every object of desire is a found object

when you wake up there will be no water. when you wake up there will be no grass. when you wake there will be no space. the bridge between your eyes and your mind will collapse. the black dogs are burning in the snow white fire. i cannot care anymore i just float inhaling sparkls and swirls. just sparkls and swirls. the background is brown and yellow. this is my landscape. open and hostile. every stone, every leave is fulfilling my prophecy that everything will move toward a discrete rebellion.

::: traditionally, anyway :::

the other place

been caught drinking grass ... the tissue fills my inner body. it burns. it hides. a re:design. fresh as pain. interested in sex, death, degradation and power. all the houses in the city burn, i see their naked flesh. the streets are broken, the crowds are violent. you have seen it coming but you have not fled. the police is useless, empty. got another gun brother? no i don't think so. i won't disappear. and i won't be captured. i will just lay low and wait for them to come. this is my other place. uncorrupted and safe.

::: breathe :::

breathe

i can't stand this anemic brutal starshine anymore, yet breath will follow another breath. then, when i woke up the whole earth was blue. there were numerous shades of this cold, hostile color. i remember i went to the garden - it was empty. fascinated, i watched voiceless birds and almost transparent colours. i feel uneasiness, fear. then i turn. i am looking directly at the face of the painter who created this image. it is familiar. i wish i could kill him. but my hands are empty and motionless. i never knew i could paint that well.

::: another day. just breathe :::