MONET

a journey


“I would advise young artists . . . to paint as they can, as long as they can, without being afraid of painting badly . . . . If their painting doesn't improve by itself, it means that nothing can be done - and I wouldn't do anything!”
-Claude Monet



PS: The fall is in the air. It's beautiful.



and just like everything else in NY it will be radiant.

MY JOY

MUST SEE

This is why I am so much into 70ies

Poets

"A poet is something you are allowed to be, but not allowed to become."
-Hermann Hesse

Work

Wellcome to the hood

Subliminal

God Bless You, Woman

Slackers

The Beat and Bad Manners

They were old, but brilliant.

No encore, though.
Alas.

Random Facts

Rock Stars are filthy rich.

FACTS

They exist even if choose to ignore them.

You, The Living

Rather Be Dead Than Dying

Sounds

The day is through
The Music fades
The siren sound
Cuts through my veins

Our passion's dying
I close my eyes
I hear sounds
Of love disquise

I can not handle being myself.

Am I an artist?

Chop and Change

no way

there are things.
things that happened. and that didn't.
both bother me as much.

things that I understand. and you understand.
and people around it.

there are problems. yours. mine.
and no seeming way to go about them.

and then
there is a bloody mary. and my i-pod.
and no other way to deal with it.

Roaming Heart

Bye

Summer 2010!

WeIRED Connections and eX-FILES

Let's go get some tacos

High

Love is the most beautiful feeling that can do the ugliest things with you.

Who

I feel a little wrong, a little right. I've been aching for something beautiful, and stumbling upon bits of want, need, and i will in my messy head.

The usual childish appetite for life is getting back. If only I wasn't so tired.

I am sick of my loneliness. My loved ones are reaching out to me.

I'm thawing. I have a lot more years to ...

to ...

I ask you to forgive me
For nights we've never spent
For blues I've asked from you

.

For

ways

I am

when so obnoxiously in love

I'm out

Inspiration

It came
and sat on the side of my bed,
It was poking me
and pulling my hair
laughing.

And then
left me
with crooked fingers over the keyboard.
Mad Bitch.

Artists

-I have learned to be an Artist, he said. I have learned to be unique.
-You've done the bigger part, now you only have to learn how to be just like everybody else, to really be one.

The conversation did not go smoothly. She was looking at him, wondering, how much will he shrink throughout the years. And he couldn't help to count those few years she will manage to maintain her youth.
They both wanted to prove something. Something that would leave one big, fat period... no exlamation sign in the life of the other.

What do you live for? - He implied that her life was empty and her lack of ambission was pityful.


He will probably not understand until the death-bed that pityful, was his pretend for greatness, and a life he deprived of meaning.
She've read somewhere that the key to a great life was simple. It was a life-long friend, love, and meaningful work.

She siped her wine and faked a defeated smile.

Sheer illusion

The perfect crimes of the hearbroken...
Nobody is a better liar.
Nobody believes in thier lies so purely.

Unfortunate sadness of the sinking hearts.



She left the "deep blue" to write these words in her boring bedroom.

My little raft

On my little raft, away,
Through rainstorms,gales and blizzards,
With revirie and visions,
And with a childish dream

Unnoticed will I sail,
Once night creeps in the house,
To sate with rythms and rhymes,
The world of fancy I live in.

Though there are,
Hardships awaiting my raft,
SADNESS AND FORMER LOADS FAULT
Hamper my drift afloat

STILL my raft,
Weaved out of verses and songs,
Standing against all the wrongs,
Doesn't look all that bad.

I am not shunning those,
Who prophesised me troubles,
They are more at ease a-snuggle
Back on a solid shore.
They cannot understad
What's dirven me so sudden,
What's spurred my trip afar and,
What'll asauge me in the end.

Ties with the past I"ll break

And come whatever will be

From mediocre humdrum.

