La maison où j'ai grandi.
this gray city above all cities. I love understanding the need to go back and live it all well, with this intensity. Otherwise not be possible. Seeking
homes in all my songs.
Aroah sings 'Come Home' come home, I pray, do not go astray. come home to me ... where's home? where's home? . The Rolling Stones sang
Three Thousand when you're miles away I just never sleep the Same. if I packed my right now Things I Could be home in seven hours. I'm goin 'home, I'm goin' home, I'm goin 'home, I'm goin' home.
Billie Holiday, sensual (impossibly otherwise), spider baby won't you please come home, 'cause your daddy's all alone .
Galaxie 500, almost bawling waitin for your call, when, when will you come home? The Mountain Goats
also sang home again, home again. Ryan Adams does anybody want yells to take me home? .
And of course my dear Polly Jean. Searching desperately, A Place Called Home.
What I like about my house.
I enjoy being with Pachi, and Iriana Enar watching movies, going out, taking things. With anger, dancing, shouting, drinking. Walking. Planning. Simply by feeling them.
I enjoy being able to see Chema, and kiss a lot, and everything else. Reunited with him. That gave me a beautiful book, 'The Trout Fishing in America', caressing the cover, smell the pages. Read his dedication way home in the dark, because it is so dark. I always come back at night and with a huge hole.
Take the car and escape on a Sunday night with hot water Xacobe. Search the contrast of negative air degrees and positive 40 degrees in water. Boil, skin tear to shreds. It strikes 4:00 am, and I do not care. Here time is delayed, I feel safe, no hours or minutes, there is nothing more than the here and now.
Go to Santiago and I no longer bother his gray, the rain, its nothing. We just want to Cibrán and Laura and Alba and Xacobe there. Drinking wine before dinner and stroll the town drunk. Shock, feeling it push us around in bed. The music, touch, music. Laugh so stupid.
All those people who have not seen, and I do not know if you see him, but belong to the city here with me. Upon arrival I spent hours on the phone with Nela. House. House. Always. Business as Usual. As if nothing had happened. Joy told me that when Christmas arrived in Paris, where he was born and lived long, did not recognize, was lost tourist. And people had changed. If my house changed its facade, I would die. I go into stores and people who do not know ask me about Paris. I guess my mother has been missed by the entire neighborhood. I explain that I do not live in Paris. I hate Paris, damn. I hate everything other than this right here and right now.
the sofa, my mother is a red blanket, mini wraps around my legs. Everything hurts and is sweet, it's me and nobody else, time is mine, nobody else has the time. All my life is near, next to the skin, in every corner. I can come and go and escape and come back and sleep and mourn and walk barefoot and sick because it's my home, and be crazy, once again unleashed.
Why must it be so. If I know my site, my site is here.
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