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April 10th, 2025

I’m in no rush To name this feeling I know it is the first flush  Of something fleeting In my experience Which makes me a cynic Perhaps with no sentience  I couldn’t live for the blip  In the radar of eternity If I can’t have it all I don’t want to have it at all  Does it always have to fall  Into dust and shards My heart wouldn’t bear Another such love I have learnt to build myself  From all my broken pieces Acceptance fills my holes  In gold And I am whole Which is why I am able  To hold myself together I never pretended to be Brave or strong.

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March 2nd, 2024

Whatever I'm thinking seems pretentious & naive.

Whatever I feel seems cliché & scripted.

Whatever I see around me seems a tireless pantomime of tedious significance.

Tragedy turns to farce, & life affirming life becomes grotesque, filling me with revulsion.

To be aware of all of this is to experience estrangement to such a degree that it almost becomes tranquility.

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November 27th, 2023

I killed a plant once because I gave it too much water.

Lord, I worry that love is violence.

Like my favourite cup that I held a little too tightly because I was afraid that it would fall and break into pieces.

It shattered in my hands.

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May, 13th 2023

Forgive me. I say to the wall. My life is paper. My jaws rust. Wanderer: singing. The sky is my home. I throw roses into it to color it red. Stop: these roads grow from me. My journey must end because my destinations have ended. Kneeling like a priest, seeing the spherical eyes of flies, my wish: emptiness and sudden light. Resurrection: I am dead from it — the attempt to live again. ——> It sings as me when I sleep: the world dressed in yellow. Never have songs meant for me what they do when you sing. And by sing I mean when you are just being YOU. I leave you: haloes and clothes. I leave you violently. Wished for silently. My own worse tragedy. Heartfelt anomaly. You walk away casually, as I wither away Gradually. Like the wail of an exile. Set for death walking green mile. Forget me: my truth. My masterpiece is my nonexistence. Sunrise: unbreakable dawn. I open your book. It has no pages.

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June, 9th, 2022

Sometimes I need to be a stranger to myself. Only then my soul can show me not what I want, but what I need to see.

Angels of light are not perfect. Their beauty lies in accepting this fact and still desiring to grow and to learn.

He wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with disappointment that he watched the darkness stride forward.

There is no light without shadow, just as there is no happiness without pain. I want to tear myself from this place, from this reality, rise up like a cloud and float away, melt into this humid summer abyss and dissolve somewhere far, far away. But I am here, my legs like blocks of concrete, my lungs empty of air, my throat burning. My mind, floating away.

The night is alive with stars, and when I lie down and look up, I get lost up there. I feel like I’m falling, but upward, into the abyss of sky above me.

There are so many moments to remember and sometimes I think that maybe we're not really people at all.

Maybe moments are what we are.... Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more. Is it wrong to thirst for so much more?

At times I felt that the universe fabricated from the power of the imagination had stronger and more lasting contours than the blurred realm of the flesh & blood creatures around me.

Silence before being born, silence after death: life is nothing but noise between two unfathomable silences.

Come sleep with me: We won't make love my dear, love will make us. As if you could pick in love, as if it were not a lightning bolt that splits your bones and leaves you staked out in the middle of a field.

Listen to me as one Listens to the rain, the years may go by, the moments they will return, but will you hear the footsteps in the next room? Will you wait for me… As I slumber like a Pharaoh…Tucked away deep in my tomb ?

( `_)乂(_’ ) nonsense nor death nor doom… awww shucks fuck it fuck it fuck fuck fuck fuck it fuck I ummm fucking fuck fuck fucking fuck. El oh el oh el oh elll. Ha ha hahahahahah

