A plain surface

I’m not pretty sure what to add to the pictures. Or, in fact, what should the pictures prelude. Or if this is anything at all; or should. I ain’t sure of anything and that’s fair enough, since when I started cutting off the pictures I wasn’t even expecting to have any results, but just amuse myself while I figured out what way should I take from now on. But considering the ways are being erased every night, like sand castles sieged down by waves of salty water, it’s just a question of what and until when –and the more I type the more I like how these chars take form and align in this good looking window embellished with those neat looking buttons and endorsed by an amazingly well formed structure. I wonder how much of it all was actually planned. And if that even matters at all. Ok, I’ll take a look at something. Ok, did. It’s not as if it made any difference, since I won’t see if the end of this text is aligned with the end of the picture before posting it; and an edit is pretty unlikely. Well, the more I type bigger are the chances uglyness will make me edit. Good whatever-you-will-have-in-the-near-future, being.

Maybe the world would be something way better if there was a god.

But this might be just what it is, a late night thought, overwhelmed by deliriousness.
Late it is, and the thought maybe shouldn’t. I should sleep now.

Joy, colours, smiles, sounds, feelings and evening’s reddish sunshine. If you excuse me a syntax of the past months.
It has been somehow wonderful, ascending to a peak I can’t seem to imagine, this whole life I’ve been living lately that is. My mind wanders through paths it could only adventure in with a muse my being found, I feel gifted, divine, but overall supported. Having a strong and beautiful column sustaining me up high.

Have been writing down some stuff I’m interested into, mainly about monsters as a corruption of the human and as well as a necessary evil. Not sure which path to take, but I think I will end deforming one of both into an incomprehensible, by the world, path of salvation. As in, born from the evilness of mankind for the salvation of it by a way rather difficult to understand by the weak of spirit. Some kind of vortex -leading to salvation- incarnated into a monster-like being, a kind of moth you would disgust for being so gross.
It’s a bit sad though, if you are following me, since mankind would then condemn its own salvation, crowning the act as a salvation by itself! And what if it has already done that?

Well, it is still everything too nebulous, gotta keep working on that.
By the way, some weeks ago I bought me a delight of a book, written and drawn by Brom. It’s called The Plucker, a pretty and dynamically narrated fairy tale about what lies below our beds, in those dark corners no light dares to shine.

I hope you like what, in this case, lies above my bed of thoughts. Good evenin’

In spite of all the people who were depressed enough to think that the sun will never rise again. It did. And it burns.
Have been already a couple of weeks since the sun first rose and started staring at us with its fire-crowned eyes like saying “Buuuurn, buuuurn weak peons!”… well, most of the people I talk with enjoy it and were eagerly waiting for the moment to take the sun lotion out of the shelves.
Well, it’s not as if I hate it either, but it’s just freaking annoying to sweat without making the smallest movement.

Anyway, the first sunny weekend Marc and I helped a friend of friend of his to shoot her shortfilm, I personally liked it a lot as experience and weekend activity.

The story was quite interesting and gave us the possibility to let our creativity play and I have to admit that the location completely amazed me.

It was this old and dusty attic full of broken toys, piles of bricks, wood and stone, frames holding half-finished artworks and the most extensive collection of things you can’t really recognize.

Overall was a funny thing to do, technically worked quite good, tried a couple of tricks and made great shots.

One of those days I found a rotten angel.

It was this statuette of a cherub holding a water spitting fish, the only thing that made me approach to it was the corrosion that attacked the “wet” side of the sculpture, corrupting the half of the baby angel into a brownish rotten cave-like skin.

Was horrifyingly pleasant to watch.
After all, earth is the curse.

Yes, the World Cup… I haven’t paid any attention to it, but today I saw the masses invading the so called “Fan Park” to watch the game live in a big screen, despite the 30°C and the smell of thousands sweating german beer out.

Although all these swedes make me think of nice and cuddly tigers.

The day leaves and I want to take a ride to the supermarket, before it is too late.
Bye.

