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this is a very interesting book that i have.
purchased on a whim a while ago, from the “on sale” stall outside a bookshop almost in front of st pancras station, london. £4 i guess {can’t recall exactly how much i paid for it, but wasn’t expensive}.
i do not know why i bought it. maybe i liked the cover.

inside, there was very little text. most everything were visual and dinamic. several young people from several nationalities living together in several cheap locations in several cities of the world. and leaving their marks behind. and on each other.

i’m yet to make better pictures of my favorite pages.
the cheap book did not fail to cause an impression.


i will create a new category
on my instant messenger buddy list

i will call it
people i like who don’t like me back

and i will move your screen name into that group
and i will invite you to my house and show you

and you will say, ‘if i didn’t like you why did i come over’
and you will look at my face
and i will have an honest answer for your question
i will tell you that you came over to be polite

and after a while you will go home
and you won’t call
and i won’t either
and after awhile i won’t like you anymore
and after awhile we’ll forget each other
and after awhile you will be beautiful and alone inside of your coffin
and i’ll be cold and alone inside of my coffin

– tao lin

place des vosges, paris.
british boy + sparrows, taken by me.

a sad fact widely known
the most impassionate song, to a lonely soul is so easily outgrown
but don’t forget the songs that made you smile
and the songs that made you cry

when you lay in awe on the bedroom floor
And said : oh, oh, smother me mother.

the passing of time and all of its crimes
is making me sad again
the passing of time and all of its sickening crimes
is making me sad again
but don’t forget the songs that made you cry
and the songs that saved your life
yes, you’re older now
and you’re a clever swine
but they were the only ones who ever stood by you

the passing of time leaves empty lives waiting to be filled
the passing of time leaves empty lives waiting to be filled
i’m here with a cause
i’m holding the torch
in the corner of your room – can you hear me?

and when you’re dancing and laughing and finally living
hear my voice in your head and think of me kindly

do you
love me like you used to?

the car we sat in rolled on.
we shared headphones. our heads against each others, everything was still. we smiled and used each other for support.

that night was so beautiful.
yet we both know our love will never be.


sometimes, as i fall asleep
i imagine my bed as a painting,
or a sketch, a simple portrait posed
with precision- one hand carefully placed
beneath the pillow and my body stretched
out across the sheets in the
shape of a crescent. and sometimes,
when feeling particularly lonely, i have
been known to trace the slight curve
of your spine next to mine,
your arm drawn so that it rests almost
carelessly, across my chest. i take care
to angle you so that the lines of your hair
spill across my neck and your lips,
a simple stroke of the pen, or brush,
blend into my back, moving the way
they did the first time we slept,
all tangled and careless,
and you kissed me awake.
and at such times, when i find myself
waxing poetic, i try to remember that
no picture, no thousand words,
could capture the scratch of your
beard or the gray of your eyes or
the grace with which you touch.


she was conceived because i was feeling restless.
yet she was born serene.


girl from a tropical paradise living in a cold but beautiful little island between england and the normandy.

and that's her life in almost daily irrelevant photographs and stolen poetry.



November 2007
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