At night all the snails
come out of their shells
where do they go?
They adventure to the pavements of my street
Some will make it to wherever they are going
Some will be crushed by a passer's by shoes
What are they looking for?
I don't know, but I always walk
carefully trying not to kill them.
I just like to let them be.

signs of winter

I wish I could write about love
But I paint my nails black instead
I look at the various colour trees from my window
All the leaves are now leaving its branches
In a few weeks, there will be no more colours to look at
I will only see blue sky, sometimes it will be gray
But it doesn't matter.
I think love is everywhere.

People are strange

and I can only think of eating

and getting high...

I wish I was around in the 60's.

I want to write, but I think too much about it.

I don't like this idea of thinking a lot.

Thinking means distraction from What's really happening.

Sometimes I think so much that I stop thinking, and

That's when it's good. I'm lost in space

My head is clear

I don't think of anything until I realise

I'm not thinking of anything and then

I start to think again.