~ cat end ~

sing me back home

wherever it is. i've felt september already in august and now it has finally come. the reminiscences of this found in a forgotten corner of this place:

the foretaste of autumn. rainy saturnalia, sparks reflected in the blackness of pavement. fall undertows, movements in my soul that i was waiting for the whole summer. the saturated static, the excitement. it's not even september but the rain moves me to the callendar future.

and the future is now. yes, jane rose. it calls for paris and tomorrow paris will be now.

moved out and in once more. found a lost cat on one of the walls, all about my latest nights in a city where i don't feel safe.

caw caw, mjau. i'm getting ill and everything shifts ridiculously from blur to high contrast in a short while. and then again.

cry for laconism, girl!

and don't mumble to yourself in public ever again.

especially not in written form.