than alive
less bigger than the least begin
less littler than forgive

it is most sane and sunly
and more it cannot die
than all the sky which only
is higher than the sky

E. E. Cummings

Night deepened like a wall

2010-03-25T17:11:00.000Z

How beautiful the sun is on warm evenings!

2010-03-25T17:06:00.002Z

How beautiful the sun is on warm evenings! How deep space is! How powerful is the heart! Bending over you, queen of adored ones, I thought I breathed the perfume of your blood. How beautiful the sun is on warm evenings!

Night deepened like a wall, and my eyes in the darkness sensed your eyes, and I drank your breath, O sweetness! O poison! And your feet slumbered in my brotherly hands. Night deepened like a wall.

I know the art of evoking happy moments, and live again my past curled up in your lap. For what is the good of seeking your languorous beauty elsewhere than in your dear body and in your so gentle heart? I know the art of evoking happy moments. [The Balcony. Charles Baudelaire, ca. 1856. trans. Elaine Marks, 1962]

Bleeding Boy

2010-03-25T17:05:00.000Z

How can I even breathe without you?

2010-03-25T17:03:00.001Z

(...)

We were born with our face to the wall
We only have one chance to crawl
When we laid down there I held your hand
And never feel your body again
Ooh ooh

Cut down the preacher, he just lies
Burn all the books that closed my mind
Destroy it all, it's all untrue
How can I even breathe without you?

Swans, No Cure for the Lonely
(Love of Life, 1992)

There's no cure for the lonely

2010-03-25T15:06:00.000Z

I will be her nowhere man

2010-03-25T14:56:00.000Z

She'll go down there to nowhere soon
She'll stand there still with her head in the moon
I will be her nowhere man
We're not named until the end
Ooh ooh

That girl was so much better than me
But it always goes wrong
There's no cure for the lonely
With loneliness she'll sink in the sand
I feel the heat go out of her hand

(...)

Swans, No Cure for the Lonely
(Love of Life, 1992)

Bury your love beneath the ground with me

2010-03-25T14:54:00.000Z

Bury your love beneath the ground with me

2010-03-24T13:25:00.003Z

(...)

Now the earth bleeds cold water in my open hands
But their bodies bleed poison and they swallow the sand
And we'll walk to the river where we'll die of a thirst
And my fate, it's no question: every fool he is broken
Beneath the same unholy curse
So bury your love beneath the ground with me
And lay your loneliness down for the sun to burn to sand

Swans, Song for dead time
White Light From the Mouth of Infinity
(Young God Records, 1991)

The sun is an emptiness that burns through the sky

2010-03-24T13:24:00.000Z

Bury your trust beneath the ground with me

2010-03-24T13:22:00.001Z

Now the past is untrue and this breath is a lie
And the sun is an emptiness that burns through the sky
And this ground it'll slide down, down into the sea
And when this body dies, no man will breath one word
Of ignorance for me
So bury your trust beneath the ground with me
And lay your loneliness down for the sun to consume

(...)

Swans, Song for dead time
White Light From the Mouth of Infinity
(Young God Records, 1991)

Like a flame

2010-02-28T19:35:00.000Z

Love is like a sin

2010-02-28T19:33:00.001Z

(...)

Love is like a sin, my love
For the ones that feel it the most
Look at her with her eyes like a flame
She will love you like a fly will never love you again

(...)

Massive Attack, Paradise Circus
Heligoland, 2010

see how deep the bullet lies

2010-02-28T18:40:00.000Z

I'd make a deal with God

2010-02-28T18:35:00.001Z

It doesn't hurt me.
Do you want to feel how it feels?
Do you want to know, know that it doesn't hurt me?
Do you want to hear about the deal that I'm making?
You, It's you and me.

And if I only could,
I'd make a deal with God,
And I'd get him to swap our places,

Be running up that road,
Be running up that hill,
Be running up that building.
Say, If I only could, oh...

You don't want to hurt me,
But see how deep the bullet lies.
Unaware, I'm tearing you asunder.
Ooh, There is thunder in our hearts.
Is there so much hate for the ones who love?
Tell me we both matter don't we?

(...)

Kate Bush, Running up that hill

A few good times

2010-02-19T15:58:00.000Z

So let's drink to that and the passing time

2010-02-19T15:57:00.000Z

(...)

