Friday, March 27, 2009


“I cover the waterfront, I’m watching the sea...
will the one i love be coming back to me?
I cover the waterfront in search of my love
And i’m covered by a starlit sky above”

Some nights silence is not my only company...it’s the tenderness in your voice, how it caresses me with its palpitating melody, how it lulls me to sleep and awakes me until it shakes away my conciousness. The sound of your words, the sweetness with which you sing my name as if it were a poem breezed by the sea, as if it were a promese, a truth impossible to forget. It is the color of your skin, how i remember its soft brush agaisnt mine, the candor of your chest that is my chest, my home, an island to which i always come back. My hands lost in the abundance of your hair, your face hidden between that warm space between my neck and my shoulders. Your hands pulling me closer, searching for me, stealing me from myself to that heavenly place that is you. It is not always the absence, a lost beautiful song. Some nights, it is the beauty, the certainty that you soon will be inside of me, close to me, over my body, making new marks to wear with pride, bestowing gifts to Aphrodite, calming the storms and the moons, making melodies of everyday phrases, singing about your new adventures, making an unforgettable encounter of every night. In the presence of your lips, a new moon is born within me.


Time flies, girls stop being girls and they turn into flowers, into naked blood. Boys become men that cross oceans, men with wide shoulders, strong long legs and lips that kiss and kiss leaving a stain. Girsl cease to be muted lights, now they are softer, more delicate, mysterious. Men promese shared lives, they get married, they move away and live in strange lands. They fall in love with invisible women, forget the flowers, they leave them behind. Women wait, like seagulls drenched in love, like someone who creates, who gives birth, who loves and loves more thant anybody could believe. Time flies and there is people trapped between men and women, trapped between lovers and loved ones, between flowers and melancholy. Some people get lost in the shadows, they undress at dawn, say farewell and fall in love again. Everyday. Men disappear, women stay, they blossom into flowers while some men watch them grow, they smile and and swing their hips. Men disappear, women blossom. Time flies

We do not wait for ships that want to take us to the sea. We swin the depths like sirens, we swim with light fins along the melody of the undertows in our hearts. We want to be in love, hypnotized by those things you can see in the horizon, those same things that float and glimmer, those things that sing to the soul like there is no one else listening. Days are never too short, some of them last eternities, they whisper new secrets and wonders to look forward to. There is always something that awakens the hunger, that generates warmth. Lovers, songs, poems and flowers. Perfumes, beauty. We do not grow old in loneliness we keep hope alive with our song

Since i woke up i kept thinking today was your birthday. I thought about you, about all the time we have spent without talking and how it used to be the only thing we could never stop doing (meeting under the sky, trying to find each other, calling our names) Time has destroyed the greatest loves, i hope it does not destroy ours. In my heart, i still hope we can find ourselves, i do not know how or when, i just hope i won’t have to listen to sad bell tolls each time i hear your name (in the deepest of me, nothing has changed, your memory is still alive, i keep hoping to find you in every corner i turn).
I love you, and if you ever read this, come back.


We are all porcelain, divine skin resting over the bluish darkness of the night. We are all honey haired, auburn cherry haired. We are all “never found treasures”, enigmas, never rhinstones but pure glowing diamonds that catch strangers eyes. We are secrets, rising seas under half moons, bones and mouths of olden days. We belong to another era, we are strangers in our own land. Angel mouths and broken hearts, songs of enamoured troubadours and sleepy red poppies. In the middle of these wonderful things, we are flesh, flesh and delicate beauty, flower of flowers, carnal and warm, hothouse flowers, flowers wet with the blueprint of men, of naked sailors amongst all the fields and forests. We carry the air of nostalgia, the air of the sleepwalkers, the air of Paris. We are innocent, we are all fragility and empty dreams. We are ever flowing poetry, rubies under the sunlight, treasures buried in gold sands. We are all porcelain surreal and unfathomable beauty in the shape of heavenly creatures.

Secrets you can see in the dark, rubies on lips, glitter instead of blood. White lilies like pale skin in winter. Afternoons of sleepwalking, poetry that cries, poetry that loves. Caresses on naked skin (how i can still feel you inside, how you are part of my body and my soul). All these moments entangle and sing to me while i’m craddled in loneliness. Secrets of cloudy skies, nakedness and blooming flowers. Secrets of a young heart, of fragility and ephemerous wishes. These are the things that keep me from getting lost at sea, they surround me with pale light and soft music. Secrets you can see in the dark, secrets like a swan lake.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

heart paper lover


at the end of the day, sadness becomes a little too much to bear. you hardly know when it arrives yet when it’s there, you want to say good bye, you want to say “so long, i don’t miss you anymore”. at the end of the day you want to cradle dreams like babies, you want this heavy weight to be lifted away. you start filling the silence with red lips, too much perfume, sunglasses and silly glossy magazines to keep your mind away from your heart, but it’s always there, the silence, the heartache, missing and aching for you at every breath. you are air inside of my lungs, the weight of your absence has become impossible to bear, so i try to burry my vision, i try to pretend you are here more than not. these days are filled with endless dreams of beauty, floral waltzes and caramel wishes. these days are all fantasies and little girl lies. these days will always remain as the days where i stopped seeing in order to blindly believe. wherever you are, you are thinking of me, you will come back soon and there will be no more fears, no more sadness. at the end of the day is beauty the one that outlives sadness, i don’t cry anymore, i believe.



