People ask too many questions that don't matter, and not enough questions that do.
I'm trying to figure myself out before moving forward.
The reality is that maybe I am simpler than I expect.

I am cautious of criticism and people who revolve around absolutes, but I don't like indecisiveness.
day in the life

if you could reveal anything that is hidden, what would you show

man

I feel like my life is slowing down to almost nothing, like a series of photos.
There are beautiful things, like a gypsy band squawking in the market, my little hopeless city garden and of course there is love.
But more than anything there are pauses, and there is rain.

I want to feed my character and my art with books, quiet, coffee, soup.
I want to make kind choices and be careful with people.

I don't know a time I've felt more like I am unravelling. It's nearly time for me to move away again.

ehhh

some news can make a girl want to die

"Critique seeks the truth content of a work of art; commentary, its material content. The relation between the two is determined by that basic law of literature according to which the more significant the work, the more inconspicuously and intimately its truth content is bound up with its material content. If, therefore, the works that prove enduring are precisely those whose truth is most deeply sunken in their material content, then, in the course of this duration, the concrete realities rise up before the eyes of the beholder all the more distinctly the more they die out in the world."

walter benjamin

PS vinyl


A human thistle
balanced on one toe.

You're brushed
accidentally, the hair on one

arm caught
gathered and spun on a slow current-

you reel, extrude your insides.
Devour me, o venus.

going to the cinema

working too early in the morning to go out at nights is sort of lonely business.