. Liberty
- , 2001 - 2001
Droiture through Pishogue
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I'd love to be back one day. Though nothing happened so significant in
the place I had left other day, unless the tubes became longer and Jenny
played her guitar better with more passion... Grateful eyes of her lonely
fans showed nothing more than passion. That passion had no chance to
disappear going nowhere on the lonely streetcar, the one named "desire", no
matter we stood on the tips of our feet. We'd been looking in the nights of
erotic dreams and swimming in the stereo floods of radio still. Raped sounds
of lonely women grew in the freaky lights of street disaster.
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Don't you want to be just a rock'n'roll girl with all those natural
cosmetics of pain and taxi drivers songs in the windy streets. Like the
starts of all stars in midnight routes with hurting horizons... hurting
eyes... with 'yes' and blue motives of pregnant sadness. Soon the baby is
born. He caught her smiling in front of the TV news break; in his special
way he would gently carry her face blank and motionless to the rest-room of
ending stories.
I need defence in any bus I enter like the miracles stealer wishing
million pardons from passer-byes watching suspiciously. No friends. No
leave-takings. I wish I stole your heart instead of all those useless silent
joys of watchmen rushing after me. Great darkest psychology plays hard with
silver substance of your body. I was such a bad sofa for your hands, so soft
inspector of your gaps and stretches, so . . so, though no one should
intrude........
With the same feelings occurred the night before Angel came to LA.
Lipstick stuck in the mouth of the one she saw in the mirror with no visible
head leaning to the no one's shoulder. She knew it would be like that but
she could utter the only word of love that she hated to pronounce. That word
tortured her articulation, and by all means she always tried to avoid it in
use. However she could neither swallow it nor rip it with teeth and tongue
at the very moment she came to LA. Oh, she could stand silently in the queue
of ticket buyers, or she could split within strange prayers in the dim
churches or hide in car jams drinking gasoline and playing cards with
lonesome passengers. Or she could repeat the ending of the most fabulous
wrack, she could start...... At least....she could start. But she changed
her blood group and never more responded to her name. Yellow pages must have
saved it.
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