Sunday, October 26, 2008
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Dnielovka R.
Dnielovka was a Ukrainian girl I meat in Lisbon. She likes to drink beer and smoke cigarettes. She likes to take long walks by the river with there handicapped sons. One day she's planing go back to Ukraine, but right now she's saving some money. In Ukraine if you don't have money enough, probably you will freeze to death in the streets.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Amalia
“Acordei e a claridade
fez-se maior e mais fria
Grande grande era a cidade
e ninguem me conhecia”
fez-se maior e mais fria
Grande grande era a cidade
e ninguem me conhecia”
Sunday, August 3, 2008
110º F
Fucking hell in Palm Springs… California is burning. The city is a fucking oasis in the middle of the desert. It’s so hilarious to think that the last square miles of living nature are transformed into a dead city. Dead as hell. Palm Springs is full of dead people.
Or… senior people.
Or… weird people.
Or… fucking ghosts of Frank Sinatra and Bob Hope.
Palm Springs is a fucking ghost town.
And I’m always saying fuck because I need to. I can’t handle the pressure.
Palm Springs radio… the music from the seventeen’s… Donna Summer and shit. “I feel loooooooooooooooove… I feel loveeeeeeeeeee”.
Whatever…
I understood that night that “F” in “110ºF” stands for FUCKING not FAHRENHEIT.
It’s midnight and we still feel the 110º Fucking degrees.
In the beginning I thought that the heat would stop burning me alive after the sunset. But… I guess I was completely wrong!
The temperature stays the same. The same fucking 110º F degrees.
It’s night in the endless dead desert.
It’s night in the colossal mountains at west.
The same 110ºF degrees.
I’m floating in the pool. Looking at the stars.
I’m still sweating. I still feel the heat, like a fever.
On the other side of the pool the ghosts of Frank Sinatra and Bob Hope talk about stupid stuff. RAT PACk and stuff.
In the Jacuzzi Judy Garland and Marilyn Monroe smoking cigarettes.
Fucking ghost town.
In this f night in Palm Springs, I do not know for sure if these people were ghosts or seniors. But for sure the sky was full of stars.
Or… senior people.
Or… weird people.
Or… fucking ghosts of Frank Sinatra and Bob Hope.
Palm Springs is a fucking ghost town.
And I’m always saying fuck because I need to. I can’t handle the pressure.
Palm Springs radio… the music from the seventeen’s… Donna Summer and shit. “I feel loooooooooooooooove… I feel loveeeeeeeeeee”.
Whatever…
I understood that night that “F” in “110ºF” stands for FUCKING not FAHRENHEIT.
It’s midnight and we still feel the 110º Fucking degrees.
In the beginning I thought that the heat would stop burning me alive after the sunset. But… I guess I was completely wrong!
The temperature stays the same. The same fucking 110º F degrees.
It’s night in the endless dead desert.
It’s night in the colossal mountains at west.
The same 110ºF degrees.
I’m floating in the pool. Looking at the stars.
I’m still sweating. I still feel the heat, like a fever.
On the other side of the pool the ghosts of Frank Sinatra and Bob Hope talk about stupid stuff. RAT PACk and stuff.
In the Jacuzzi Judy Garland and Marilyn Monroe smoking cigarettes.
Fucking ghost town.
In this f night in Palm Springs, I do not know for sure if these people were ghosts or seniors. But for sure the sky was full of stars.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Friday, July 11, 2008
The endless Loneliness of a Los Angeles room
Giant donuts have been in this city forever, but not really in front of your bedroom window, right?
This giant donut on the top of Kindle's, in some kind strange kind of way, had make me feel lonely for the first time.
This colossal advertise bigger than the store itself.
That’s the loneliest thing of all.
A donut that size is a cry for help.
It’s a suicide note in pink letters,
It’s the one thing that the stupid Europeans like me cannot understand. That’s why we feel lonely in this city.
This giant donut on the top of Kindle's, in some kind strange kind of way, had make me feel lonely for the first time.
This colossal advertise bigger than the store itself.
That’s the loneliest thing of all.
A donut that size is a cry for help.
It’s a suicide note in pink letters,
It’s the one thing that the stupid Europeans like me cannot understand. That’s why we feel lonely in this city.
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