kites

kites flying high in the sky.
children playing and memories dissolving in the salty sea.
i once was a kite and I flew high
now i'm an earth worm and i transform dirt into earth

i'm not gonna be first

another one

klick on the title and it will beam you to a conversation i had with my guardian angel

HA!

so i kicked my lazy ass and turned the link field on in this blog. it was really really easy. geez. laziness is humanities big enemy and in the same time our biggest engine....we'd still be doing laundry in rivers otherwise right?!
so, if you klick at the title you'll find a post that I liked that I found rummaging around in the september section. Actually, september has a lot of posts that I like. And I usually don't really like what I write too much :) so go ahead and check it out if you want to and have nothing better to do :))

Since ...

my other blog got revealed when I moved it to my google account (well they made me do it! gosh...) I thought I'd crosspost a little. The deal with the other blog is, well was, that it was for the people who know me and more of an update kind of thing and stories I wanted to share. Since I am not so much in obscurity anymore I thought I'd just play along....
here we go: go to this link, please: http://lunatics-unite.blogspot.com/2007/02/to-write-or-not-to-write.html
(yes I am stupid with computers and have no idea why this blog doesn't have a link feature. geez.)
enjoy hunting :))

phew

Phew, How I Love This Room!
It's been great to me. Really. I sit in the window, savoring the sight once more. The fortress of the homeless dude who looked at his creation of abandoned tables and cardboard walls with the critical stepward back of an artist.
At the Capitol Records Tower, the wires, the small alley way. The memories dancing in the wind.
Thank you room, for being so good to me. I love the interior too. My furniture. The way it's put. Stay put, I say to this sweetness, but I know it's lingering in the air like a fleeting moment and then it will be gone. I love it. That's the wonderful life I've been put into. Stay put says the wind and I wink and smile.
Good things can spring from here I feelingly think.
Many a post I wrote inspired by you.
The bed finally gave in though and it's time to go now.
Amazing how life takes care of things. How free and unbiased I can go now to Germany.

I remember this French Guy who visited me in Basel, Switzerland. He was there for just a weekend, introduced me to the Pixies and fucked my beautiful friend E. on our couch. The danger of it. The absolute audacity of it.
The song I sang for them in the velvet blue night in our beautiful backyard one of the most memorable moments. The gold dust of the sun rays in the songlines shimmers still through. And then he was gone, for ever. A footprint in the sand, scattered to the four winds.

Moments sometimes amount to an intensity of a hawk fluttering in the wind on one spot. Not moving, regardless, spying with piercing eyes. The aim unknown to the spectator but my heart, my heart it knows.

This French guy, he was talking all the time about the illusion of safety.
And as I sit here and love the songs and life and audacity I smile at the thought of the illusion of safety, and more, the illusion of attachment.

It's not.
There is no attachment and I have been shown. How we sometimes get tempted to jump in squares, in prescribed patterns, such and such things are unacceptable, moral behavior. Take it, don't take it, sue, don't sue, be mad, don't be mad.

Another guy I met in the bus today was reading something. I read over his shoulder and then I caught him reading my book. We laughed and started to talk. To the very end. It was the right person in the right moment, gracefully put into my face by Whoever It Is. He said 'People rejecting you is God protecting you from them. Never take anything personally'

I don't. Because, I love it. I smile. I can dance now, free and wild...

Backstabbers Do This

"Like Cain and Abel, Caesar and Brutus, Jesus and Judas,
Backstabbers do this

Forgive them father for they know not what they do
Forgive them father for they know not what they do

It took me a little while to discover
Wolves in sheep coats who pretend to be lovers
Men who lack conscience will even lie to themselves, to themselves
A friend once said, and I found to be true
That everyday people, they lie to God too
So what makes you think, that they won't lie to you"
(Lauryn Hill, 'Father Forgive Them')

It's not like anyone is free from that, I suppose.
I lied to myself before.
She must be lying to herself because she is acting as if nothing happened, her fucking beam baam baam smile sticks like glue in my face, smashed into my peace of mind, starteling me like error404 reappearing, more annoying than ever before.
Does she really think that that was okay? It's not about THAT they asked me to ... or lets face it, that they kicked me out of the house, it's about the WAY they did it. Motherfucking pussies.
I'm almost schizophrenic trying to understand and justify the actions of two people who I had considered to be almost my only friends here in LA. No matter how I try to turn it and no matter how much I know that it REALLY is for the better I can't get over the fact that what they did was matter of factly backstabbing me.

