Can you hear me? I can’t hear you but I know you’re there. I know you’re hiding in a little warm corner somewhere in the dark.
Do you want to come out? Do you want to play? Do you want to talk? Continue reading “HELLO?”
The raw shark texts with Tilda Swinton.
J.viewz plays ‘Teardrop’ with vegetables
Rejection is a plump, chubby, biggish, roly-poly kind of guy. It’s that guy that sits between you and anything you want, taking up two whole seats instead of one. He snores and drools on you while he sleeps through the long and torturous journey, soiling your clothes, your feelings. Then he pushes you aside. Continue reading “REJECTION”
When I have a fever I still feel like I must write; to draw its ugly face with words and rat it out to everyone that wants to punch its face with me. But when fever comes by, it doesn’t like to be mocked. It grabs my wrists and pokes my bones and this is all that comes out: the few words above that I can manage to type..
And somehow a memory of Michael Wolf’s Tokyo Compression…
An absolutely magnificent tribute to my childhood.
There are very small, seemingly LONG moments in life in which every piece of reason gets lost. Every word gets bent out of shape and the present becomes completely…warped.
Sentences suddenly twist, facial expressions get distorted, and everything that weaves that instant gets perverted.
It brings me to ask myself if EVERY reaction and response that is obstinately contrary to previous behaviour is automatically a perversion. And are these perverse moments RIGHTLY perverse in order to make us change the aperture of our brain to take a different picture? Continue reading “PERVERSIONS”
Here’s to memories as one remembers them after they’ve blended into the past. My attempt to edit the pictures that flashed through my brain some time ago, my humble ode to London, Berlin and all the wonderful places in between. To all the smiling faces and ‘I wonder why’ moments. My take on picturesque snap shots, and an order set bluntly by me. This is my current abstract reality as it weaves itself in my mind, shakily going up, down, sideways, into the lense, and then backwards into the dark corners where the snap shots of small memories live.