There's this dream where I am constantly running around
There's thus reality where I'm constantly moving around
There's this thought that I'm constantly moving around
And then there's this moment that I suddenly stop and realize all the while that my brain is a wicked chaos of a thing that seems impossible to tame.
No matter the place, no matter the season,
I'll just always be buzzing
Reverberating
Tire down
Lay my head on pillowed net that captures my ideas
Banishing them to my head and not my hands
In should be moving, toiling in a mess of wire
Burning the midnight oil til thesis ends
But I'm trapped
Trapped in that net of my ideas
Always wanting to play, play, play
Well, once again here I lay...
Thinking
Overwhelming
Knowing the only thing to do is make
Do I let the dreams lay the foundation?
Or should my panic be the inspiration?

After two hours of being tied to a bathtub faucet by my facial and ear piercings...

My thoughts are crazy
Maybe even crazier than I
There are barriers on our thinking
They are put there by us perhaps
Or maybe the man in the breeze
The whispers that are hard to recognize
Either way, those strings
They weighed on me for good
They were a heavy factor for the sake of surrendering your entire being to mind matters
But they were more weightless than a feather to remember
In fact if I came out of that deep thought, I'd give a tug on them to send me back
There were moments of surrender
Moments of excitement
Bordering on the many ideas which sprung
But fear
That they would depart before I could act
Your body traps your thoughts I'm afraid
And sentences them to lockdown
To speak these reactors and impulses your brain shoots off
Deletes the fundamental value to the thoughts
I think this is rather tragic
And again the focus has been taken off of those strings
They secured me in close proximity to that faucet
Yet I sit here giving them very little credit
Foolish
I owe it all to those strings
To that occasional tug to send me back to meditation
Maybe this prick of pain numbs my surroundings and gives way to contemplation
There was a sensual side
Nonsense in denying that
Here lay excitement as well
Indulgent?
Not quite
The tension on those six I posses
Only sent longing for more piercings
And more piercings yearned for more tattoos
Leading to immediate mind drawings
Coming back full circle to that other land where a tape recorder trapped my thoughts
Without any spoken effort.

Where have all the cowboys gone?

I'm scared maybe even terrified
I don't want to leave my studio... I can't!

Tingling
Everything's so heavy
But vibrating

Me, here...
And just like that............
On my way out.

Sadness or nostalgia?

Could I stay here forever?

Five more minutes, mom please?!

Mom?

kainotophobia

A world without secondhand stuff...

                                                  ....you can't take that away from me.

I'll run to the woods and find secondhand leaves.

NO ROOM FOR STRING...

                                       ....you can't be serious.

I'll find thread and double, NO, triple twine it to do as I please.

Take away material, but you can't take away ideas.

Take away freedom, you'll create longing.

Take away longing, you'll create protest.

But all along the way you created performance.

All this time, you supplied the material you stole...

                                               

jectigation city exploration

in the city
where the towers
once stood...
                            the met beckoned
                            pessimistic i stood
                            but the steps carried me in anyway...
                                                                                    entrance
                                                                                    walk through
                                                                                    sensory overkill...
                                                                                                               can't take
                                                                                                               much more...
rooftop surprise!
glistening eyes!
bamboo palace
built by the jungle twins...
                                                                                          ...pessimism within still,
                                                                                            atop the conclusion is aloof.

drifting...
down the way
there stands warehouses...
                                        riverside temples of art
                                        prestigious in some humble kinda way
                                        (dare i say?)
                                                                                                 sexual inuendos
                                                                                                 visual stimulation
                                                                                                 no, not giration...
                                                                                                                           sue williams...
next door
somewhere?
(the boathouse row of galleries)...
                                                   table top forrests
                                                   made of the twigs
                                                   that begot it...
                                                                              shuffle to next room
                                                                              a quiet gathering
                                                                              of the sisterhood masks...
                                                                                                                     solemn and serene
                                                                                                                     refined regality of
                                                                                                                 a ghostly commodity...
                                                                                                                        ...cecilia edefalk

inseparable roots

art makes me thankful for...

... speaking without a voice.

... experimenting without a reason.

... failing without degradation.

... thinking without minding.

... traveling without wheels.

... soaring without wings.

... knowing nothing.

... seeing everything.

... feeling captivated.

... reacting belated.

... fascination elated.

... vocals translated.

... pointed fingers turned back.

... inhibitions fallen through cracks.

... empty fields of wonder.

... children's curiosity of tomorrow.

... furrowed brows of confusion.

... masked illusion.

habit of nature

let's just say i hope things wouldn't change...