It's crazy, really. There is a way to do it and then there is a way how not to do it. And then there are beliefs of all sorts and expectations. But isn't there a fine line that defines a certain moral that applies to all of us, given a certain similar background and living situation???
Am I Fucking Tripping?
I am so naive.
I really. I really shit. Man. I believed them to be my friends. That really hurts. It sucks. But truth hurts, they say.

A Piece Of Our Love Came To Me Yesterday Night

Not in the mood to even fuck or kiss anymore, just turning to you, lying on the floor, legs spread but nothing like before
our love just in a puddle,
mingled in the middle,
a mix of my tears and your silence and the fears
cum I sucked into me before
so I could have a piece of life of you, just in me
just for you
I know you know there is something
and there was something before.

Loyality

Never is anyone to live my life.
See, I'm afraid. It's about loyality.
Royality of the heart.
'Take a chance with me. She is going to sing it - You'll find peace with me. You're my remedy. 07.'
Friends, dropping, Never wanted to drop anybody. Hovering above life like a hawk, ready to attack, obsessing, yet just observing though.
Never wanted to be disloyal to you. What are you doing to me.




But it's about finding out the truth about who you are and your friends.
Who they really are.
Who really is your friend.
Who you can really be friend to.
Passing dreams.
Fleeting, fleeting only and always, eternally. Never can anyone be me.
I gotta take it on or else I should fail. Or prosper, due to sheer will.
What you really want, what you really will be.
be, be, be, be. Is it,
is it, is it really me?
Travelling solely. Through and through and through and through.

NOT

At some point I asked myself, whether I could leave this amazing place. I thought, that, which will make it so hard for me to leave, is this place. This living situation with my friends. That we miraculously got the place we envisioned to live in, together. With the amazing neighbours. While my 'wife' Klodi left to Albania and my love eventually left me too all I had was them two. I thought, gosh, I am so lucky, I am so damn lucky that I found at least two really good friends here in this strange city.

Life is treacherous and it always teaches you otherwise.

Hypocritical motherfuckers. The irony is, I'm glad I found out. That you are NOT.

MOTHERFUCKERS

My hands are still shivering and tiny teeny little sobs bubble up inside of me to dissolve my sight.
A knife in the back, you fucking motherfuckers. How can you do that.
Voices fighting inside my head. One says, it's probably the saccharin angel, hey it's all good, it's probably for the best but the other voice just can't forgive that people don't even bother to make things work.
I could include myself in that one probably. Too self absorbed with my petty little problems. Who fucking cares.
Living alone is probably better. It still hurts, it's probably the immediate shock, it ripples through my body. They just asked me to leave. In two week.s Motherfuckers.
You have a sister in Santa Monica they say. You can leave your stuff there.
One of them, she used to be such a good friend, she says, you know, it's like staying in a dysfunctional relationship. I'd rather save our friendship by not living together. Whatever. THANK YOU BITCH. THanks for kicking me out of my dream house. Thanks for your patience. THanks for your interest in my life. Thanks for asking what was wrong with me. Thanks for caring when a bus almost ran me over. Thanks you stupid motherfuckers.
I wonder whether it's really for the best. Or whether it's just the easy way out. And, can I forgive them.
THey probably do that only because that french girls need a room. ANd doeson't she fit perfectly in your girly world.
I can't even walk outside into the night now because i am such a fucking giant pussy and don't wanna see anyone of them. I feel like moving out in the night when nobody sees me. I am so fucking embarrassed. That's it. man. At the core of it I am just plainly embarrassed. How did that fucking happen???? Am I really like a really blind idiot? Like a really egotistical self absorbed asshole that one can't live with? That's probably what boyfriends and girlfriends ask themselves when somebody breaks up with them. It's breaking up time, big time. One of them just broke up with ehr boyfriend again. And they break up with me.
Because it's important . you know. instead of ruining it. the dysfunctional relationship that has to be sacrificed to make it all better.
Am I the idiot? Do i have a hard time to face the truth or can it be that they are just MOTHERFUCKERS????

I Want You (She Is So Heavy)

I want you so bad it's driving me mad
(Beatles)

Life is emerging, merging and eventually diverging.
I mean, love.

She is so heavy, so heavy
(Beatles)

It's driving me crazy

There have been times that I didn't.

