Novi_sad

There is still breathing when you are dead.

History is truth but truth is not history. Internally Displaced Persons (IDP) are truth + history simultaneously.

I want to kiss the Abell 1689 in your eyes when a Upupa Epops bird is observing us.

We got baptized by nameless trees and occasionally we are communicating through the movements of our ears – like the horses.

There is only one muscle in a man’s body and this is his heart.

I feel and thus I am lost or I am lost and thus I feel?

We plant the flowers with blood, we destroyed the chairs of mortality and then we got arrested.

Existence, as a product of survival, simplifies the fact that the ecstasy of failure is a magnet.

Where are the hearts going when they get burnt?

Where is joy hiding when there is no more blue?

Where the eyes are being buried when there is no world around?

You can definitely hide behind words but you cannot hide behind the Music.

We begun dialoguing with the past, which is like you are getting choked by swallowing a gang of bees. And then, we joined the army of defeated manifestos + threatening dreams.

Do you remember when the flames replaced our eyes? Do you remember when there was no voice and no breathe? Do you remember when the air washed our faces from the fear of eternity?

Do you remember ’’TheNostalgiaOfNostalgia’’ sleeping with you?

Our new occupation is that we effortlessly popularize any accident that’s happening around us. We are invisible vandals of social errors. We are brilliant customers of rusted knives and proud consequences of smashed memories.

We are being fed by Surrealismus Antisocialis – exclusively.

You are bombing my heart, stop it! I want more, stop it!

To fall in Love is like your soul is being pumped by Music.

She looks nowhere and this is my destination. The smell is connected to the heart and not vice versa. Which is the smell of this destination?

I wish that death’s color would be that dark orange color we see when we look directly to the sun with our eyes shut.

Lovers sleep on narcoleptic pillows. I have seen you again in the future.

Some smiles are like Music and some Music is like smiles.

Galvanized port corridors as feathers and you can imagine the rest…

Have you ever felt like a wounded dog in a forest?

Have you ever felt a vertical power hit you on your skull and force you to do something you cannot do? Is there ’’I cannot do’’?

Have you ever felt the Music swimming in your belly and veins?

Have you ever felt that returning is the only way to escape?

We are the inventors of reliving deaths!!!

The cathartic liberty of ’’yes’’ and the glorious refusal of happiness. And, certainly, the delusional fraternity which was born from the necessity not to be alone.

If you believe in ’’The Kingdom of Nothingness’’, the phrase ’’when you have nothing, you have nothing to lose’’ could have an ambiguous interpretation.

I forgot to remember to forget you and this is ’’TheNostalgiaOfNostalgia’’. Don’t will you?

We frantically vote Mrs. Lana del Rey as the President of the Universe.

We appoint as our Prime Minister Mr. Arthur Schopenhauer.

As Minister of Culture, we appoint Mr. Emil Cioran and as Minister of Foreign Affairs we appoint Mr. Sergey Gennadiyevich Nechayev.

Mr. Ambrose Bierce is the Minister of Education.

Mr. Friedrich Nietzchshe is the Minister of Mankind.

There ain’t a Minister of Economics because all we need is Love.

Are there any basketball courts in heaven?