I do love gifted men. It even seems to be absurd. I've almost forgotten how it feels.

I can't find proper words to express myself.
It's painful (though just a little bit) to watch and to be so dull.
Overwhelming August. Breathtaking.
I'm afraid of losing it.

And Bill Evans and Jim Hall make me so calm and so still. Cool jazz is a sort of meditation, I think.

Haven't been here for ages. Seems to be so unreal.
This July has been great, sure. Love will tear us apart again, lol.
Finnish - Finland - Emperor Paul - Gatchina, I love you.
Still imprudent and a bit crazy. July is hot like a real heart of summer.

Red and white, and green, of course.
The rhythms of Buena Vista Social Club and Manu Chao. Those very eyes. The songs of this summer. Green fields, a taste of icecream, wonderful old ladies of Ingria. Bluebells, yellow flowers, parks, ponds, trees, hills.
Carpe diem.

Miun kanssain.

And I'll follow the Sun this summer again.
Amazing.

Love comes tumbling.

If all the statues in the world
Would turn to flesh with teeth of pearl
Would they be kind enough to comfort me
The setting sun is set in stone
And it remains for me alone
To carve my own and set it free

Never come back, never.
The setting sun tears your soul into several parts.
For me alone.
Alone.

Does Nouvelle Vague help me to understand this world?
I just think it's summer again
but now I have two objects of love
I'm trying to be faithful...
I'm trying.

Heaven...

Blue sky
Sweet dreams
Green grass

Here we go again

Freedom

je m'ennuie de la ville de mai

Cette ville
Aux longs cris,
Qui profile
Son front gris,
Des toits frêles,
Cent tourelles,
Clochers grêles,
C’est Paris !

Notre-Dame !
Que c’est beau !
Sur mon âme
De corbeau,
Voudrais être
Clerc ou prêtre
Pour y mettre
Mon tombeau !

Le vieux Louvre ! –
Large et lourd,
Il ne s’ouvre
Qu’au grand jour,
Emprisonne
La couronne,
Et bourdonne
Dans sa tour.

V. Hugo

How happy I am to see you. The spring has come.
Here.
Pure and romantic.
Oh.
Just a singing girl.
She turns and leaves for nothingness.
She goes to nothingness.

Never come back? But what do I have in this cold and worshipped city?

I just promise that this summer will be unusual. And imprudent.

Oh, give me the words...
...that tell me nothing.