Thom Yorke - And It Rained All Night

And it rained all night and washed the filth away
Down New York airconditioned drains
The click click clack of the heavy black trains
A million engines in neutral
The tick tock tick of a ticking timebomb
Fifty feet of concrete underground
One little leak becomes a lake
Says the tiny voice in my earpiece
So I give in to the rhythm
The click click clack
I'm too wasted to fight back
Tick tack goes the pendulum on the old grandfather clock
I can see you
But I can never reach you
And it rained all night and then all day
The drops were the size of your hands and face
The worms come out to see what's up
We pull the cars up from the river
It's relentless
Invisible
Indefatigable
Indisputable
Undeniable
So how come it looks so beautiful?
How come the moon falls from the sky?
I can see you
But I can never reach you
I can see you
But I can never reach you

±

I’m slowly trying to resume blogging again. I’ve been doing it for years just for the sake of writing, without conveying any message …just writing…just because I had nothing to do or no one to tell this to. Things change. And when they do they change for better. And so has the unstoppable engine has screeched to a halt.
And if I resume writing is because I’m being a good person, doing good things because there’s a good person next to me. I’m changing jobs, learning to play guitar, preparing the new issue of the zine and collecting hundreds of images for my Tumblr blog, which is surprisingly getting quite a few hits these days. The success of image blogs is puzzling, well tant mieux, I’m pretty much hooked up on it.

...in weekend knack

Just to prove that I still exist, there’s a silly streetstyle shot of myself. I can’t even be sure whether I like it or not. The part of any blogger’s jouissance is to be photographed in all glory the wardrobe may offer, to casually scratch the back of your head saying “ well, I forgot where I got these trousers, I think it was at some private designer sale in Antwerp”, and then you’ll probably site the designers by their first name, like they are all friends of yours, and then you’ll surely add to your ridiculous occupation of a sales assistant that you’re are a blogger too. And off you go – into the jungle of the city streets, sad creature longing to be hunted…
But what really happens is a poor lighting, clumsy pose and a head-to-toe COS outfit on the day when you woke up on the wrong side.