Novi_sad

The birds my friends, O yes the birds, this is freedom… the rest of us we are all prisoners…

Prisoners of gravity, of television, of anxiety, of noisy streets and of monstrous urbanity… we are prisoners of fences around our hearts, of this “you can’t live here” statement… of worried depression syndroms and these cruel lunatics who do not naming their names.

We are prisoners of our loneliness, of screens, monitors, software applications and irrational economies of blood.

How can we have an occupation when our souls are being occupied from this dreadfullness? Can rain be preset?

Prisoners of concrete and disable skiess staring, prisoners of voodoo economics, of normal and non bleeding conversations.

Can your ears see this forest down there? And if yes, what about monday morning(s)?
Sound is indeed an awesome hypocritical substitute of freedom.

Let’s televise and broadcast the raping of our society. A bird will always be there ordering eyeglances of spontaneous girl’s hope. Our awkward eq’s strickly undenying mountain’s steam(?)And what about the story we left each other cos we were too self involved to figure out how lonely we have been most of the time?

We are prisoners of rusted pendulum tick tacks.

I am also a prisoner of these wonderful brainstorms taking place in the left side of my head. I recorded these sonic ceilings and “Misguided heart pulses, a hammer, she, and the clock” is the result.