i have loved, for to find myself.mostly i used to love artists because i felt that love is begin of every art. i felt like artists are people who live on love and die from love..life showed that i mistake. i have love to find myself. but the way of love get me to loose myself, for to be selfless, to bring renuncitiation because of love, to give your compassion- these all things which are punishable
Und wenn ins besonders begabten und zart organisirten Menschenseelen die Ahnung ihrer Vielsrältigkeit aufdämmert, wenn sie, wie jedes Genie, den Wahn der Persöhnlichheitseiheit durchbrechen, und sich als mehrteilig, als ein Bündel aus vielen Ichs empfinden, so brauchen sie nur das zu äussern, und alsbald sperrt die Majorität sie ein, ruft die Wissenschaft zu Hilfe, konstatiert Schizophrenie und beschützt die Menschheit davor, aus dem Munde dieser Unglücklichen einen Ruf der Wahrheit wahrnehmen zu müssen.
i'm not a poet would i be the one i would die latest at the age of 37
but, i choose to survive
when i am not a poet what a writing hand i am then?
Nice to meet you, aborigen me, not a poet, but like you i wear nothing...
this is just little old piece of scribe, but alas i happen to be a damned poet,damned poet of deep underground, a hart site of poetry. my opinion with our dear Sir amorist John Feddeler fall apart, he sees du as good enterntainment page, i see the page like spot for guerrilla warfare, where one...
entering the forest i feel like this hour will turning in pristine equanimity feeling the beaty of blooming bear's garlic enchants.. two girls walking here , we say eachother couple of words and they call me sister! inside myself i fall in Ah but however i long to speack they caanot know of my sorrow..
O, Ljenja I long for your embrace i long for your shoulder i need you bring me my made from bone тянитолкай but your soul hush it grown delicate with with diverse...
i want to burn a flame a flame on which coming, on which coming soaring abused by men women, segregated woman and man, damned masters of entarte kunst all shuted up. and thrown off from the life.
we will have big solemnity our eyes will meet and our hands we will howl out our recent torments and later we might be even find a humour?! will we? will we yet may laughas those who reach victory by finding eachother to this flame for gathering us together. or is it again my delirium-dream? that we find to eachother on noone land...
i'a blame giggle me out i am a blame spread parfum to myx face i am a blame spit to my feet i am a blame tease me with all your eating and smoking and garments delectations because i am damning fucking blame trick me out away from my haut(skin) i must getting mend but still i am a blame
what a drudgery to make your lonely riot on enemies on friends on the tentacles of the system?
dem bones, dem bones, dem dancing bones doing danse macabre
viaclovsky, mio tesoro. bless you. i am looking for the body, my body, which exist outside its patriarchal definitions. of course, thats not possible. but who is anylonger interested in the possible. even if my body might not be co-equivalent with materiality, that my body might deeply connected to, if not be, language. feminine language. what can language be which refuses? the only reaction against an unbearable society is equally unbearable nonsense. saludo, darling, always and whereever, yours.
Dr. Rieux: " er wisste ganz genau das ist die Pest sein...er wisse dass seine kollegen sich aus diesem grunde sträubten, und er wolle deshalb ihrer Seelenruhe zuliebe gerne zugeben, es sein nicht die Pest"
Albert Camus, Die Pest
HEY; MY FELLOW-ARTISTS OF YESTERYEAR AND THOSE TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN; HABEN SIE NICHT BEMERKT; DASS IN DIE DURCH PATRIARCHALE DIFINITIONEN BESTIMMTE kULTUR UND KUNST IST LÄNGST DIE PEST EINGELIECHEN?!
wer wird es dringend und mit nachsicht behandeln, um die katastrophe zu vermeiden dass diese Pest unsere Seelen spurloss...
where to could we go, when they only know to ask us where we are from and not where are we going? where to could we go, when this what calls 'culture' conquered the remnants of wild beauty with her arrogant mouth? where to could we go, when even in native american festival will be roasted american cheeseburger?* where to could we go, when we learned from ancient greeks? where to could we go, when gallery spaces and reading rooms mostly make us vomit? where to could we go, when cinema is dead? where to could we go, if our...