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“Do you know when they say soul mates? Everybody uses it in personal ads. “Soul mate wanted.” It doesn’t even mean too much now. But soul mates – think about it. When your soul – whatever that is anyway – something so alive when you make music or love and so mysteriously hidden most of the rest of time, so colorful and big but without color or shape – when your soul finds another soul it can recognize even before the rest of you knows about it.”


because on random useless cuteness, the japanese win hands down.
here is the link and here is my profile.

p.s.: if you want to join, ask me – so we can both get 30 ribbons for free. ;)


mockturtle soup (don’t ask why it’s called like that; i don’t know and can swear it doesn’t contain any turtle in it, mock or not) + hot buttered bread.

i wish i could be as motivated and organized as those flickr folks and register my daily food intake in pictures, as they do. but i know i’m bound to fail miserably at this task, so i’ll settle for posting only when i feel like/remember.


slow realization that the world is not for me, and that for whatever reason, I will never be happy and honest and the same time. brimming, always producing and hoarding more and more love inside but there is no release. table, ivory elephant charm, rainbow, onion, hairdo, mollusk, violence, cuticle, melodrama, ditch, honey doily… none of it moves me

{everything is illuminated, by jonathan safran foer}

because today i needed a bit of sun so i took my magical fairies outside and they brought their very-magical-but-not-really-precious stones and prayed for light.


prayers granted; thank you, little ones.
now you can enjoy the sun with me.

I want you to see the hole in my shirt where your
heart went through like a Colt 45, and opened
a dream at the back of the neck. Here, let me unbutton it for you.
Notice the ribs, those sweet things you loved, notice the insides,
the parchment lampshades, the books, the furniture. Notice yourself
sitting, holding my hand on a winter night, notice the look in
my eyes, now close it all up and walk away.

Stumble, pretend you’re dead. Just for me, pretend you can be
hurt by something so simple as a failed emotion. Pretend you have seen
loss. For god’s sake what was I holding when you said good morning.

Pier Giorgio di Cicco

is precious love.

from the book “oh! my god! i miss you!”. it has 30 pages and each one is a postcard that you can pull out and send to your friends.
bought last christmas in amsterdam.


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.



January 2008
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