The weather is fine, I’m being the cold one now. Have been quite “inactive” last weeks, having thousands of ideas, many stories and some are really doable but I just can’t find the way to take them out of my head, as in, writing everything down. Have tried many things but none has been successful. I need to sort all these things out, sit down and spit it all out.
Help is welcome by the way.

About the pictures, I don’t think they are any good. They are rather cheap.
I feel unmotivated, maybe because of the lack of feedback, of contact and discussion. And being my own judge is no use, since I don’t judge at all. The pictures might be crap, but I like them as an expression: the hollow state of my creativity (which I happen to question from time to time). But then again I get these great ideas, dialogues, scenes, images… and they fade away so fast I feel there should be someone to print them on… and when there is someone I’m just too busy learning and listening to him/her. I feed upon others, well, my mind does and I need to be alone to take it all out and extract the sap unaltered.
You see? I’m just going in circles without any apparent sense… I feel like erasing everything and stop this. But I won’t, and I won’t even read what I just wrote, just press the goddamn button.

I don’t feel like writing.

Yes, waiting for the sun to melt the snow. I can live with it, and I could for long, but it’s what I want to shoot what requires the snow to leave.

Haven’t been quite stable. But the biggest problem is that I know the reason, reason which seems rather undeciphrable ([after a couple of minutes] ok, thinking about it just make it worst).

There is nothing to be said.
Not because nothing has happened.
But because I can get my words in shape and my thoughts fixed up.

It’s just brabba-biribullop-babbap not here.

On sunday it started to snow again. I feared winter was going to leave without a last breath, but it didn’t and now Munich is under snow. Foot steps crunch like Mr. Jones on “cookies” and the joy of having something between my shoes and the asfalt will stay for a while.

On friday we watched a shortfilm with Marc and we both got excited of doing something. It ain’t difficult, you won’t be dishonoured by shooting a nonsense clip and useless stuff only exist under inquisitive thoughts (I don’t really like such declaration, but I can’t think of anything softer or smoother). So…

On saturday, taking the subway home my head started to move inside the skull (like a navigator inside a spice chamber, moving and drooling through his vaginous mouth (?)). Long time since the last time I actually hurry to get home, sit on my stool and write everything down. I like what they -the shaky thoughts inside a turquese wagon- became, and I hope you will someday watch this saturday-rush in movement (even if it sucks donkey dolls in hell).

On monday, a book arrived which I ordered… hmmm… two weeks ago? three maybe. I had already gave it into perdition; the buying-click wasn’t predicted and the prize was minimal. So I forgot it thinking that the american company offering books on amazon would be 3 euro richer. Maybe with those they could get a delivery advice system. But it arrived. And I’m glad because it’s great. “Fuck Machine” by Charles Bukowski (I think I mentioned him some tabulated-thoughts ago), containing the story which gave the name to the book and some other short stories.

On tuesday, I started this post. Bed summons me, good night.

I just HAD to capture him. And it won’t be the last time! (I thought in a revival of his dark old chapter… his encounter with the darkness, with the evilness, with the greed of men!… but I fear I would need a double or some footage of his antagonist.)
Today has been the day of clumsyness. My head just bumped into the table. Again.

I will turn this off. I’d love to hit the bed right now.

(Since I can’t just post it without putting something a bit less crappy than the stuff above I will share my today’s lecture.)

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Asperger Syndrome
Beeldenken
Eidetic Memory

This entry has nothing to do with the eroticism.

Well, kinda. Yesterday I watched an old erotic film. It had some very good symbolisms and sometimes managed the time in a semi-self destructive or maybe just risky way. Anyway, the thing is there’s a scene in the movie where a character says like 2 times “erotic” and then 2 times “eroticism” with an unforgetable accent and in less than 2 minutes. And the way he said it got marked on my brain… erotisc’i'ssm… eroti… sc’i'ssm.

And today, waiting for the second bus I need to take on my way home, was this Erotic shop in front of me, flashing lighting tubes, the highlights, the titles of the sections, the colors, the mannequins. Was like a Zoolander-trigger. I had to do something about it. Destroying it worked. As in, seeing it as something else.

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eroti… sc’i'ssm.