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Oh ...

Soon we will plunge into the cold darkness
Farewell, bright light our summers are too short! I can already hear
fall with funereal
Wood resounding on the pavement of course.

All winter will return to my being: anger, hatred
, chills, horror, hard and forced
And as the sun in his hell polar
My heart will be more than a block frozen red .

I listen with a shudder each falling log
The gallows being built has no duller sound.
My mind is like a tower, which unsuccessful
Under the blows of the ram tireless and heavy.

It seems to me, lulled by this monotonous, they are nailing
in a coffin somewhere.
To whom? - Yesterday was the summer here in the fall!
This mysterious noise sounds like a departure.

- Charles Baudelaire

Soon We Shall plunge Into the cold darkness;

Farewell, vivid brightness of Our short-lived summers!
Already I Hear the dismal sound of firewood
Falling With A clatter On The courtyard paving.


All Winter Will Possess my being: Wrath,
Hate, horror, shivering, hard, forced Labor,
And, like the sun in his polar Hades,
My heart will be no more than a frozen red block.


All atremble I listen to each falling log;
The building of a scaffold has no duller sound.
My spirit resembles the tower which crumbles
Under the tireless blows of the battering ram.


It seems to me, lulled by these monotonous shocks,
That somewhere they're nailing a coffin, in great haste.
For whom? — Yesterday was summer; here is autumn
That mysterious noise sounds like a departure.

— Charles Baudelaire

A week ago I went to Haapsalu with my class. It's a very nice small town in Estonia, with many lovely thrift stores. In the first picture I'm with my school's hat, becuse it is taken on the birthday of our school. So I don't wear it every day.
PS! It started snowing here today, so Yay for me:)

last week's pictures from Haapsalu.

Bisous, Frida

Camera Inside Utherus

Dreams

Dreams join the sky, the sky of stars missed extinct stars, stars that shine still a little soft in the black mass that needs to be explored, the soft black mass in which sparkle with tiny white stars, the sky faded dreams, dreams washed away by the time past, dreams that believe the illusions have to hang up, no doubt unnecessary acrobatics between bursts of anger have finally penetrated the soft black mass, the dark sky of aborted dreams, stars at the end of the race, of lives that appear and disappear, their work useless to the work, shaping, fantastic forms, which escape fantastic sometimes ideas, words, of those intangible things that have escaped big bang, the big bang, the explosion in initial blast to ordinary, buggery lead to chaos, the laws of thermodynamics, entropy who panics, the panic of crowds, crowds angry mobs war, crowds en route to the big bang end, the little bang to their poor measurement.