Yes I Am A Long Way From Home

Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away.– philip k. dick

I have so many things to do, I should get back to work, but all i really want to do is keep listening to mogwai, and pay attention to the world.


Our Last Day As Children

Jacques Derrida in his last interview (with jean birnbaum of le monde) describes a crisis i face nearly daily, myself:

I am at war with myself, it’s true, you couldn’t possibly know to what extent … i know that it is what keeps me alive, and makes me ask precisely … “how does one learn to live?”

We really have nothing to say to each other

Len: Do you believe in God?
Mark: What?
Len: Do you believe in God?
Mark: Who?
Len: God
Mark: God?
Len: Do you believe in God?
Mark: Do i believe in God?
Len: Yes
Mark: Would you say that again?

Harold Pinter on Existentialism


With Tired Eyes,Tired Minds,Tired Souls We Slept

The music of Explosions in the sky and This will destroy you is the only thing that keeps me awake those days. I love the way it makes me feel, like nothing matters,like i am far away. I want to sleep for many days and feel calm and safe but i can't because.... "you have to fight",well i just want... six days at the bottom of the ocean.


I Crave Your Mouth, Your Voice, Your Hair

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long and
I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

Pablo Neruda




Elle est debour sur mes paupières
Et ses cheveux sont dans les miens,
Elle a la forme de mes mains,
Elle a la couleur de mes yeux,
Elle s'engloutit dan mon ombre
Comme une pierre sur le ciel.
Elle a toujours les yeux ouverts
Et ne me laisse pas dormir.
Ses rêves en pleine lumière
Font s'évaporer les soleils,
Me font rire, pleurer et rire,
Parler sans avoir rien à dire

Paul Eluard

She is standing on my lids
And her hair is in my hair
She has the colour of my eye
She has the body of my hand
In my shade she is engulfed
As a stone against the sky
She will never close her eyes
And she does not let me sleep
And her dreams in the bright day
Make the suns evaporate
And me laugh cry and laugh
Speak when I have nothing to say

(tr. by Samuel Beckett)