Everytime I m starting to feel distress, so fragile that nothing matters anymore, funny images always comes, keep me occupy the time to find my chocolate appetite back and leave me amused.
I keep thinking of falls, grandiose falls from ultra technical bridges, and then my mind focus on this few little seconds which certainly seems so long, what can you do in this few little seconds? If you really can stretch time, would you try to get some acrobatic figures done? Would you have a 360 degrees look all around taking the fall as an occasion to watch your city as you never had before? Would it be like a suicide tourist outlook? Could you actually sell it on touristic flyers? “Die while experiencing the ultimate London/New York/Paris Viewpoint” At least no unsatisfied customers.
And then the big splash, the body breaking the violent surface,the bone breaking point but is the heart stops suddenly while taking its last breath a bit like when you reach the extreme point of an orgasm? Do you die cuming? Do you ultimately fuck with yourself?
And then under the surface bit. I can feel the water‘s hands dragging me in the deep dark velvet pit,dark seaweed and draining current,gravity and terror, silence...But no! The heritage of years of bad movies and fantastic novels starting to colonize what was supposed to be a nice resting idea, a calm dream of death, a comfortable self pityness... But here they are, an army of sea monsters with a working brain, a green fishy humans creatures Lovecraft-ing through rusty Rover carcasses on the River Thames’ intestines starting to tracking me down... Then it s tinme to realize that I don t want to fall and be a dinner, I don t want to be part of the London‘s smell, I want to be a waste to nature and humanity, I want to disintegrate with no traces left.
The only option is then suicide by atomic combustion.
mardi 18 octobre 2011
jeudi 27 mai 2010
First letter, first week
my epic love,
thank you for your beautiful words, as always they are fuel, desire and gentle madness. they call me from so far away this time, out of somewhere deeper than the black yawn of those years before us, way back when the universe inhaled at my shoulder, over these judas tree hills, this jasmine fog, the 3000 mile convex oceanic lung....and so its terror to be here, a plague of sense, experience as pestilence, the loneliness of the starlight walker, the terraformer blues, motherfucker ! last night i was thinking of miller, and so thinking of you. he is one truth here, among many others (conrad, herzog, peckinpah) but alone in the night with your ghost its hard (or perhaps safer) to see the rest.....you will see, we can only dig for this truth together...yass, yass my queen, its a brutal culture hustle; american dead-tech sitting on cocaine runways behind american dead sitting on rolex streets, leather bound cruiseship widows hunting for a day of braided hair and tropical horse cock, ejecting down gangplanks serenaded by no13 hookers from unlucky casinos, mr cool, the fuckin colonel kurtz of air con, whose belly is pregnant with an unspeakable violence that expires through his low bony voice, beheaded tiger sharks sharing freezer space with kobi beef in supermarkets that shine quietly with tiny ambrosial feathers of french gentility (foie, cheese, bread, wine) birds like jewels whose microscopic songs carry your voice to me at 6am....i miss you desperately, ms martinez, without you these words speak of visions seen through nerves, dead before they take weight in the viscera. i think of you with every perfect move you make through babylon, with every pull of the medusa on your muscles i pull with her from 3000 miles away, take good care, take your pills, go to ceramics, print, paint and draw, eat properly and promise me your gifts of cum and sweat, smiles and laughter, memory and silence. i adore you my queen.
thank you for your beautiful words, as always they are fuel, desire and gentle madness. they call me from so far away this time, out of somewhere deeper than the black yawn of those years before us, way back when the universe inhaled at my shoulder, over these judas tree hills, this jasmine fog, the 3000 mile convex oceanic lung....and so its terror to be here, a plague of sense, experience as pestilence, the loneliness of the starlight walker, the terraformer blues, motherfucker ! last night i was thinking of miller, and so thinking of you. he is one truth here, among many others (conrad, herzog, peckinpah) but alone in the night with your ghost its hard (or perhaps safer) to see the rest.....you will see, we can only dig for this truth together...yass, yass my queen, its a brutal culture hustle; american dead-tech sitting on cocaine runways behind american dead sitting on rolex streets, leather bound cruiseship widows hunting for a day of braided hair and tropical horse cock, ejecting down gangplanks serenaded by no13 hookers from unlucky casinos, mr cool, the fuckin colonel kurtz of air con, whose belly is pregnant with an unspeakable violence that expires through his low bony voice, beheaded tiger sharks sharing freezer space with kobi beef in supermarkets that shine quietly with tiny ambrosial feathers of french gentility (foie, cheese, bread, wine) birds like jewels whose microscopic songs carry your voice to me at 6am....i miss you desperately, ms martinez, without you these words speak of visions seen through nerves, dead before they take weight in the viscera. i think of you with every perfect move you make through babylon, with every pull of the medusa on your muscles i pull with her from 3000 miles away, take good care, take your pills, go to ceramics, print, paint and draw, eat properly and promise me your gifts of cum and sweat, smiles and laughter, memory and silence. i adore you my queen.
jeudi 8 avril 2010
webshite
i just bought www.flashmama.co.uk for all the videos works in London and www.ishitart.com for the works with david. Yeah1
mercredi 7 avril 2010
mardi 6 avril 2010
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