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	<title>Nico Zahn &#187; alarm clocks</title>
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	<link>http://www.nicozahn.com</link>
	<description>&#34;what do you mean we are out of ideas&#34;</description>
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		<title>the visit</title>
		<link>http://www.nicozahn.com/http:/www.nicozahn.com/</link>
		<comments>http://www.nicozahn.com/http:/www.nicozahn.com/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 15 Nov 2009 21:00:25 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator>Der Deutsche Designer</dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[poetry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[alarm clocks]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[little hearts]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[salty wind]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[stories of compassion]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[warm beds]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.nicozahn.com/?p=190</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[destruction, mountains climbing, the fresh cold air in my face,  a familiar cold onto life long forgotten, warm beds, ringing chinese made alarm clocks, girlfriends hands grabbing around, a documenting flash for a photograph &#8211; its reality, it will be all, the step I will take to leave, to continue my life, the sweet warmth, [...]]]></description>
			<content:encoded><![CDATA[<p>destruction, mountains climbing, the fresh cold air in my face,  a familiar cold onto life long forgotten, warm beds,<br />
ringing chinese made alarm clocks,<br />
girlfriends hands grabbing around,<br />
a documenting flash for a photograph &#8211; its reality,<br />
it will be all, the step I will take to leave, to continue my life,<br />
the sweet warmth, how lovely, words,<br />
green passing by, I should stay,<br />
the bags are all packed,<br />
moving forward in the train that carries me here,<br />
listening to my tune,<br />
its been too long,<br />
wrapping pullover over my wrists,<br />
a stepping stone, stories of compassion,<br />
they stood all over the graves of their ancestors,<br />
drinking mushrooms, carving tattoos into their skin,<br />
animals of the old, its getting dark, time is moving faster,<br />
I have been here before,<br />
luckily I can scream, raise my voice,<br />
from this familiar cold,<br />
filled with stories that are kept in little hearts,<br />
beating until they cease to death,<br />
destruction, onto the plain fields,<br />
where the salty wind blows,<br />
for the last time I wave my hand,<br />
and whisper &#8230;</p>
<p>&copy;2010 <a href="http://www.nicozahn.com">Nico Zahn</a>. All Rights Reserved.</p>.]]></content:encoded>
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