the 6th string

Looking at your fingers touching,running, creating and then resting back...you glow.
There is no other sound but the one of your making, there is noone else, just you me and the guitar.
Has time expanded into a continuous story of never ending nights and days, a floating feeling of wondering and truth.
I wake up and fall asleep again to the same sounds, and mesmerize...for I have lost the sense of being completely.
Growing smoke into the high ceiling, covering the tracks, covering us...silence and touch of silk onto my lusty hands.shivering...craving...insanity declared.
For I don't care if they shut me our of society as long as there is you and me and the guitar!

king or jester

I have never been at this crossroads before, it feels so new to me that my spinal cord is throwing me back.It may be that when you go down a path and found out that it may fit you , take it up immediately and embrace it as your own.What if you are just a burglar , a life stealer and a silly imitation of the king?What makes you king and not the jester?I have always thought that may over advertised spinal cord, my rules will act as the enabler, the lighthouse, but I guess life is not what you may think it is.The glimpse of the moment, the thrust, the lust for ravishing beauty, the seeking of mystery will get you down of your high horse, arrogant little lady and show you around.It will spin you in a carnival, make you walk a thousand miles in the maze like the 3 blind mice and let you get down when life feels like it.
What is this delightful pain I'm feeling, what do these eyes and arms crave for?
When you have lost one way can you just invent a new one, can you just say: this is me and I'm a king?
I really need to know where will this end up will I be forever the king or will I amuse the court for nickels and dims?

so this is how it feels..than so be it

Life's golden

She breathes slowly as she sleeps away the day, the worries , her frowns, her laughs, her inner troubles.Unaware, always unaware of what she causes around, about the mess, the hole ikn the chest the loneliness and all of their questions.Who is she, who is she, really?I'll tell you a little story about who the hazel haired girl is.She just one of those wonders, unblieveble, mistical creatures that walk the Earth, with the grace of a ballerina and acute senses of a liones.
You invite her to your party...she'll always arive late, barings her unforgiveble smile , messi hair and blouse lose of one shoulder.She'll laugh and say that something got in the way, scout on your cauch, jiggle at the othet guests and steal the moment.Do you think she knows?She really doesn't!
She does not care, she cares for you or so she thinks and news to your heart...so do you.
You forgive and forget and in five minutes all of those unmuttered words wisk away in the night.
Smokes when she shouln't , drinks vodka on hot days, when she should really drink water.Dances bearfoot in the rain , run across the beatch and chant rock songs.Dream about the future and forget about the past, than tells you all about it and laughs.
She runs , she frowns , wear white on rainy days and black on funerals to her soul.Dances in the street, under the streetlight...they just think she is crazy,pitty and regret that such beauty might be waisted on a spotless mind, a stolen and gone , empty houses.
There is nothing empty about her, not one drop, their just her inner mistery and there is you.Dare to trust her, dare to lose and you'l discover that only she wants to do is live life like it's golden!

Culori si primavara-n noi

Doar colori si doar soare, asta este aluatul nostru.Suntem alcatuite din flori si zambete si cer si pamant si suntem unice.Suntem femei!

I kinda love waking up in the morning to the sound of, guess what absolutely nothing.I love that I do not need to do things say thing to and for others, that is the only true moment when one can enjoy their own existence, when you are really away from others and their constant fighting for existence.
I guess that often happens in spring tine, when new ideas are born and plans come to form ...or when childish dreams are being webbed into perfect bubbles.
I guess there is nothing wrong with bubbles nor dreamers with no hope to get wiser...Do you, really?

Let's jump to labels, baby

Love is pleasure and love is treason...whoever wrote that had the slightest idea of how to put a label on something you cannot even see.Like faith or your feet in dirty waters.
I am really one of those truly blessed to have felt it but never could identify it correctly...or have at lest the decency to explain to others.
I do not even , really I don't care if it happens again, yes no...because I cannot define it therefore I do not know if I am there or was...
For now let's play hide and seek, baby-shine....