L'Age Mûr by Camille Claudel

Saturday, March 21, 2009

stories from the city, stories from the sea



the reason why pj harvey made me romanticize new york.

i will always love pj harvey, even if she starts to make bad records, i will keep on listening to them, yet i don't really see the possibility of that happening because she is so goddamn good. i bought stories from the city, stories from the sea in 2001 while i was in paris and i thought it to be ever so romantic, every song was a love song and there was nothing to it, they were simple lovely songs about being in love, about being with someone else and enjoying the moment. when i went in 2002 to new york city and i fell in love with that boy i met at a record store, i knew it was the time for this record. i remember i took it with me and i used to listen to it over and over in his little apartment in brooklyn, which was smaller than my room, i swear. it was very dark, it had only one room and it had a mattress on the floor where we made love until i had to come back to manhattan and lie to my parents about my whereabouts. it was such a wonderful time, the lying, the secrets, the sleeping with a stranger and loved one at the same time. right now, i don't even remember his last name but if i did, i'd search for him and tell him how very much in love i used to be. i remember i felt so lucky for having a lover in new york so my favorite song in the record was good fortune. good fortune will always be my favorite song from that record. to me, it summarizes the perfect experience of being in such a big city, and the video, oh dear, how i love the video. it is the perfect representation of effortless chic, especially coming from polly, who before that, looked like the most beautiful mental patient ever seen (is this desire?, anyone?) but when i saw that video, and i saw the perfect straight haircut, the side swept bangs, the sunglasses, the stiletto boots and gold purse she swings around in delirious happiness. the little black dress with the deep plunging neckline, the long necklace of beads that never moves even if she dances and twirls around, i knew she was in love. that video is the perfect image of being and feeling beautiful in a city filled with reality, trash cans, crazies in the streets and 24 hour stores. the way she waltzes through night, she seems to feel so wild, so alive, so in love. in 2002, i wanted to feel like her, i wanted to have her confidence and style, i know now i didn't have it, i was brave but i was scared too and she does not look scared at all. right now, i am closer to her in that video. i live in a city that is filled with horror and ugliness, but i feel beautiful, most days, i feel like i am walking in cloud 9 most times and it's never because i am beautiful but because i feel beautiful, does that make sense? what i mean, is that it comes from the heart, not from my ego. i am in love again, with a different boy, the most wonderful boy in the world, but he doesn't live in new york, nor has a scary small apartment, so he is not new york to me, he's a bunch of other wonderful memories, but not new york, never new york. and even thought he will never be new york city he makes me want to dance and twirl around in delirious madness just like she does in that video. "your boy smile, five in the morning, looked into your eyes, i was really in love








Tuesday, March 17, 2009



baby, hazy, lazy

Monday, March 16, 2009


the warmth, the saintly warmth (“who would have known a beauty this immense?”) hothouse flower, petals of white with the softest touch, warm blooded flower, how it shares my core, how it haunts and enchants (would you like it so? would you want to fall asleep amongst them?) sailors and nymphs with heavy hearts amongst the tuberoses, drunk with desire at dawn (you cannot lock love in cages, you cannot give it away completely, it blooms and withers inside of you). the boy that is you, possessed of magical sensitivity, the way caresses cradle your head in my bosom. virgin fruit with marks left behind by your teeth, naked bodies glowing with the liquid excitement of boys, of girls (romanticize, flower, flower, marry in butterfly red) ophelia’s thoughts as she lingers on the river, the girl who knew the name to every flower, the flowers that grow wild, i want to hold secrets like them, i want to be like them 

Sunday, March 15, 2009

dream a little dream of me








stars shining bright above you 

night breezes seem to whisper "i love you" 

birds singing in the sycamore tree 

dream a little dream of me 

say "night-ie night" and kiss me 

just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me 

while i'm alone and blue as can be 

dream a little dream of me 

stars fading but i linger on, dear 

still craving your kiss 

i'm longing to linger till dawn, dear 

just saying this 

sweet dreams till sunbeams find you 

sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you 

but in your dreams whatever they be 

dream a little dream of me


little list of thoughts

*a little too melodramatic

*everything seems brighter without any particular reason

*you make me want to give my heart away (for good)

*wasted too much time on men

*never de-romanticize the body

*hope mama cass elliot didn't die so alone as they say

*red is the way to go with lips, always

*i cannot resist tuberose perfume

*wish you were here to say nightie-night

*i have dreams about your skin and how soft it feels

*wish i could dress in black more often

*chocolate withdrawal is tough

*it's not that bad, you just love to complain

*next week is your birthday and it will be the first time i won't be with you

(blanket girls, always going through that and this, there's nothing we can't fix, i said)



Friday, March 13, 2009











Sunday, March 8, 2009