HERE'S LOOKING AT YOU KID



Early March, somewhere south Great Britania.
A colourless thursday.
Breakfast on the seafront, tea and cigarettes.
Seen greater moments, greater places.
All's a bit too slow now.
Too quiet and too thoughtful.

Sam's injecting good vibes.
Bright star and Wild Cat.
In her eyes, a city on fire.
A sensual Heatwave.
Love that Wild Cat.

MY NIGHTMARE WITHOUT YOU



Paul Gallier: I didn't think you were ready, but you are. I knew it when I saw you with HIM.

Irena Gallier: Who? Oliver?

Paul Gallier: You want to fuck him, don't you? You dream about fucking him! Your whole body burns, it burns all along your nerves, in your mouth, your breasts... you go wet between your legs.

Irena Gallier: Stop it!

Paul Gallier: Every time it happens... you tell yourself it's love. But it isn't. It's blood. And death. You can't escape your nightmare without me, and I can't escape my nightmare without you. I've waited a long time for you.

ONLY THE MOMENT




This time he is close to her,
he speaks to her.
She welcomes him without surprise.
They are without memories, without plans.
Time builds itself painlessly around them.
Their only landmarks are the flavor of the moment they are living
and the markings on the walls.





Is it the same day? He doesn't know.
they shall go on like this on countless walks in which an unspoken trust, an unadulterated trust will grow between them,
without memories or plans.
Up to the moment where he feels
-ahead of them- a barrier.

From Chris Marker's "La jetée"

COMMERCIAL BREAK

THE BEAUTIFUL ROSE



At times, one needs to take distance and jump into the beauty of simplicity.
Words can deceive by being too harsh. They sometimes lack precision.
Images are the pure reflexion of the wordless.
They can be described as the end of the real.
A precise pictural moment stuck in time.
When an image has the power to make you feel the grand magnificence of a moment then words have no reason to be.
But when words marry those images and allow the real to transcend.
Then you're close to a state of grace.
Redrose knew beauty was lying in between the complex layers of images and words.
A hidden territory close to his heart.
"Words and images are our only hope to transcend", he thought while thinking about those friends, he missed so much, those mavericks, from that southern spanish town, who saw as much as Redrose did, the beauty in those images and those words.
To those friends.

JUST ONE LAST DANCE



A dance hall, not a dance floor.
Girlish hand moves.
Candy perfumed Hair.
Bobby Kennedy lookalikes.
Tuxedos and cuban cigars.
Pearly white smiles.
Praying Mantises.
At the top of their game
Decadent fortune tellers.
Wall street workholics.
Charm of the size of a Swiss Bank Account.
Smile while you can,
Financial crash is just around the corner.
Dance while you can
Your days are counted.