When you are not around, I like stroking the floor rhytmically with my foot and listening how with every stroke I can hear the sound of splashing water. And I wonder where this sound comes from. When you are not around, and you are not around most of the time, I spend my time on ruffling my hair, biting the tip of my left thumb, moving my spectales ( Read more... )

All habits that I have made throughout twelve years of attending school (a compulsory one, of course), don't evaporate together with exhaled air, beads of sweat, or blood from cut fingertip. I am waiting relentlessly for somebody to flick fingers in front of my eyes and tell me well, honey, wake up, it's only too pleasureable a dream of pleasures. ( Read more... )

Piano Magic writes poetry of everyday life for me. They talk about twirling me like a bottle in both hands and about murmuring bad French into my ear. They mention snow which, fortunately, I have on my side. They sing about the unwritten law of sleeping with your face turned North, about being teacher's child. There is also something about speeding ( Read more... )

dawn: I can hear my mother's deep breathing in the other room. I listen to it for a moment. I glance at my watch. 4 AM. I count a few seconds and I already know that leaving bed would be as painful as pulling out teeth.

morning: Metallic flash of light in the bathroom reflects in the mirror and stings still heavy asleep pupils. Soft toothbrush ( Read more... )