Novi_sad

Music is our answer to death.

If we accept that existence is a nightingale, then why we are all ensnared in cold-hearted vindictiveness?

Epistemological exchange between the sciences and the despotism of numbers… The arms of sciences are useless, when climbing on the mountains of agony.

Music is also, as Levi-Strauss said, “a mechanism to abolish time”.

How can I explain you about the hegemonic power of a flower?

Our gated communities have a barn door named “spaceship clouds”.

Paralyzed oxygen, traumatized flames and wounded sentimental poles are painting skies red.

Fucking Sherman Oaks! Fucking Sherman Oaks!!!

Diesel, cherries, ice and strawberries, for dinner. I really wish food was a pill that we should take only once in our life, when saying ”good bye” to our mother’s nipples.

Probably, there is nothing else but Music. Especially during the era of horizontal e-gatherings… Solitary people on the ugly basement of depression and misery…

Now, I am edited. You sculptured my rotten poles under my armpits. They floated down in the ocean to call on emergency those fake and silly hopes. Ha.

Microscopic lies are getting transformed into gigantic wounds. Why people lie? This, could also be called a gap of impossible crossing between you and yourself.

It might take a whole life to say one ”wise” word. Everything you read here is just off balance raindrops.

And, of course, it is way better to exist without appearing, than to appear without existing…

Diesel, cherries, ice and strawberries. Look at the blending of colors. This is where I live.

Imagine a cowboy from Nashville standing on top of Empire State Building, whistling to the cows and ants down on the streets. This is where I am going.

I cannot forget anything. Is there a therapy for this you scientists, doctors, life experts and suffering practitioners? Any recipe or surgery?

My words can put you in flames and burn you, inside a memory surrounded and caressed by diesel, cherries, ice and strawberries.

I cannot forget anything and this forms a crystal version of tears.

I cannot forget anything and this is my dwelling.

Communication is a sick process. It is like putting swords onto this emblematic tank filled with diesel, cherries, ice and strawberries.

Is there wi-fi in hell?

Whenever you put me on my knees, I will stand up walking on the top of Kangchenjunga and Manaslu, as they were only obliterated tiny stones. Ahuh.

Tango cannot be tectonic. Tectonic endeavors are totally linked to skin. Not skin conductance (PRI) and the stuff, but skin itself as a material to transmit and receive lust and mercy for all the forthcoming ends and of course for ’’The End’’ its self. Everything is going in and around that, when the liquidity which is protecting it, consists of diesel, cherries, ice and strawberries.

Ideologizing life is a mistake. Ideology has put humanity (repeatedly), into wars, blood, starvation, prisons etc. Kisses have never done it and I can ensure you about that.

Our mission is to edit the world. We are excavated rocky souls hiding poppies in our hands and the sun in our chest.

Our mother’s surname is: FIRE

And certainly: Music is the last direct, spontaneous, non-mutated, honest and universal language. In a world relying on and being formed by icons, sound is the explicit metaphor which leads to paths far away from roads surrounded by paralyzed oxygen and optical violence.

I do what I want and what I want is not doing what I don’t want.

Now, I know – All of you – At least, those I want to know – Masks are off

It’s the era of naked faces and there is no escape for anyone.

I want you to be drowned into the ocean of my tears and get reborn as a flying ethereal colored tissue, nicely misguiding all these bitter drops to the clouds.

Bombastic the twitching of heart at midnight + Robust the silence.

There ain’t a phenomenological study/approach on darts. Poisoned darts are people who are unable to look you in the eyes, clearly and directly. Referral to a polymorphic personality is usually inertia. Inertia is the absolute and generative force of any kind of creation.

Let’s protect the trees, at least. These elevated ghosts climbing on your knees are healing the bruises of non compromised silent screamings, which occasionally operate as cornerstones to a relentless and impatient trip, directly through the fields of innocence, to the icy smoke of jailed liberation.

Why people lie?

Why people have to be diplomats?

Why a lion is rusty?

Why a lake is alone?

Why people are hypocrites?

Why we need to eat?

Why we need to sleep?

Why people lie? (don’t tell me, I know)

Why people are betrayers?

Why the disqualified tendencies of hope sound always as choked happiness?

What is the color of the fields of innocence? Draw this color on your hands and cover my eyes when I sleep. Glue a rocket on your ”jumping mountain heart” and let it launch directly to a tropical lake in Titan.

This is the place where we meet. A tropical methane lake in Titan.

I will wash your hands and you will clean up my face from all the wounds. The myth says that if you put in this lake the wings of worry, they turn into gigantic singing helicopters – immediately.

Don’t ask me about politics. I only believe in ”jumping like mountains hearts” + meeting points such as the one described above.

Diesel, cherries, ice, strawberries and a tropical lake in Titan. Will you?

Golden the trees and their shade.

Golden the silence.

Golden the hug.

Golden the kiss.

Golden the heart of somebody who doesn’t lie.

The Yellow Wolf said that we only owe what we have never lived…

Nude nomad in Greenland.

Nationality: Dignity

Blood pressure: Ask the cherries

Heart beats per minute: Ask the universe