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WALK AWAY with Little Yous



Walk Away is an Orphan song released in 2006 by Tom Waits on a triple you need to hear. Walk Away is number 13, right before the Sea of Love. Walk Away is a beat dancing as we walk, claps under my steps in California.

Walk Away holds lyrics about a she and things done we can’t erase. I’m looking at the ocean. Walk Away is a heart beating on every page and the beginning starting at the end. I’m on a bike in Venice. Walk Away is no more rain and wonders about round and round. I’m going to the museum. Los Angeles is a frozen land despite the heat but there's Agnès Varda upstairs, talking California through a movie house, made of negatives. I'm a legal alien in L.A. Walk Away throws words as poison, blood, mirror. I am having a burger in Santa Monica. The voice says never, again, shake, thirst, cool. Someone stops me on Abbot to tell how great my pants are - the green hippie Balenciaga. I am walking under words such as murder, dog, roses. There’s a ray on the deadhead in the palm of my hand. Bone, drop, bend. Life has never been more wonderful. «  I always get out of the trouble I'm in ». I wonder. If this is the beginning of something or if I’m wandering around; and if something is in my hands, if something has ever been, in my hands. He sings no more rain and Make it rain is another treasure of him in me. Don't know what I want with the rain. Strings in the track. I’m with Kathy and Matt in the secret garden. «  I'm going away but I'm going to be back when it's time to walk away and start over again ». I’m laughing in a jacuzzi. Alone is paradise. It's also an american poem, so there's Cain and the Bible and sins. I have new addictions called Gelatina, Lemonade, everything Venice. I wanna live here somewhere between forever and for good. Claps are steps. Wandering around California with professional toys made for architects, I'm a child turning the world into sudden black and white landscapes. I write on my hands for the camera. Walk Away is right in the middle of dreams and reality. It’s a song written by Kathleen Brennan and Thomas Alan Waits.





The Daily Travel Books are sixteen volumes made of instant unedited shots. They are witnesses of a universe belonging to a moment in time where the best camera is the only one you carry with you.


Although they are not pretending to be art, a few shots by them have been shown in Paris and Barcelona’s collective and solo shows.


Often squared as if they were straight, the Deeteebees were fuzzy soft black stars until things exploded. Walking away in California, they cheated on squares and monochromes for a colorful Good Day spreading in Elle A. Flirting with documentary when they are other bricks in the wall from Paris, they are most of the time intimate love songs. Like for Marlon in green and blues, or Wasteland inspired by a kid from the woods. Instant love for the second they're living in, of course they dress in Polaroids sometimes. Using filters as a classical fiction technique, they are naked as unedited raws. Taken for themselves without any desire to be shown, they are very shy and deliver many sides of what time can be.


They obviously wouldn’t be themselves without Pink Floyd, Antony and the Jo, The Dresden Dolls, Tom Waits, TS Eliot and Woodkid, Grant Lee Buffalo and Keaton Henson or Unkle and Tash Sultana. They just can’t stop the music, cause they are nothing else but a soundtrack. Always on the move. 

Be kind with them, they are sensitive.



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