11/01 When he said let's meet sunday and I took Ma's keys and drove her car in the night without a license. A lady invited us into her house, she was lonely, red red wine. 'Enjoy, your are young' she muttered as we left. I stared at him. Gave him a hug. 'Do you want to come with me?' All the way up the mountain he held my hand, I was steering with the other. Made him climb up all the way to the top of the TV tower. My first kiss, a bright star sky embracing us. Sweet lost hours in the bottom of the tube. A beatle's song in my head. His hands painting on the canvas of my shivering body, my aching soul.

07/02 When I jumped on the train, decision making had been a matter of 15 minutes. Writing him an email on the way. Hours on the slow train. A long night in the train station, he hadn't read the email in time. I sang songs with a homeless dude in the station, listening to the lifestory of his junkie friend.

07/02 When the slow reggae beat engulfed my passion with his youthful lust. A dream to come true. Soft lips, whispering hips. Us in the gras, people trying not to stare, his eyes a burning glare, my smile sweet yet triumphant.

04/03 When I jumped on the train again. A taxi driver took me to his house for free. Sleepily he opened the door, come in come in. I marched in, threw his check in his face, tore it apart. Fuck You Bastard. I slept on his friend's bed - he of course couldn't sleep. Walking the apartment like a tiger in a cage. Softly kissing me on my sleeping lips.

05/05 When I spontaneously came over to the house with the bordeaux red room. His voice low and crunchy, whispering that he hadn't felt that way in a long time. I was standing naked in the window in the early grey morning hours, admiring the sunset colors of the adjacent house. He stepped behind me, it was warm.

11/05 When I took his hand on the Boulevard. Words descending like heavenly doves 'The Should Haves, The Should Haves, The Should Haves'. An old lady on her walking chair reciting youthful poetry warning of a time passed idly missing love's threshing floor. He responded, his hand held mine, it seemed forever. 'What are you afraid of?' his dear voice a whisper, too, under the starlet photographs in Mac Donalds. 'Nothing, I said, Nothing.'

There have been times that I didn't. Think. Too. Much.

02/07 When I told you that I can't.

it is what it is

You think too much.
You think too much.

Well, do I!

Boys, Men, - ...
Excuse me please, I don't have to try to explain, right? I am trying to meet you half way, don't you see.
Explanations always take on the color of too much thought.
Explanations are never what it really is.
They are a snapshot of a temporary state of mind.
They are the reflection of the clouds in the deep turqoise lake that hides what IS.
As opposed to what we want.
As opposed to what we think we need. Fleeting clouds on unsure ground.
What IS, is what we need. The pearls at the bottom of the sea. The world beneath the surface which the wind cockles and dimples only ever so slightly, just as your longing remarks you guys made in the dark in a car.
What IS, is what we need. In every which twist or mask or excuse it presents itself - it is what it is.
Not what you make of it in your passion-blinded mind that wants so desperately to have found.

Well, do I.
There have been times that I didn't.

it'd be nice

it would be so nice if I still had these convictions. without any shadows of conflicting voices within. steadily and enthusiastically (en-thus-iastic as in 'with God') fighting for the good.
if it would go without saying that certain things are indispensable in life.
and, especially, undeferrable.

In The Dark Night

As I tried to sneak up the stairs he started to bark. Chocolate covered cranberries cracked between my teeth, I felt like a thief. Red, Gold, Orange flashes in my mind, remnances of a breathtaking flower bouqet that some Latino dude had brought into the bus, at 2 AM.
It's valentine day.
At home there is a cookie heart covered in red sugar on my bed. Reminds me of the things I wanted to do but never did.
Chocolate covered cranberries are the best.
I sit down and read. And remember.

There was a time when I came home with a dull knife in my heart. There was a corner in the old apartment building that held each day an empty sight for me. An empty door with no one waiting in front for me. There was a swimming pool at the old apartment building that held each night a full bright night sky for me, tangled up in little drops and waves of warm water.
There was a time when I sweated all the tears away on a treadmill next to the pool.
When I jumped up to the sound of my 'Lay Lady Lay' ringtone. When my heart jump started a paralyzed me.
There was a time when I couldn't cut garlic anymore. When I cried myself to sleep, when I embarrassed myself, when I retreated back into my shell.
Then there was a time when I walked and talked again. Me too, I was reborn.
I lost the bracelet I had made for you and since you never came to pick it up ... oh well... it didn't matter then, right?
The candles I had lit for you, they burnt down eventually.
The music changed.
The knife is sharp now. Cutting pieces and layers of emotions into edible patterns.
It is the heart that is dull, longing to be lulled into the kind of sleep you only get after having made amazing love to someone you love.

