All Lyrics by Sasha Andres except « Gutted » (with Eugene Robinson)


you cannot be happy with a “B ” if you dream of “A ”. remember as being a child it was a normal thing to eat the whole dream if you wanted it. if you wanted it and not to be happy with just a part of it, no remember as poppies showed you : this desire for esctatic blooming bursting out in the morning, insolently red, and dropping dead at night, happy. never drop dead without a smile, never be one of those who forget what they hunt for what they found. remember as …


from the very first breath inhaled in this coloured & thick air. heart beats so strong through laughs and afflictions experience no does not teach for more for more than once. don’t wait for time or the collected years to be good guides cause all is unique. both lie. return cristal from this first breath inhaled in thick air heart beats so strong thru blooms & tears. each time this same frailty each time these eyes, no answer else.all return. dive in present with wide open arms no regret, no old taste in mouth. no plan, just a few doubts, with wide open arms &no old taste in mouth. translucid & ready for now with no old taste in mouth, just wide open arms no old taste in mouth.


let’s pay attention to this waltz of shapes and to their meaning. all is in gestures, our shames. corners make heads so narrow. narrow quarrels are boxes, rectangles, coffins. in circles milk is turning and the trip’s boring but a line to run fast and a curve to roll in is so fine. yes straight, and then all is in that curved… icannot stand straight, my shape slides i’m oval, of course i’m an egg !


how we deal with our bells to let them ring until we’re deaf. to the past. time assaults us i’m looking for wood in my inside forests to light a huge fire. a bonfire in soul to purify all. let’s light big fires so that those ghosts get as soft and aerial as ashes spread on a smile. you cannot avoid to light those fires in. if you want to sew it can’t be in a stuffed soil. if we deal with our bells to let them ring ting-a-ling until we’re deaf time assaults us, this time we have to roam, it’s becoming « festen » sitting at a table, dive in guilt, sure we live more than once refuse guilt, giving up the step one dive in guilt. sure we live more than once, refuse guilt.


i’ m not home and if i’d be i would stay mute. call me in the morning ! i trap your voice in my machine, call me in the morning, light should be bleeding. intruding voices make me nervous. call me in the morning, light should be apeasing.  suddenly i see colours splashing from the windows, unlocated orange friends and the far call of my city. a mother singing to my ears siren voices till i cannot hear the phone crying.


i ’m dead. i ’m cold to the touch and the dogs bark at my back and the day curdles and i feel sick and all of everything is my enemy. snakes and plaster cracked serpents on rivers of black. a map of heaven. i wish i could die twice. in the flowering seed of softness and the demon sidearm embrace me again, and god only knows how i ’ll be remembered because now i remember nothing nothing. i am lonely without knowing not lonely and i curse every shitty and crooked moment spent with strangers in bars and cafes smoking cigars and hating them for stealing from me what they could never get from me. God damn me God damn me God damn me.


very dead man is pretty young. very dead man has pretty veins. blue, stuffed, not discrete at all, a bit too bruised to look forward. very dead man drinks inside skulls, he also eats inside your brain, he swallows words, chews them a while and spits them when they taste too bad. very dead man has a big tongue to taste it all and spit far out. very dead man’s a kind of tramp, his rags never scratch his elegance. very dead man’s now on a reprieve and he wants it more than flaming. very dead man had forgotten the verb « to have » and his own life. very dead man is pretty wrong, a bit too much to die drunk. very dead man has pretty veins, he pulls heroin out of drugs. very dead man has a big tongue, he tries all right and wrong and he … very dead man would love to dance but he knows himself very well. he knows he’s just like drops of rain, he has to fall to give himself. inhale-exhale-bashfull-basher-inhale -exhale-swallow and spit. very dead man,he never turned his head, never refused his voice. very dead man was giving all he had, very dead man was a woman, very dead man has a pain.


the missing never ends. i guess even when our bones are ashes. strings still connect. each of us to the other all the never (explored) ways will always roam in our souls as the drawing of possibles, and we always fall in love with those landscapes of possible. yours are so wide, yours are so wide that I’ll never stay long enough to get bored by the exploration. the missing never ends, i guess even when our bones are ashes, and i i will always, i will always love you with this lack in the middle of me. and i will, i will always miss you as a hole. i will, i will always miss you and you know it for all you’ll never give. i will always …


in a time beside times, on a bridge between days, in the bubble space of a dream I met all my selves from a child to now. yes i met all my bounds to life. all those faces, all those colours crossing mines, I’m a raft floating on a stream. travel light inside head, means big bags ready for flights. travel light-but with full heart not heavy just well fed with desire. a baby is not weight, and a lover is not weight, if you dare life is made to let you drink its plain taste. you can be one of those rafts. pieces of wood floating. don’t even think travel’s hard. and on a stream, on a bridge between days, in a bubble space of ya dream i met all my lives, i met a field between days.