Twenty-something stories

After the serenade

Far from the whirlwind
of his mind and everything surrounding.Every color is a gift from behind. Every glimmer is a flag from the blue.
Walking through the evening sunlight, spinning with his favorite moonlight. Today'll wait for once, after the serenade.
Far from the main road, nothing else seems to matter. Every story is a sin, a fake chapel. Every glimmer is a flag from your blue.
Green for compassion. Red for the movement. Spinning, dancing till down. Carved in his skin.

Another cup of patience

I heard you watch, I heard you live as the days were getting shorter. In the haze morning travels were so odd and blue. Noise of hope, tamed the mind in which everything was hidden. I wrote some words, expecting the unexpected once more.
And came the night when everything got ready. Another cup of patience. And came the night when I wasn't aware yet that nothing was going to be the same anymore. A sea of wonder, a stage of lust and a lot of expectations. All these efforts, all these dreams I know them well for sure. All these efforts, all these dreams. All these unsure situations. You can run, you can talk but there's no need to rush. We're just knights fighting for our own flesh.

Sue and the daylight

Sue and the daylight, a story about love and fear. Attraction and repulsion,when there is too much. A box and four windows are just a metaphor of what's coming on the inside, she's her own skin. She says daydreaming is the deepest luxury. Walking the crowded room where she feels at home again. And she’s her own skin. She's herself swallowing the daylight. Fed by the anthill. She's herself unafraid.


Lost in a confusion, longing for a point of friction. That's just me. Left asleep in a hall where millions come moving, set me free. You keep falling down and I want you to know that I can see. You're not on this map but I want you to know that I can feel. Legends, odd stories. A compass feeling sorry.Where could I be? Charles is on a corner. His book on the other. But his book cannot speak. Deep slope, thin envies, georgeous bay no glory. Can it possibly be? Build a house for your dreams. I'll show you how to fill it. But don't believe in it.

The mansion

You look so confident, always out of the city. full of rope and lying wood. talking to busters
. clumsy time flies as you are running from your past. but there is always a footbridge in the middle of your mind. full of contradiction, we quit the mansion for the very same reasons. the engine is rumbling down, our hands trembling down, our shoes will save us. at the peninsula near the house there's dust raising up. life gone by is blowing hard, even if you close your eyes.

Fifteen roofs

Quietness is only apparent, because there are many horizons. My lonely elf is riding horses. He's stuck between ones and zeros.
Fifteen roofs are coming in. In and out. In and out. Through the shade of another dream. Green comes apart, we just can watch.
Everyone's waiting for his turn. We're not complaining about a silent burning. Everyone's waiting for his turn. It's not forsaken. Untamable eye.

All the colors in my head

my sweet friends, i've got a song for you. i haven't been around for days. but you were here in a hood of noise, a forest of thoughts and a leave of hope. my mind is wasted with all the colors in my head. i can't land on the earth today. my mind is wasted with all the colors in my head. but they're the ones that keep me living. i remember that i said one day i wanted fireworks all over the place. as the shore is near my old red ship, i just realize that i was wrong all the way.

There's a plane ready for us

early morning a warm place inside, another way to explore a new feeling but nothing's changed. how strange it can be. you can run you can call for help I will be on your way. if you’re looking for an answer, wait another season. there’s a plane ready for us. we just need to make a decision.

copyright 2007 air sonic / gardening at night records

Blue Fiction

I'm waiting for the sun, which makes me better and look further than my own little life. Not like the ones, who fight for bringing breakfast to the queen, who needs it more than anyone else. Whistles from the north are ready to bring me here, whistles from the south, they talk to me as miracles, are up to human souls. Diamond buried souls. The essence of the painter who tints everything for quietness. I'm waitingfor the sun, unexpected, hidden somehow in the front of your lies, mysteriously. Not like the ones, who draw the curtain to the moon for their own sake. You burn like the sun comes up, you never wave goodbye. You never wave goodbye on the rocks.

Secret life, on your spaceship to the fields, are you walking away from me? Are you sitting there to see? On this side, there's been so much happening. All doors have become walls, in those red fiction times. Anyway but not this one, I guess there is something to do with perspective and the way you look at things. I am here, I am here and I just want the world to open. I am here, with whom I am and I just want my world to open. To open it, to make them pray, to make them here, to make them swing on the right wood. Secret life, on your spaceship to the earth, are you walking away from me? Are you hiding away from me? Thunder road is just driving me crazy and I caught you smiling while you were pretending to cry.

It's dawn I'm sitting on the bus of the jam that life expects from us. There's many things that I want to see, so many things that I want to feel. Trees all along the way, trees unfree and unhealthy. I can't see the landscape well, I'm uncomfortable and I've lost the key. This place could be my last orphanage, if I choose not to win. I need to leave. I need to leave to be. I need to breathe. I need to breathe to see. My water needs to fly. Water and skin getting clean. Mourning robe for what I perceive, sanctuary where I wish there can be the eyes that want to own, the ocean in which I'll finally swim. Trees all along the way. Trees here to make me think. We're all together in our isolation. Dreamcatcher, my own dreamcatcher on your shoulder.

copyright 2004 air sonic / gardening at night records