All the cranberries are gone now and the dog went back to sleep. There are new problems now, somebody else gives me grief. Somebody else puts hearts on my bed. It's not like I ever got one anyhow.

For the girls

it hurts anyway.
the feeling of not belonging when you have finally arrived, techincally speaking.
the feeling of being left out even if it was your own wrong doing.
the feeling that you understand your local homeless dude's fortress a little bit too well.
the feeling that you don't even try to be my friend again.
So replacable.
Yes, I am hurt.

Stories to be told, Stories to be made of Gold

He Said, oh my god, you have so many stories, you really have to write them down. Do you know how many writers are out there who are dying to have stories in their background like you do?

That's indeed very sad I thought. How about you just go out there and live??

He Said, write it down now, it wears off with the years. The details won't be so vivid anymore. Don't worry about publishing or anything, just write it and the rest will fall into place somehow. LA Weekly would pay you for your Russia-US comparison story.

I went home, smiled at the table fortress my parking lot homeless dude built and got pissed off at my housemate who just keeps on gloriously ignoring my Majesty Self.

Things went well today. As if to give me an idea how else life could be like...

Oh well. Good night...Maybe my stories need to be told, maybe they are not made of gold.

Actually, a lot of them are made of dirt. From under my eternally French-reverse-manicure dirty nails.

The Morning After

Tastes like unbrushed teeth, anger, longing and frustration. Hollywood is still covered with fog and the creepy creeping prenotion that something is wrong in this world. Something is mightily wrong. I think I am crazy but maybe I'm not. What the fuck. I can have really good sex with myself, smoke a cigar into the fugged up night, smile at the sight of two lonely lights in the Capitol Records tower shimmering troublesomely through the clouds that lay down on the streets, grey in grey.
I can like my life like that, even if I realized just a couple of moments prior to that, that what I really like is a campfire and peace of mind. I like to long into the starbright night. Think of someone to come, one nice day.

I don't like it how it is now. I don't like that i know you it takes away the sweet romantic longing dreams.

I don't like you being a complete egotistical selfabsorbed asshole who will never answer any of my questions except for they are about the weather and practical things. Anything exceeding that is killed and massacred in the very fist fetus state. I am sick of the songs that you kind of hinted would speak for you. I want you to speak up.

I don't like that I don't know what is right or wrong and I don't like to think that my heart has all answers ready if I just were ready to listen. Fuck that too. I don't want to know. I want to find what I am looking for OUTSIDE of myself. Okay? Shit.

I don't like that the most lovely and charming man that has crossed my path in a long time still is in love with me and asked me yesterday night again where I'm standing at. Completely respecting and understanding my state of mind. Well, what can he do. He's been trying to cope with it since almost one and a half years. Isn't that something. And there I go hanging on to this ghost of our love that still haunts me like a motherfucker.

Yes, the morning after, so mingled with a fierce sense of frustration.

Asian Groove Again

There is no other title for this post.
This is the end of the road.
The snake who eats her own tail, gobbeling it up in slow motion.
There we stand again. In the rain. Trickeling slowly down, softly softly, falling on the windshields, creating patterns similar to those of Aboriginal Paintings in Australia.
Do you still feel that way? he asks. Like, you can't be in love, can't have a boyfriend, can't be a girlfriend.

Asian Groove Again. Terian Gulabi Buliyan by A.S. Kang sings. Tags: Bhangra, Punjabi, word, desi, south asian roots. Similar Artists: Bally Jagpal, Bally Sagoo, Baldip Jabble, Jazzy B, RDB

As if I could say something to this. I cringe I flinch I try to hint. Find a way. They say women use 20 000 words a day. I am at my limit. Does love really make that blind? That you can't see. Didn't you know? No. You just stuck around. You were in love with me and you just waited it out. And to my great anger and frustration all those people seemed to be right. It wasn't forever, not that I would have even dared to think that but certainly I feel how my innermost hopes got raped.

