Stangers on the street... why don't you come over to my house? I see shining windows everywhere, with things and people behind. I like these windows coldness. Face it. I don't know what I am up to. I am stealing looks, shivering members.

Crystal light, dope snow, burning eyes, love punch, fire pulp, angels with stick legs dancing over a sea of light, coffee shoulders melt, lips take the sea, nobody hold their bodies, freefloater, the ghost night elevates us, no feet touch the ground, allowing the day vegetation to grow, and when the day comes back, we lie on this grass, where the hoppers with their millions magical legs put vicious ferments in our heads, and this ferment into the night, and lift ourselves over sanity, over the grass. When the thrill is gone, some fall on the floor, some taste it, some cry the hoopers poison and it just feels good, some scream and hope a soul to respond, sometimes the echo is just an insect crawling. Dying on one of your lumb. You will now experience difficulties breathing, 'till the insect desintegrate. Flaming bugs cooking up our wildest dreams, whispering it to us in the cold streets where we lose conscience of the world. While I am dreaming of a boat, Biniji is cooking up vicious visions, and as I cannot find a beautiful boat, I lie on the grass and let him whisper to me that I should chase little girls, that I should drink prohibited drinks, that I should be bad to everybody. I like the sound of his voice, and my voice echoing it. I will go wild soon: I like too much being a luminous bug. I don't like to be understood, so go away.

Time for the words... words in a mean that... Goodbye, there's nothing new, but this last said by you... I'm sentitive, touch sensitive, nothing new, sentitive touch sentitive... there's nothing new, but you... your hair, they fall on your eyes, there's nothing new, you're beautiful, I hate you, I hate everything... nothing comes to life in that context... I can't believe this is happening... to me... again... snowfall soon... Goodbye, there's nothing new, but these last ones, said by you... and this world tricks to an end, wether there's something inside... nothing inside to rescue mine... just making up fantasies... you wont believe it, just classify me, I am telling... touch sensitive, I am sensitive, touch sensitive, a teller, dreams

The aestethic of "the fugitive", as it goes.

Smiles, faces, looks, and somehow it's more that it could ever be. I picture myself in a situation, and yes I am thinking that it would be better that way, but I am part wrong. Can we have complete situations, well done ones? I think we get fugitive happiness moments, but how hard it is to get a perfect situation? It takes wine, right people, right time, the right girl, and love getting the world in motion. Cigarettes are good too. Those perfect moments... before youth is going away. I wish the right ones would get in my way. But I cant even open my mouth, and opening the mouth is the first step to everything, world teached me... unless you are a true magician, but I didn't reach for that... Blah beuh bah, I follow you, everywhere you go, 'till tou talk to me. Where's my luth... too kitshy, I've already destroyed it... but that's kind of overdone, destroying instruments, ....damn!!! I am stuck with that luth!! Build me a vessel!! with everything! It's the sea, it's the drifters, it's... never gonna end, take my hand.

You will never understand. You become what you stare at. I don't like being lost all the time. That's why I need you. When I am lost, when I don't know where I am and when it is, you have got to give me something... maybe just a part of you're body, maybe just a word, a look, I don't know. Maybe you have got do to nothing, because it won't help. If you try too hard, maybe I 'll love you, maybe I'll hate you, depending. Can you get it when I close my eyes and everything disappeared and I'm lost? Would you recognize it and would you know what to do or to do not? Ideals made me ideal and fucked the whole world just enough so that you can't recognize it. You'll be in full sea of mystery. If you panic, maybe it will feel just right, because it will fire me up. Once you fixed in reality, you are lost forever. Then you won't see me by no window. Hope you fly, hope you float, hope you dream, hope you sleep, hope you get all mixed up and become crazy. I will be pleased watching you rationalize it. Maybe you'll see a secret kiss flying out my smiling eyes and you will strangle me and love me. If I predicted it, then shame on you, you already bore me. Each thing, everytime, I don't want to know what you're after. And who knows exactly what we're after? Certainly not me, neither you. That's what allows everything. God, that sea of possibilities... Can you count them? Do that funny thing for me. I ask you so that so that you can do something else that I wasn't waiting for. That's the point, if there is one, of asking: getting something strange, totally disconnected out of it. So I hope you are not waiting something from me, because here's one thing I never do. The only thing we can trust is secret, because even when it reveals, it's to trick us. I believe in secret.