a new Celf is/ed&jmmuseNoir

There is a reason for the celves ….a new one is born from necessity and when the old situation has run its course

I create a new one 

I realize the struggle of the waiting station of limbo has me ready to fly again

****

I turn from the window to look at him and consider our worlds 

apart 

and then my phone alerts a message

It is Josef….

<<I have an important question if you’d meet us in Jörn’s kitchen>>

yet I hear a familiar shoe scraping nearby 

What is it about those Vikings and their ambushes ….I swear

class to Jurassic/a landmark of the Legend

you know , there was a different tone in Mr.Lance …. he is the one who asked me if he could —keep my diary 

there was this miserable trip in the eighth grade 

and it was all abbreviated in meaning when 

trampled by the class as of 8 A, 8B, and 8C  at Heathrow Airport

so, it was that I got stuck with the boy’s bike because Chase refused to let me have the girl bike and I —got the boy one & fell on the bar—my crotch hit the metal and …. blood happened —thank you pussy boy, I just lost my maiden head on a bike in maidenhead England 

so, thank god for Levi’s that hide red well, as I fell behind on the bike trip to the bone dinosaur park —Mr. Lance …. whom later kept my personal handwritten diary …. took such personal interest in how I fell down the hill at the fossil dig 

really, so selfless of him

really 

so 

selfless 

Fine

nobody owns me.i am me.I am mine….

bien sûr par e-mail :) ! C’est bon! J'aimerais voir vos interprétations vidéo de mes mots comme vos icônes ! s'il vous plaît

tu as restauré ma foi en ….  humanité

surtout le genre "man….kind”

e.d&film noir jmmusechron/shields for battle

Jörn stands in the doorway of the old familiar art decco bedroom that had once belonged to my biological father, in the penthouse that had once been his that is now partially a museum 

In the dimness and shadows he watches me

“Andreas ….told me …you were here,” he says from the distance 

His words echo 

I sit at the old dressing table with the silver combs and porcelain brushes that once belonged to ….oh, I don’t know—I realize, I should ask Ilya 

“What happened to Ilya?” he asks as though reading my mind, “he said—“

“Oh, we found the overnight bag—“ I suddenly look up at him, “she’s gone into labor—I didn’t know she was expecting ….”

“Oh—how could you?—you’ve been—“

“Yes, I’ve been….I’m not going back there Jörn.”

“You have to!”

“I have to?” I stand up and walk to the window, “nobody owns me. I don’t have to do anything, I belong to me and I decide what I do.”

& always appears

votre message était parfaitement chronométré !  comme d'habitude!