soaking wet.

zander blom @ michael stevenson

it's so
soft but when i usually
fall down
on
it it
feels very hard and
it can be sticky
it sticks
once i didn't reconize
it was in me
it was becoming a part of me but
it didn't feel like me because it was dead
the fibers were dry and unfizzy
the fibers
fibers were drying and
the only thing left was this piece
it was trying again but
i
i removed it.

absent. but why?

i don't want to be this absent.
i'm just not inspired by anything atm
bugger.
i hate hate hate these times
i don't feel that
i know it will get back
just need to get off this island

CocoRosie is keeping me up.

ps. i miss the rainy gray days.

white.

white.
the color of purity.
the color of the white in your eyes.
the color of every color
that is reflected by a non absorbing surface.
white is the color of infinity
the color of nothing.
white is the color of possibilities.
the possibilities an artist creates on the white canvas
the writer creates on the blank lines.
for me the moment is white and it gets colored,
when I absorb some of the happenings.
just like when white light gets through a prism.
sometimes I absorb the red and the yellow
but instead of leaving the green and the purple
it's the red and the yellow that indicates the moment.

raining cartwheels

it's raining
not just the summer-ish rain
the rain is windy, dark, grey
the candles are lit
for the first time
the first time this year
and all I want is
to get out of bed
this time
this time of night: 02.14 am
and all I wanna do is this

-msquid
currently listening to moi caprice - the town and the city