A kind of a "dangerous supplement", marked, scarred on a body, post-orgasmically, always, already in anticipation of (a) crisis OR for a desert avec 'agape'. Mindb(l)ogg(l)ing Noise. "Avalanche, would you share my last pursuit?" (Baudelaire)

Monday, December 11, 2006

Mood Indigo

There, there is the view from the table where we all sat, all four of us - but just you and me were drinking, drinking, drinking. There the table of June, with yoy, once, and shrimps, and the grilled squid. And there is that painting, the painting which no photograph would ever do justice, and thus not my photographs, but its own photographic reflection in the mirrors. Under it, my table of that September, the moment everything started. It could have been decdes ago, buat it's not. Not yet. And thus nostalgia hasn't yet settled and wants to still be that which feeds my everyday, it hasn't taken the back seat on this horrid ride, only to rush forward at times, at times not unlike this.The disctionaries have abandoned us, falling off the side of small tables, of filled tables, of alcoholic tables. There is that other table, there, the beer-table, in an ouzeri. And the usual table. There is the door, the pavement of the memories lived twice, always lived twice.

My fingers are oily again, the night has yet to come, and the breeze, the breeze and the smog interupts the ouzo, the cigarettes and the kiss.

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