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.

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Hymn to the city

cross the line, fly away

cross the line, fly away

It is wider than you think

With its loose playfulness unfolding like frou frou ribbons in the sky

With its rainbow disco lights fondling the hidden encounter’s eye

It is wilder than you think

With its ghetto fists breathing anger in their lungs

With its street fights taming the stranger’s guts

It is darker than you think

With its shadows crashing down the light of your brain

With its acid sun drops fighting the spirit of the rain

It is falser than you think

With its enthroned spectacle running over its vacant paths

With its nicked beauty dressing its naked hands

It is sadder than you think

With its kids screaming for love and attention

With its seeds rotting from lack of affection

It is crueler than you think

With its shrunken fingers pulling the strings of your deepest pains

With its greedy smiles burying the melodies of your secret games

She is a sadist massaging your crying wounds

You are a masochist watering your rotten roots

She is the substance of your galloping imagination

You are addicted to the opium of your nation

She is the antidote for your broken wings

You are trapped in the magic of your firing strings

She is the revenge of your silent quest

You are cursed to follow her request

She is the holocaust of your blessed desire

You are convicted for all that you admire

She is the prison of your fragile heart

You are the prisoner of her anonymous art

Welcome back home

The city is your home

The racking dawn

lurking in the darkness

lurking darkness

The snow is innocent and soft and your memory hooked on your heavy pace,
the wind is whipping snowflakes on your chicks imprinting lipstick traces on your face.

Your dark brown hair is pulled like a tattered spool trapped in the nails of some nasty kitty,
the echoes of your cacophonous cries are musing the whole city.

Hanging wires are dancing like playful garlands in a kid’s eyes,
colour-blind paper war swirls around whispering your lies.

Fearless female hands tie two ropes with a mystery knot,
stone chimneys are distilling the disobedient smoke of your secret thought.

Sparrows are haunting the backyard tasting the velvet mould of its tender woods,
abandoned thoughts and rubbish smells are glowing under their dark roots.

The tremor of the pale light is rapping the naked trees,
the dawn is waiting numb out of your window on her knees.

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.