Unnoticed will I sail

-Losa

(March, 2010 -- drunk, romantic, hopeful, open to)

an almost made up poem

I see you drinking at a fountain with tiny
blue hands, no, your hands are not tiny
they are small, and the fountain is in France
where you wrote me that last letter and
I answered and never heard from you again.
you used to write insane poems about
ANGELS AND GOD, all in upper case, and you
knew famous artists and most of them
were your lovers, and I wrote back, it’ all right,
go ahead, enter their lives, I’ not jealous
because we’ never met. we got close once in
New Orleans, one half block, but never met, never
touched. so you went with the famous and wrote
about the famous, and, of course, what you found out
is that the famous are worried about
their fame –– not the beautiful young girl in bed
with them, who gives them that, and then awakens
in the morning to write upper case poems about
ANGELS AND GOD. we know God is dead, they’ told
us, but listening to you I wasn’ sure. maybe
it was the upper case. you were one of the
best female poets and I told the publishers,
editors, “ her, print her, she’ mad but she’
magic. there’ no lie in her fire.” I loved you
like a man loves a woman he never touches, only
writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have
loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a
cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom,
but that didn’ happen. your letters got sadder.
your lovers betrayed you. kid, I wrote back, all
lovers betray. it didn’ help. you said
you had a crying bench and it was by a bridge and
the bridge was over a river and you sat on the crying
bench every night and wept for the lovers who had
hurt and forgotten you. I wrote back but never
heard again. a friend wrote me of your suicide
3 or 4 months after it happened. if I had met you
I would probably have been unfair to you or you
to me. it was best like this.
-C.Bukowski




of my almost happened ...
I am having a hard time letting go, diremembering, forgetting
ignoring, pretending
and breathing.



____

"Thought is real. Physical is the illusion. Ironic, huh ? "
-WHAT DREAMS MAY COME

Destiny

If the path before you is clear, you're probably on someone else's.
-Joseph Campbell

A kiss

No one was left at a loss!

I’m happy we’ve come to part.

I’m kissing you now – across

The gap of a thousand yards.

We’re not equal – I understand.

I’m calm - for the first time.

A young Derzhavin,Aleksander Pushkin. you can’t

Accept my undisciplined rhyme.

I christen your frightening flight:

Young eagle, rise in the air!

You stared at the sun! – my light

And delicate gaze can’t compare.

I stood, more tender than those

Who’ve witnessed you disappear…

I’m kissing you now – across

The gap of a thousand years.

M. Tsvetaeva
February 12, 1916

Yep, count to eight...

A group of Russian animators failed with this Bukowski-based project.
that's too bad.
"THE WAY THE DEAD LOVE"
1
2
3
4
5
----------


8 count

from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.
one flies
off.
then
another.
one is left,
then
it too
is gone.
my typewriter is
tombstone
still.
and I am
reduced to bird
watching.
just thought I'd
let you
know,
fucker.
-C. Bukowski

Waiting for Godot is on youtube

the whole damn thing!

Things that make me smoke

Share this conversation, share a smoke
You, me, and ten bucks +tax

-"Love Songs" Christophe Honore

$5000+++++

"Shot entirely with available light using prototype Canon EOS 1D Mark IV cameras."

heh... :(

mon amour,

Where is sea ?
I don`t know why I was just looking for the sea,
But the only thing I found was the desert,
A desert around me...

Where is sea ?
I don`t know why I was just looking for the sea,
But the only thing I found was the desert,
A desert around me...

Where is sea ?

The Wings of Desire

The film was dedicated by Wim Wenders to all the former Angels.

It's to be continued.

Fire and Angel

Once upon a time there was a spirit of a girl, who thought she was alive. She died in a raging fire, and there was nobody near to help or notice.
She appeared in flesh, blood, and smiles to people. She never knew that she was worthy to be loved, and so she ghostly disappeared from places where she saw people, until she finally got lost.
She sat there in the dark, in a cold silence alone. Or so she thought. We never are alone, ya know. Sometimes, I think we are only alive because somebody, somewhere is thinking of you while you breathe.
So, she sat there - confused. She was so cold, that she couldn't feel her Guardian Angel's touch. He tried to touch her hand and take her away from that awful place she mazed herslef into. But she wouldn't move ... maybe she was too cold to feel anything, or too lost to believe, or too scared to understand - so she just sat there, smiling.
The Angel, being a godly creature, sat quitly behind that smiling ghost, and warapped his wings around her.

She did not know then how much she needed him..

And jelouse towards those who stuck around ;p

I feel sorry, apologetic, and thankful towards the people who I came in touch with during this time of my life.

WWW

is for Wild Wild West

I have taken up smoking

"... love begins at the point when a woman enters her first word into our poetic memory."
-M. Kundera


I would time travel. I would turn the sound softly, an write your name on that cigarette before I sit down and smoke.