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à Agnetha, Greta and all the others… À soixante-douze ans, Yessica Teufelstein avait été si longtemps assaillie, adulée, harcelée, par les foules en délire qu’elle déchaînait… qu’elle en était devenue folle. «Vous désirez quelque chose, Madame ? osait...

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Artiste Tu n’as pas de maison Tu n’as pas de nation Artiste Tu as toutes les maisons Tu as toutes les nations Artiste Tu fais de toutes les maisons ta maison Tu fais de toutes les nations ta nation Toutes les maisons sont ta nation Artiste Tu n’as pas...

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That morning I found her in the kitchen nailed in front of the sink delving deep into the water glass squatting in front of here… should she… shouldn’t she… drink it… the small glass container contained more than a mere half of water… empty full… who...

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for Agnetha, Greta and all the others… Gone seventy-two Yessica Teufelstein had more than long been adulated, followed, assaulted by the maddened crowds she was pulling much too often to her discontent… so much she had become mad herself… madness harassed...

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to self That time when he would have ample time within which to do his best… to the best of his knowledge his experience… that time when he’s too often not allocated that time to realise it… time to collect… time to recollect… time to reap what he’s sown…...

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I’m the cat writer… I write for cats… I’ve got cat’s eyes and I can write in the night… in the dark… I write more than I speak and it’s not because the cat got my tongue… there’s room enough in my head to swing a cat… to scat a cat… cats don’t need to...

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They cut it… felled it… Just like that… without telling… without asking… bloody murder ! Screaming blue murder ! Just when this town was beginning to turn green… and make other towns green with envy… I couldn’t believe… that tree was the life and soul...

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And for the first time for me music was… silence… silent… Leaving me a whole wide space to breathe… just for me… for me to be me… in the middle of the neverending expanse of music… a return to self conscience… awareness… leading back to confidence again…...

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Magic -just like shit- happens… every now and then… every once in a while… only we miss it… little do we notice… little do we notice it… unless we look in edgeways… Growing up we stow away… we store away our magic goggles in a box… in the attic of our...

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He wasn’t the kind of man who lent himself much to emotion… Men like him were men not girls… girls showed their emotions… men didn’t have emotions and if the and when they did they didn’t show them… they kept them to themselves… and so much the better…...

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