meditando...

siguiendo la ruta de las especies... perseguido por un olor a mierda y basura quemada... con los indios anduve cagandome de risas... por unas playas adrenaliniticas y hallucinadas sin nada en especial... escapando mi propio olfato sin sentido propio... observaba como me observaban... en una inconfortable posicion de lotus... mas bien ferrari para ellos... accelere el tiempo relatividinamente... y aunque... con unas ganas de rinar... pense que nunca habia visto a ningun nativo meditar... ni respectar a los demas... ni siquiera rezar para los demas... todo lo contrario... igual que conduciendo... el mas gordo siempre tenia la prioridad... cuanto mas ruido mas respeto... y lo siguiente... y lo siguiente... a ver quien es el mas valiente a la hora de la verdad...

fundici...

fundichi... still not sure what this wor means... heard it from a drunk man... mumbling every evening in his sleep... deep... and now i carry it on... somewhere in my brain... accross oceans and continents... i might repeat it at some stage on a drunken night... random place and time... we live in a moment... instant coffe makers shape the rest of our days... microwaves heat up our basic needs to a boiling point... water doesn't always boils the same way... just like eskimos ice use many more words for ice... that's nice... put up a price... tag... flag... get your face in a mag... can a single word become art... part... or just describe a fart... i got no idea... just like that guide called me yesterday as i was visiting a 4000 year old temple... you're a fool he said when i curiously asked him why he didn't remove his sandals stepping inside a sacred place... have we simply just lost ourselves and all respect... possibly... fundichi...

caisse tu cause...

bah ouais... je le dis... clair comme de l eau de roche... fille moche... pierre qui roule n'embrasse pas... touche... qui mouche... tafaquoi... avant de venir je suis bien parti... surprise... marcel belivot n'est pas completement idiot... moustaches a part... entiere... demi ecremee... lait caille... t inquietes ya rien a comprendre... circulez y'a rien a voir non plus...

redline...

we all got one... or more... but what really happens when someone crosses it... yell... fight... cry... tear gaz... get the nukes out... and how wide is that line... because in theory a line has no surface... since it is made out of points... and a point has no surface... so what't the actual point of having a line of any color... is it supposed to work like a flag... tag... raimbow fag... the point is that sometimes that line is crossed... and it makes us feel stupid wether we pretend to ignore it or are ready to die for it... but can we live without it... and can i write questions without question marks...