My shoes feel so alien to me sometimes.

When I take them off they look like two pieces of rock.

I just sit there looking at them in disbelief, not being able to accept the fact that they were part of me for so many hours


In memoriam

It so happened that this was my first CD

I was convinced that people who could write and sing something as soul-achingly beautiful as this would be rewarded with at least a chance to live a long life

It’s when news like this break out that make me feel like another small piece of me has turned to dust.

It’s the little things that annoy me, like mites in the Summer

The barber who didn’t cut my hair short enough so I had to visit him again in less than a month

My car’s windshield which fogs up completely so I have to ruin Bach’s hapsichord concerto by switchin on the fan at max power

The morons who cut in front of me with their bloated SUVs or their sausage-length executive cars

The potholes in the badly maintained city roads

The bistro owners who keep interrupting my dinner to ask me if my food is ok, touching my back with their hands as if they fuckin know me

The fizzy drinks that used to be satisfying but now give the same pleasure as ash

The continuous reminders of aging, not of my own image but on others.

The lack of wet days and wet nights

The lack of dreams

The memory of dreams past

The inability to write something with something worth saying