take bikes and leave studio.
classic losange formation in an empty one-way street.
me ; Y ;
but where is the front ? .. ..
arrive at the nearest mcdonalds. it’s busy and today isn’t an “i’m ok with waiting in a queue” day.
head to the local kebab.
the place is “fucking empty” going by mcdonalds standards.
the sidewalk is narrow and my path is blocked at my right by the building and at my left by a single row of tightly parked cars. i walk to get my bike that’s parked several meters away.
two 13 year old ghetto girls are walking ahead of me. suddenly they stop and one starts to yell something at the other. the latter has apparently forgot something so they turn around and head towards me. i make eye contact. consequently, they decide to snake between two cars and walk on the road.
i carry on walking on an empty sidewalk.
“i wonder why you push me on the front while you stay on the back” plays in my head because it’s relevant.
sun sets but i can still see pastel colors.
pale blue eyes. the kind with tiny black dots at each center and well-defined outlines.
generous boobs. but not like extremely big. probably just DDs. not like off-the-chart Es or Fs or something.
oh well .. ..
a keyed cls 350 in the dark.
S blackens her finger by touching a random graffiti on a bus stops.
i’m building a city.
i see passers-by, next-door people, nice people, people with dogs, people with trumpets, people in cars, people in vans, untold secrets, bastards’ ways, rapists’ survival skills, junkies’ problems, bottles of piss, glasses filled with cum, homeless smells, flashing lights, broken legs.
road stripes go on and on and on with the same regularity. over and over again.
the acid juices of my stomach are more acidic when i reach my cruising speed after hours of (orange juice punctuated) cycling.
“shit, i’m hungry”
“yeah we should consider stopping at red lights”
i don’t get the coherence of this association !
reach the 48.873047,2.298092 mcdonalds. it’s “fucking empty” going by mcdonalds standards.
“are you from the provinces ?”
“M, that guy just got drunk at an after-work at a club nearby, why do you even bother”
another drunk girl falls on the floor inside the mcdonalds.
her boobs jiggle while she giggles.
i serenely finish my meal and text L because she has the ability to recommend tasty burgers.
a few seconds later
we’re on the road again. i gently hit it with my tyres.
Y starts his bitching because i led us to the prostitute / red area.
what’s more, apparently we’re in the 2nd class / cheap whores zone. i can tell from having seen quite a few 70 year old women in my time.
we head south.
“turn this into a classic night”.
we puff more.
we catch our breath independently.
i’m an astronaut.
fair morning. we’ll just have a fair morning.
its light, its bravoure, its savage cheetahs looking right into your eyes, the lions that just woke up and look at those gazelles with crying eyes. the sound of its wind crashing against the miles of the night.
that fair morning inspired us dark hours of freedom. now all these creatures shall be set free.
do you hear me ? miles to go before you sleep.
well u can stick ur nine to five livin
and ur collar and ur tie
and stick ur moral stadards
cause it’s all a dirty lie
you can stick ur golden handshakes and u can stick ur silly rules
and all the other shit that they teach to kids in school
cause i aint no
as some of u already know im currently putting the last touches to a new tumblr project
nothing too fancy actually
just gonna dump my blogspot and do wat i used to do there … posting collages, drawings, writings, quotes, &c., giving, in doing this, a new direction to my art for it lately became too tumblr-ish conventional
returning to the roots
a sort of chronological archive of my stuff, and maybe dump my too-annoying-to-update portfolio aswell
so stay tuned and here’s a lil sample
Liste des Listes
born: [set]; skull: [set];
head: [set]; mind: [set]; dream: [set];
wings: [set]; balloons: [set]; elevators: [set];
stairs: [null]; place to go: [null];
% arithmetic brain.
directed by badassdude™ dot tumblr© dot com®