Under the stars in Calpe
May 10, 2003
She was walking down the hill when the sky was turning blue after the rain. A little sleeveless white sweater, blond hair, dark glasses she had a yellow butterfly tatooed on her arm not rushing to conclusions, she was Irish.
Lolee crossed the street just as night fell to the News Cafe. J:C: Lod was having bits and bobs of his prick exhibited on the wall. Floating canvases in unexpected places taking refuge in undue shitloads of dreams.
Unable to believe his eyes enabled him to mix colors which felt uncomfortable when he did not have the initiative at the critical moment to sleep on the counter. Limping as a Spanish pirate lunging at green parrots with courage, cough and Rioja Cardinal Mendoza. Do not go gentle.
The artist roamed around his paintings correcting while caressing his no one will ever know laid behind a dark cloak. The puddles were getting big leaving behind hard-core curiosities from Amsterdam to roost in the Canary Islands. A.
Goldfish now shitting in self destruction in a fish bowl after Lao-Tzu taught him how to ride a bicycle while lighting up golden Dutch tobacco.
Just because - tinsel scattered on the crumpled sheets with curios dots lolee went back to her blue eyes because of sheer awfullness of yellow eyeglasses to those who scattered strawberry leaves on her pillow wiping away her tears, sniffing her arm pits.
And it worked. She bumped into her turn to the future, showing her little
belly button ring with goldfish Chinese carp hanging on her naval always
on the lookout for consequences winding around the last orange orchards
beneath the steps of the ladder pinching the last orange blossom from
the branches naked on the grass on the last day of May spring turned to
summer in a moment under the stars in Calpe.