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Soldiers feeling blurred and blue, having lost the fight. What fight. A fight imagined by them and others. Nature has taken them. Red stains on the canvas. Blood merging with water, or goldfish enjoying a treat. Their circle of life. They are not lost, just again being used. Used for a purpose. Delightfully foolish. Why wandering. Feel free to get in there and get lost.


Welcome to my spaceship, you’re beautiful as ever. Waste of space, lets get stuck. Plenty of mud and many clouds hanging in the dark. Let them find us first. Listen to the piano man, isn’t he adorable? Finding seduction in there ? Alphabetical order dismissed, that sounds weird. Getting bad. Taking off for another challenge, got enough fuel in me.


The Beauty seduced by the Beast, the Beast adored by itself. Grey is the night, pink is the morning. Chasing one and another, only death parts. Forceful feelings win, how ugly they may be. Colour is love. You are so colourful. I’m blessed.


Believing is almighty. What the hell. Love is religion. 


Crash. Carelessness. Gestures without purpose. Relaxing my feelings. No road. Choosing red, annoyed by red. Stuck to get out. Swapping to another. No, it’s not finished. What am I ? deliciously attracted. Flying in my paint. Getting high. No, I’m not yet finished.  


Charlie, shrink on duty, fish in a bowl. Stories desired to be told, getting drunk in the dark. Enchanté, put your legs up in the air. Untrue secrets searching for pity. Don’t look at me, I’m no help.  


The day my father was born, I wasn’t there. 

The day he will die, I won’t be there. 

The days I lived, he wasn’t there.


The dog burns his tail in your shit. Let him out. Can’t you see agony ?  Can’t feel at all ? You imagine you’re the centre of the world, all will walk over you. They smell. 


Gliding down the drain. Illustres inconnus. Their names are done. Fading talent. Muddy greenish stuff between the toes. That’s disgusting. Pride gone with the wind, parade to be organised. Memory card full.


London, 8th of October 07

Yesterday, got to my past. Details slumbering in 20 years of growth of memory cells popped up and got a meaning. My starting independency of building a life.

Cemetery, bridge, street names, pubs, roads to cross, house numbers and finally faces, names, tears and love. 

Living day by day, layer by layer. Brick wall strongly cemented.

I’m not a past person, but feeling how it felt then in the past, I’m glad I did it all by foot, using my 5 senses for it learned me to feel the same way when now strolling through age, drinking every detail of time. 

My brain remixed the images of that past, like Baselitz remixes his early paintings with his eyes of today. Confirming that life is solid and that lived events are always subject to discoveries, like hidden moments ? 

I wonder if one day, I’ll be able to put in painting these words. Don’t want to color any history, for I’m not. Just trying to find some trace of that independent feeling again.


How many loose, unworthy words are said in this world on this particular moment ?

How come people always have to talk ? Disturbing the peace, the sound of the earth.

Yet, they are earth too.


‘Thoughts’: my favourite place to wander; to lose myself in timeless memories and planning; a place where I relax in my own world and regenerate new energies. The ideal place to get creative. A place, where it is silent and where it can get rather lively too. Where I can hate without hurting; where my opinions are safe for comments.



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