◑.◑ — ◑.◑

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April 7th, 2022

Somebody will always make something academic out of something new. Somebody will always make something retrograde out of something new. Somebody will always make something “monumental”, gigantic. The newly successful will always try to associate themselves with the powerful of the past. The newly successful will never sufficiently understand the past and so will be glib. People will always use every means and function to reinforce their position. History will always be used. Anything will always be made in cheaper materials. Something always diverts a time or a public from the best art of its time. Most people will always believe the most adamantly in that which they have thought about the least. Intellect and emotion, thought and feeling, and form and content are the same false dichotomy. Americans have an excessive awareness of an identity that they don’t have. People are not very bright and they are excessively the product of their surroundings. No one understands change. Everyone is looking for a home in the past while they live badly in the present. People at the present are not paying attention to the present. Philosophy and sociology, and politics as well are about how a more or less given human nature is divided and combined. Which is why the discussion is endless. It’s pretty simple and next to impossible. There is no point in action without a cause. What would free will be with no cause? It’s a paradox that living is so ordinary when it’s brief and unusual. Most of what’s wrong, done badly, is not in what is ordinarily thought right or wrong, the act, but in how it’s done or considered, in the underlying attitude, in the assumption, short of murder.

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March 22nd, 2022

We are living in an age of ethical austerity, where it is hard to know if affectations should be shunned or flaunted. Likewise, our (the artworker’s) moods swing between hiding and showing, concealing and revealing, creation and destruction, the engineer-esque and the painterly, understanding and unknowing. Unknowing, though, is different from ignorance, rather it is an alrightness with mystery, at peace with living on the other side of a thin line. The closest point to understanding is not knowing, but perfect mystery, where we are unhindered by ideas lower on Plato's ladder. And so we demand... More mystery, more layers, more veils upon veils, more clouds and more unknowing and in a stern sense Less Noise to abrupt at best No Noise.

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March 21, 2022

You will never get any more out of life than you expect. Keep your mind on the things you want and of those you don't. Things live by moving and gain strength as they go along. Be a calm beholder of what is happening around you. Remember - There is a difference between: a) the world... and... b) your reaction to it. Be aware of your conditioning. Drop and dissolve inner blockage. Inner to Outer 1. Start by dissolving your attitude not by altering your outer condition. 2. See that there is no one to fight, only an illusion to see through. 3. No one can hurt you unless you allow them to. 4. Inwardly, psychologically, be a nobody.

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March 17th, 2022

Conjugate deterritorialized flows. The black hole has become a home. Classicism refers to form-matter relation, or rather a form-substance relation (substance is precisely a matter endowed with form). It operates step by step. Spread the vibes and bounce. From phenomena of transcoding to phenomena of decoding. Imperceptible rupture, not signifying break. The interiorization of the melodic or sonorous landscape finds its exemplary form in liszt and that of the rhythmic character in wagner. That is why the musician has a different relation to the people, machines, and the established powers than does the painter.

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March 15th 2022

Pirate Utopias. Waiting for the Revolution. Music as an Organizational Principle. The Will to Power as Disappearance.

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March 11th 2022

There is no becoming, no revolution, no struggle, no path; already you’re the monarch of your own skin; your inviolable freedom waits to be completed only by the love of other monarchs: a politics of dream, urgent as the blueness of sky.

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July 31st, 2021

The Uses of Sorrow (In my sleep I dreamed this poem) Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.

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March 1st, 2021

2k0520 Sounds like dunno tyring Haha The energy goes nowhere A wall Because they forget, u build up memories with people that forget So its a very 1 dimensional way of experience... in a way Solo — Memory Maybe not, whut do i kno eeeeee Hahaha Rather make some stuff with dope people in spare time, but people often go part instead Its a waste / and they think I’m 2 serious So socially suicide / I’m sad I gotta go work again Feels like all is work And then, asks me One more time, again Sleep well homie My... friend. I i i i I

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February 26th, 2021

Nothing should hold so much as the sea. Not even the body. When we are finally done with our need for illusions, when we can look at a body of water and say water, leaving the body behind, we’ll begin rehearsing another life. One where it’s possible to predict the future by observing the flight of birds... so many shadows belie original light. Where the plight of an animal is to evolve into the sea. A life where singing is practical, even if underwater. Is where I drown myself.

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April 5th, 2009

Artists = Magicians Galleries = Chapels Exhibitions = Religion The Art World = Wall St. Philanthropy = Propaganda

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February 16th, 2021

I want the stars. They ask for nothing and give nothing in return.

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February 9th, 2021

no one really hears. We gaze into the night as if remembering the bright unbroken planet we once came from, to which we will never be permitted to return. We are amazed how hurt we are. We would give anything for what we have.