He stuck around. There we sit in the car with this amazing rain lulling me into escape, my dear friend, sleep.
It was such an amazing evening. It was perfect and I wish I just could fall in love with him.
Wouldn't it be perfect to fall in love like that?
Gypsy Gypsy gone, next please.
As if it would be that easy.
Something tells me that if I wanted it would be easy.
Quit apparently I don't want it.
And now Bob Dylan sings 'Living the Blues'.

Let's go and live the blues, come one, now, come on, forget the Asian Groove

words to build words to fall

disgusted and fascinated
like turning the neck to catch a glimpse
nevertheless
from the accident
blood splattered on the ground
maybe meaning could be found
profound unprofound

words to build
words to fall
people need to say it all
or hide it away
still they will go astray
come back to terms
define refine
build their lives by wordly time
tell a lie
tell it high
words to fall
in one sigh
deconstruct
reconstruct
tear fences down
then distract
same old game
words posing as a villain

tell it how you wish it was
pretense comes in many clothes
hope lies even further beneath
sometimes covered by ol' good grief

words to build
words to fall

i wish i could tell it all

my cigar

burns
into the foggy night
stuck in a crack in the window sill
my neighbor's window
it is dimly lit
behind the blinds

then
a grey skateboarder floats by
his hair a black silhouette against the grey parking lot
too cloudy
too cloudy
those curls

the
sensations, mingled with sound pearls
like a necklace forming a song
so familiar yet updated to a new now
how i miss you so

still

like
echos that come before
the voice. i know this was a trick by Eddy Kramer or so
gracing Robert Plant's impact

geez. you. cloudy you. how i love you.

a woman of mystery

a woman of mystery, he said in the midst of his babbeling, deserves more respect.

I looked at him, surprised, holding onto my book. My neck hurt from turning my head into his direction and his funny, vivid expressions that somehow didn't want to match his old features sparkled all over the monotony of the bus's roaring engines.

a woman of mystery, I thought to myself, mystery.

who is owl?

The morning was bleak and blank and instead of working out there was just a surge of sudden emptiness.
sleepy eyes dared to glance into the rising sun but just for a second. now the sun went back to sleep and it's night again.
you can only go so long without reciprocation. then you have to move on to creation. give birth, already. to sustainability. stop swinging on a swing child, go back to the ocean just drift around, don't walk on the water silly, walk under water say hello to your friends the dead. forget the nights that involved rest. now it's the owl around your neck, around your neck, neck.

It's a different night. And who is owl?
It is China with somebody else and she speaks Russian too, her sweet doll face indeed saw the light first in cazachstan and we could be sisters just by the looks.
She sings.
this is the link: http://www.myspace.com/whosowl

when the concept of friendship escapes our desirous hearts

"kanopeel@....
to me
11:53 am (19 minutes ago)
i've thought long and hard about you and i can't....




i will call you..

really fought

'King Harvest surely will come' (The Band)

Women, so seductive
there is no such one as me
but there are so many

killer, to think, there are magical moments like drops in the sea
percentage matching the one on the bottle - maybe

killer, to think, that somewhere somewhen
he will say
i just got a call yesterday
from a good friend of mine
you remind me of her

or something like
i really loved her or so i thought
although it just couldn't work out
we really fought-
and maybe it was meant to be
now it's only us, a new 'we'

then he will pick up her motionless hand
and the levee almost breaks
but she will swallow
and i will throw it up
up up up
into the heavens

into the sky

too much

but where else could i scream like here?
nowhere.
not even in the faintest mountain. fainting away in my memories are all refuges.
cloud yourself together. let it rain on paper or virtual matters.
black on white.

how could there be so much hope in that pain?
I was banging my head at the wall. I clenched my body, not only fists.
Hair on the floor, in my hands, around my wrists
heart shattered on the ground next to it.
but hope was growing in a fit
like dandelions pushing through pavement, regardless.
like dandelions, pushing, fearless

how can now that it is dying so much
rotting like grey flesh in cages and caves,
how can it be like that?
so much that when I close my eyes I just feel like
throwing up
all that comes to my mind
is the image of me
throwing up,
puking
vomitting
spitting
on the ground, behind a bush, at the curb, bend over a toilet bowl
throwing up
all this grey matter
that is fleshing me into nailed coffins of coughing old people who just never could let go

they say, that if you really love you have to let it go
and i wonder when i missed to go
and
why the fuck everybody else seems to be able to be going
why can all those people just do it and i just seem to be a dumb idiot who can't let it go
a weak creature
sulking and whithering away

oh, tell me, can you tell me please, isn't that untrue????

