06 April 2013

Amsterdam




         29.3.     wonder bar

         still as high as 
ever, but
              scribble -
               that's truly forever

        I can't teach a
          soul to be
   I can only
             linger aside

          watch how ink
                    dances itself
                 into being

                coming from, not
 here
              not from a mere
pen

               but a conscious 
        mind inside
a body
 


2.4.     paradox

 fuck imperialism and its stench on the streets of dam



 3.4.    plane full of markkus

I hope I trip my ass off asap.

'yes we can' is a collectivist exclamation, and when read backwards reads 'thank you satan.' no, rather - when played backwards. 

some controlling force lies beyond real, the ethereal. so many things have tried my spirit, not by being tempting but by embodying suffering. I feel bad seeing addictions, obsessiveness, compulsions - slavery.

slave to the system that's death.

I should become able to rule the system, to master.

smelly socks, ours, on the plane with all them business men. usually I travel with the cheapest airlines, now finnair which equates to markkus on schipol.

I want to be in kallio asap. I am too judgmental for this land, for these people. this is insanity. the way people perceive themselves and the people around them.

I should be open for each moment. give up people who can't do it also.

our consciousnesses are as raw as my handwriting on the driving plane. the sky is ugly, so hazy above the airport.



up in the air. man makes amazing infrastructure. the mind thinks like God - childishly, but still.

my shirt is but wrinkles. 

everything's so lost.

being in the condition of doubt is horrible.

I want to ride life happy and confident. brave and strong. I can't have that reflected from a face of fear and insanity.

we sit in the second last row of the plane. need to wait for my wine. I hope the cake comes on slow and strong. I already feel a bit pinching in my stomach and my visual field is gaining color.

wine. my body yearns back to a place with no energy vampires by my side constantly. I have to give my energy to those that are good and have a true goal. 

I, I need to write and sell myself as a writer to this world. I have to make myself in writing. I hope my hair grows long soon and I'll master myself as I should. the ether is what I sense, should aim at bringing down as high energies as possible.

I feel sad over these human bodies being destroyed. I hate to watch people destroy, just kill themselves. the body needs food, not mere filling for comfort. 

got my red. I have the tastes of a nineteenth century frenchman. 

can feel my head numb over a long lost friend being alive. he's in napoli. I hope he has found happiness. people who seem to hate themselves with no remorse are odd in the eyes of us two. if I will ever meet him again, I will shine in the light of bliss for we've both prospered, survived. we had nothing. two rats on the streets.

red is divine.

I think the whole plane is melting together with me.

the sun sets, and my round big sunglasses make the twilight hues a tad more intense.

I wrote a beautiful short story for the exhibition of stay ice up on the fifth floor of the main library of amsterdam, sitting in front of the glass separating me from the view over the city. 

I will live this life loving. writing and being myself every minute, growing more intense.

I begin to feel like a red-eyed devil, wearing sunglasses on an evening flight, melting my ass off. 45 minutes until helsinki.

last friday, the second day in dam, it snowed in the night on the red lights. a couple of days later met a woman in her thirties who told that friday had been her first ever birthday when it snowed in holland.

I am a lady in a body made of looney tunes.

I should start building my body into a true temple. I want to free all humanity into the bliss of self-realization. being this high this high is breathtaking - everything has a warm quality.

01 April 2013

Disneyland

 








land of vices,
distortions and illusions made real;
people in discreet bars
vouch passionately for abstract art;
larp mario kart in vondelpark.

the scent of the city
is the same as it was, years ago;
I remain frozen
in the adobe of mist behind time;
the icy rivers of niflheim.


My photo
in the case of confusion: dyslexiaisokhere ├Ąt gmail.com