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Guilt

Jotting down a few words such as “glib”, “catch-as-catch can” or “ecru”, while bumping so effin’ unexpectedly into this song on France Culture, under the dim 2 AM light of my ’50’s red wobbly lamp.

Seldom does such music sound better on Youtube than it does on the radio.

Oh, how I’ve missed this voluptuous steppenwolf-like solitude of mine.

Bucharest is sound asleep and I’ve got a bathroom, a kitchen and three beds all to myself – the perfect frame for an undisputed reign of procrastination.And although guilt surreptitiously creeps in, three alarms shall be denied again the tiniest bit of attention in less than six hours’ time.
Guilt. 2017.
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