My death waits like a beggar blind
Who sees the world through an unlit mind
Throw him a dime for the passing time

My death waits there between your thighs
Your cool fingers will close my eyes
Let's not think of that and the passing time

My death waits to allow my friends
A few good times before it ends
So let's drink to that and the passing time

(...)

idem

The Funeral of My Youth

2010-02-19T15:55:00.000Z

My Death

2010-02-19T15:52:00.002Z

My death waits like an old roué
So confident I'll go his way
Whistle to him and the passing time

My death waits like a bible truth
At the funeral of my youth
Weep loud for that and the passing time

My death waits like a witch at night
As surely as our love is bright
Let's not think about the passing time

(...)

My Death, words and music by Jacques Brel.
Translated to English by Mort Schuman and Eric Blau (Note: There are some slight differences in the ordering of words David Bowie sings in the version on Ziggy Stardust The Motion Picture and the other live version on Santa Monica 1972)

Scream

2010-02-19T15:09:00.000Z

Things Ever Splendid

2010-02-19T15:05:00.002Z

waiting for death
like a cat
that will jump on the
bed

(...)

and the hard
words
I ever feared to
say
can now be said:

I
love you.

Charles Bukowski (1920 – 1994), Confession

The heart gives up its dead

2010-02-05T20:34:00.000Z

LOVE

2010-02-05T20:31:00.000Z

LOVE - What is love? A great and aching heart
Wrung hands; and silence; and a long despair.
Life- what is? Upon a moorland bare
To see love coming and see love depart.

Robert Louis Stevenson

In their double shade

2010-02-05T20:28:00.000Z

like two ghosts before the eye

2010-02-05T20:26:00.000Z

(...)

A weather in the flesh and bone
Is damp and dry; the quick and dead
Move like two ghosts before the eye.

A process in the weather of the world
Turns ghost to ghost; each mothered child
Sits in their double shade.
A process blows the moon into the sun,
Pulls down the shabby curtains of the skin;
And the heart gives up its dead.

Dylan Thomas, A Process in the Weather of the Heart

Lost Girls (Series)

2010-02-03T13:55:00.000Z

Feelin' low as the ground

2010-02-03T13:54:00.001Z

(...)

Feelin' low as the ground
It's driving me crazy just waiting for my baby
To maybe come around... around
I'm waiting for my baby
To maybe come around

My nerves have gone to pieces
My hair is turning gray
All I do is drink black coffee
Since my man's gone away

From:Black coffee

How Slow the Moments Go

2010-02-03T13:46:00.000Z

I'm talking to the shadows

2010-02-03T13:38:00.001Z

(...)

I'm talking to the shadows from 1 o'clock til 4
And lord, how slow the moments go
When all I do is pour
Black coffee

Since the blues caught my eye
I'm hanging out on Monday
My Sunday dreams to dry
Now a man is born to go a lovin'
A woman's born to weep and fret
To stay at home and tend her oven
And drown her past regrets
In coffee and cigarettes

(...)

From: Black coffee

A Ballad Of Lost Girls

2010-02-03T13:34:00.000Z

Black Coffee

2010-02-03T13:32:00.001Z

I'm feeling mighty lonesome
Haven't slept a wink
I walk the floor and watch the door
And in between I drink
Black coffee

Love's a hand me down brew
I'll never know a Sunday
In this weekday room

(...)

From:
Black coffee
Written by Solomon Burke / P.F. Webster, originally performed by Ella Fitzgerald and others

Ghost Girl

2010-01-20T14:18:00.000Z

You can't take less

2010-01-20T14:16:00.001Z

Alice: I've had nothing yet, so I can't take more.

The Hatter: You mean you can't take less; it's very easy to take more than nothing.

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Keep away the Masquerade

2010-01-20T12:42:00.000Z

You promised me poems

2010-01-20T12:40:00.001Z

(...)

Dreamed of ringing voices,
And contemplated choices.
Taste like a real kiss,
To heighten my awareness.
With all fairness, greatness with gratitude.
And simply riled with attitude

(...)

Dreamed of ringing voices,
And you promised me poems
You promised me poems
You promised me poems
You promised me poems

Neraly God, Poems