From heart to heart it comes A stream of sounds That so worries, So beckon ... For Trevor, the one and only

Perpetual motion of things that will not stop even when we're no longer here. Strange feeling. --- "Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human?" Pointless, really... "Do the stars gaze back?" Now…

~For whom who far away~ Also: "The Red Cow tried to stop dancing but it was no good. "' I can't. It is the seventh day of dancing. And I can't eat. I can't sleep.' "Hm - very strange." said the King. What does it feel like?" "Funny…

Musique pour ne rien faire. Because of summertime, summertime...

Train of destiny comes when you do not expect it.

June, the summer is in full swing. We cook jam from wild rose petals (or more precisely, Svetlana brews, I play for her).

Ici le temps est absent. --- for Trevor

~Slowly the rivulet flows, paving the way~

As if I was a tree, And would stand in the woods, Taking the rain and the snow. As if I was a tree, Standing in the field, Looking at the eternal movement of the clouds. As if I was, as if ...

Who to believe? relatives, who drop out over time? loved ones, that dissolve in the night? yourself one, without being sure of anything? to a stranger who disappears at the same moment? Perhaps the question itself is not correct.

My dedication to all the night people. ~Midnight, alone, you~

Where to go away everything that we created? To nowhere, I guess. So, the show goes on. Or: tomfoolery all the way, yeah!

Tango, yeah... It often seemed to appear as displaying the life itself, but in reality it's just... ~tired passion~

Muted strat - what could be better for a quiet holiday for one?

How precise I have to be? And where is the boundary beyond which comes unnecessary perfectionism?

Soul: it exists, it does not gets old, it just gets... tired. But we'll feel this later, much later.

To be true to yourself - how is it? True to the sound that you retrieved from the instrument, to give [share] it away to others (to whom? you'll never know)? True to the mood that you're trying to follow, and which changes before you realize what…

This is like, hmm... like talking to a stranger on a train. First, it's nothing about, and then suddenly you discover that you're about to tell your life; or you listen to someone's story, seemingly intricate or simple (and therefore seemed familiar…

Waiting for something that would be: familiar feeling, isn't it? We look forward to when she comes back, look forward to when the morning comes; waiting to stop the rain (or when will finally rain...). Life itself is a... waiting? Note…

As turning the pages of memory, randomly and lento. All that I know, is seen not as it was actually, but with age and experience (...dusted?). How can I forget? Do I need to? ~Kudamm distant bells ringing not for me, not for us, not for who…