July
Tuesday 11 August 2009 photo 2/2
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Hello.
I know that this could seem superficial, iniquitous, even scabrous, but for days I've been going in and out of your space trying to scrape together the courage to jot down these lines. By then I couldn't even sleep, without a fluorescent '''' appearing behind my eyelids, upsetting my soft slumbers with thrills of uncomprehensible languor.
Well, this is the story: I took a fancy to the projection of you, I mean, the little I can deduce from your images and words. I am at a crossroads, then: to comply with my feelings, coming forward with these barren sentences, or to abandon myself to the silent pleasure of regrets, satisfied with just soothing a desire made so sordid by my own passion?
At last, after many hesitations, I've decided to come forward. Yes, do know that, I would claim it loud under an ivy wall: I run after you.
I wrote you from my band's account because of a last attack of shyness that caught me off guard, even if optimistically inebriated with the desire of you. Anyway, maybe even tomorrow, I'll be able to reveal myself and face my sad destiny.
Alas, here they come again, the arabesques in front of my eyes: ... in fonts made of blood and seed.
Forgive me... your pure Viking but so Dostoevskijan beauty, divine nectar of a modern Nastasja Filippovna, and your naturalness, like leaves at the beginning of the autumn, play jokes on me, drowning me down in a whirlpool of broken bravery. Yes, I yearn for you, in this afternoon of lost pride.
So farewell, my fecund goddess... I ask you this thing only: accept my court.
One of the six.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
What the Fuck?
Killar är verkligen skumma små saker.
Inte för att jag tar detta på särskilt stort allvar men iallafall... Vem kommer på ngt sånt här?
Och kan ngn snälla översätta det till Engelska haha...
I know that this could seem superficial, iniquitous, even scabrous, but for days I've been going in and out of your space trying to scrape together the courage to jot down these lines. By then I couldn't even sleep, without a fluorescent '''' appearing behind my eyelids, upsetting my soft slumbers with thrills of uncomprehensible languor.
Well, this is the story: I took a fancy to the projection of you, I mean, the little I can deduce from your images and words. I am at a crossroads, then: to comply with my feelings, coming forward with these barren sentences, or to abandon myself to the silent pleasure of regrets, satisfied with just soothing a desire made so sordid by my own passion?
At last, after many hesitations, I've decided to come forward. Yes, do know that, I would claim it loud under an ivy wall: I run after you.
I wrote you from my band's account because of a last attack of shyness that caught me off guard, even if optimistically inebriated with the desire of you. Anyway, maybe even tomorrow, I'll be able to reveal myself and face my sad destiny.
Alas, here they come again, the arabesques in front of my eyes: ... in fonts made of blood and seed.
Forgive me... your pure Viking but so Dostoevskijan beauty, divine nectar of a modern Nastasja Filippovna, and your naturalness, like leaves at the beginning of the autumn, play jokes on me, drowning me down in a whirlpool of broken bravery. Yes, I yearn for you, in this afternoon of lost pride.
So farewell, my fecund goddess... I ask you this thing only: accept my court.
One of the six.
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