didn't plan on this

fuck i am going crazy

kill your past

that's why
that's why you want to find a partner or a child
kill your past and find a partner, who understands who you are now and who will stick around so he can witness who you become
not to run away
inside out

it sucks to be consumed by self
when it sucks you in
it's time to go
kill your past
time to dig hands into mud
because it's so easy to lose your ways
when your hands don't touch the ground
kill your past
when everybody you know
knows how but not who you are
when your eyes are blind of tears
and everything hurts
like looking back
or into a black quiet lake searching for reflections
or roaming the skies for signs
of a tomorrow

all there is
casted clouds
plastered with doubts

my inner child is coffee

just hit things!

some people are born again, like not only once or twice but really 8 times in a row!
it's not like i want to make fun of them!
but my aunt lived on the streets for about 20 years!
and my grand father was a nazi!
he beat her up once so hard, she was unconscious!
she had to publicly apologize and take back what she said about him in an interview that was taken as a contribution to the documentary and book that was published in Germany about my ex-terrorist uncle!
he is the one of the only ones who got rehabilitated into society. or is that re-integrated? i don't know. he is a good example!
what nobody knows is, that he chews marihuana and robs the worldbank in his mind! it's the last project he has to do to save the world from poverty! he is maybe schizophrenic, maybe it's self therapeutic, who knows! i mean, with marihuana a lot of things seem to be possible!
my other grandfather was an idealist! he died on his way to the outhouse at the age of 85 somewhere in Alaska!
he slipped on the ice that covered the path to the outhouse. it was dark and night and winter. he cuaght a lung infection.
he died in the the hospital and allegedly the last words he uttered were 'just love each other' and 'sophie goes to my second daughter'
his second daughter is my mother and sophie is an old horse.
she got fucked . wait, she got let me look this up, so this old mare was covered by a blind beat up stallion who was with her just for one afternoon. i tell you! a real stallion's penis finds it's way in the dark! it's a truly one eyed monster, in the very sense of the word.
and their offspring was fittingly called 'Miracle' and my aunt, who had a house near the cliffs behind the forest and who walked around naked all day, letting the sesam oil penetrate her skin to make it close to perfect, she showed me a song by Whitney Houston that was called 'Miracle'. She took care of the horses, until her close to perfect self-sufficient loghouse burnt down.
she is part of the flying meditators! a millionaire pays a bunch of TM people every month money (one million every month distributed fairly) to meditate (and hover in the air) for certain philanthropic issues!
another aunt moved to England, leaving the house that my Nazi Grandfather left her, behind. she is taken off the papers now! damnit!
one of my sisters is a scam queen!
the other is in Africa and believes that this family 'adopted' her because she is herself not because of her connections!
it could be true!
oh it better should!
another aunt is a Corporal in the US Army! Her daughter studies at Harvard!
I am a Nanny!


and sometimes I feel I need a dick so you can all suck it

and swallow

ps wouldn't it be nice sometimes to be reborn? with another name, that is

This is so beautiful, it makes me cry

I awoke today and found the frost perched on the town
It hovered in a frozen sky, then it gobbled summer down
When the sun turns traitor cold
and all the trees are shivering in a naked row
I get the urge for going but I never seem to go

I get the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown
Summertime is falling down and winter is closing in

I had me a man in summertime
He had summer-colored skin
And not another girl in town
My darling's heart could win
But when the leaves fell on the ground, and
Bully winds came around, pushed them face down in the snow
He got the urge for going
And I had to let him go

He got the urge for going
When the meadow grass was turning brown
Summertime was falling down and winter was closing in

Now the warriors of winter they gave a cold triumphant shout
And all that stays is dying, all that lives is getting out
See the geese in chevron flight flapping and a-racing on before the snow
They've got the urge for going, and they've got the wings so they can go

They get the urge for going
When the meadow grass is turning brown
Summertime is falling down and winter is closing in

I'll ply the fire with kindling now, I'll pull the blankets up to my chin
I'll lock the vagrant winter out and bolt my wandering in
I'd like to call back summertime and have her stay for just another month or so
But she's got the urge for going and I guess she'll have to go

She gets the urge for going when the meadow grass is turning brown
And all her empire's falling down

By Joni Mitchell