I remember I woke up at night dressed up in his bed, and I felt strange. Like I’ve never been there before, sleeping.


     I feel the presence of someone in his life, I can not erase this. So why don’t I finish all of this right now? How many times have you said to me: ‘Do what your heart tells you’. So… I do. I just don’t think it’s best for me. And still talking to network. Still I have a head full of words. That’s the only thing constant in me.

      I’m unserious. All my life is unserious, trivial, pointless, ordinary. I am ashamed for myself. I’m not sure if you know that feeling but It’s like watching yourself from the outside. I’m Seeing my mistakes from another point of view, still doing that, I guess. Actually I’m not sure of anything at the moment because I have your music inside my head. And your words. And all of this is mixing each other. Like alcohol.

I forgot what I was going to be.

Autumn #2

     Autumn tastes like green tea to me. Sad songs, lonely evenings, cold sheets. I get miffed easily and I’m avoiding big decisions.

     Pile of books, hundreds of LP records. I think through verses, sentences, lyrics. I breath by music, keyboard, trumpet, drums. I am in East. St. Louis and New Your City of 1950’s and 60’s. And I’m walking there with men of jazz. I wear wet trench coat and creased midi dress. I breath by sound, contact through the sound. I go back to the time when sensitivity and emotions were valued. I want to live. Here and now. Only now and here.


     Ham on Rye, Hopscotch, Crave, Love is a Dog From Hell… I have a book for you for any kind of mood. And I also have a song which will touch and calm you, lull you to sleep. Or arouse you from sleep.

Depends what you prefer.


     Autumn. In the autumn I feel just like this… I travel by train without a ticket, fall asleep on the buses. Funk and soul play into my ear. So as usual. I meet new people, forget days of the week, I’m late for meetings. Don’t eat much or don’t eat at all. Rarely call my parents. I watch sad films and read sad books. I leave house at 5.55 and head back at 22.55. I’m working, drawing, singing, reading, dreaming, recalling. And missing (someone) in the evenings. I dream about love. This one and only.


     I’m drowning in the sounds of loneliness. Tea with milk for breakfast. Quick text in the morning ‘hi! How is it going?’ I’m falling asleep easily. I don’t think about anyone. My dreams are torn. I forget why, for what.

Call me if you want to hear all of this. I will pop in in the evening with bottle of wine to listen to old records.