I am on my way

with the past behind and the future ahead

with the past behind and the future ahead

It all started with my stimulating boredom.

In Athens- chaos and innocence entwined, in Munich- all preppy and fixed, with a lot of strange feelings and confusion smashed inside my fist.

Oh dear! Rubbing along and against, pushed back and forth i finally made my way til here.

It was a long way passing from west and east, crossroads where i refueled my melancholy and trained my beast.

In Tilburg- wild naked nature and good will, foggy student mornings calm and still. The flatland of static motion and winter wind of blossom. All the thorny splinters blown away. I am on my way.

In Manchester- post-industrial depression disguised in pop melodies of urban tales. Cloudy minds and rainy hearts craving for stylish gales. I am on my way.

In Tallinn- quirky abandoned past negotiating with a challenging present squat for an experimental future wasteland. Scary nostalgia wrapping its medieval flesh, blurry boldness extinguishing its sharp post-soviet nest. I am on my way.

And now in Brussels- an all white sky embracing its many fears, plain quaintness and easy kindness but also hidden ears. A melody that is echoing in every corner of the slum but is only heard by some. I am on my way.

Gifted or cursed, we all run, it is a civilised scum or a bright promising sun ?

I still want to run, adventure is my own sun, this is all i wanna become !

I am on my way.

To some place I know

buried_city.jpg

buried city

Rubbish bags all ripped off, concrete walls with dark signs on, the sound of a beer can crushed inside the palm of the punkie teenager, idle footsteps of some hectic neighbourhood stranger. A motorbike parks itself in some dusty city slum, weak streaks of moonlight unlock one of its many paths. It always felt unusual but nice.

You were there again.

Wandering around the small turns of this urban labyrinth, charmed by the echoes of an unfound mystery rhythm. As an urban flâneur, your only guide is your feeling, your only way in and out is your nerve. It provokes and inspires, it is a glorious metropolis in decay.

The sunlight sets fire on your path. You get to see them again, wandering lost and found at the same places, beggars of their own destiny. They stink, they shout, they are crazy they say but you so much want to touch them, they are all so real and safe.

But you keep walking never daring to turn your head to their side, this appalling guilt that scratches your golden inside. You keep walking, sweaty worked out hands give you warm bread, old man with beard spits on your name.

You keep walking.

Old ladies, two of them uncoil their morals in a morning chat, you hear a couple of words or one. There is sun, so much sun.. you need sunglasses, they are your only protection against the spasm of the public realm. Warm grey sunshine, untuned mind.

Meat choppers tik takking and you weigh your lies. Hostile looks and trembling hands, the sound of your coins will nourish his heart. Lost fights with life, headless statues on time. Up and down, shaking hands, exchange is done.

Nighmarish parade of some gypsy kids with chaotic smiles, this city is lost in an accordion’s sound. Insignificant melodies of a young little man, swallowed by the charm of this beautiful smile. Sprayed on the surface of some debris in the street, it demarcates the beyond and the within.

Your heart is squeezing and your inside is freezing, this lava fills you up, your mind is about to crack, stark naked as a tyranny it messes up with your wounds while promising a therapy to all those she could.

Look long enough to see, it is an abyss, a lie, a beauty, a we . It is Athens.