Wild Bohemia

Sois toujours poète, même en prose.
Charles Baudelaire

If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash.
Leonard Cohen

My Writing /
Photography / Diary / Archive

Viv Albertine of the Slits, 1980

Viv Albertine of the Slits, 1980

at the end of the day
I’m still just a little boy
who lost his soul, self and sister
in the dark, dark woods

better
lost in the woods
where Lucifer roams
than locked with the choir
in gilded tombs

“And I’m dancing to a scream.”

—   the Jesus and Mary Chain

It’s dark. 
There are no stars,
The sun is gone
And the moon
Is just a stone.

sur ton dos mes doigts dansentmystique cadencevalse clandestinedes dieux bannie
sur tes reins mes doigts dansentà rythme intensearcane mélodiejig sans répit
sur tes lèvres ils dansentd’occultes transesderviches damnésà des gestes impies.
reading. reading till you forget who you are.reading till your heart aches and and your eyes tear up.reading till the pages weigh down your hand and push up your soul.reading until you choke.reading.

reading. reading till you forget who you are.
reading till your heart aches and and your eyes tear up.
reading till the pages weigh down your hand and push up your soul.
reading until you choke.
reading.

I accidentally played jazz and street punk at the same time on my computer. I think I’ve created a new genre.

bohemians wild and woolly
wander on the road
storms in their eyes

(Source: killthecurator, via sladewest)

Vampires don’t fear the sunlight. They’re just constantly hungover.

(Source: wildbohemia)

the eyes, she said
the eyes are the keys
to worlds unseen, unimagined, unfathomable
and the lips?
they’re the doors, she said,
and kissed me

(Source: wildbohemia)