The magazine of unusual art, poetry, lost dandies & dreamy hotels + Paris Surréaliste
NIGHTMARES LINED UP LIKE SHOTS OF TEQUILA Lost in a secret languageMy head in a song bag of foreign rhythmsPoliticians with their Ponzi schemesReligious leaders shaking their bag of voodoo bones My mind escapes into the intoxicated dawnPoems that burst like a ruptured water pipeRivers of blood sing their night songThe moon a bloody accompliceHides …
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Alan Vega "Hey, baby, baby, baby he's screamin' the truthAmerica, America's killin' its youth..."(lyrics from "Ghost Rider", by Suicide)
i am nothing i want everything - wine visions love sex ecstasy - the hotel room fills up with foreign chants - i've no idea where i am but the strange certainty i am a coal-seam fire in the dark playing russian roulette with Time over a bottle of rouge cigarettes old divorces & memorable …
PARIS POETRY 