Coming to America
lf I were to invest in something now it would be a teleporteur. A slow and fast one. Slow to suspend yourself in travelling substance. Fast, so you walk into my life NOW and conversely. Dar de ce! Asta sunt acum. Oamenii astia!
Eggs & Sausage
when they invade you back from “a quick one” and the verbalatio debris is more than just background noise. Casual tradefloor entertainment. You get to feel that, and taste the naughtiness.
Un-Divided, or how a proper night club should be
Casual smiles, writing their dance not just on the blue surface, but in the air as well. A fluid intensity interspersed with moments of abandoned “post orgasmic” breaks, gasps on the floor
Bali -de(e)part(y)ing!
“…the reality is this image of her has so deeply connected to my neuronic mapping of feelings or sensation of love, that despite all rational reasons, or true attachments to others or crazy total love stories I’d go through, she somehow peeps out of the pits and shows up again in my dreams. Her face, her demure, voice even is the mask of intense…”
Bali – bathing with saints
There was a thin difference between our world and theirs, we came around each other touching our hands and seeing each other’s faces, but passing by one another. As if the light of our each universes would find acknowledgement in each other’s gaze, but somehow reflect to remain in each respective sphere, with no crossover. Only the sound and the smell would travel through weaving a common thread.
Bali – 8 things you can do on 1st Jan
I liked how G’s hair felt a part of it. Or how it would rhyme with the landscape. Fooled around a lot with it, and I believe the last snap of her silhouette like a genie of the place really captures the mix of play and mystery. A smouldering evening. My Kathleen Turner of our tropical forest.
Musicma way! fathers and sons.
Then Gershwin. Yesssss! – the childhood watermark of my … pre-teens 12-15 years of age. My first encounters with jazz. And that filmic pace of his music, the scenes I would see in it, the contest of life, falling innocently over and cruising
Bali – new year’s eve dance – night of wanders
[…] Margot was blasting blood into my nostrils and I could taste the red in the air, blushing into my nose, my tongue, chocking with love. Sunny days, full of her smell. Suffocating in want. That’s where it’s from.
Bali -from street-sleeping to volcano top
That’s how Bali caters to your expectations of the far east. Minimum hindrance. While destinations outwardly different, culturally incongruent to our inner making we usually tag differently, “end of the world” type of perception. But not “exotic”
Bali – facing the demons
what was this experience made of? or was this space at the confluence of spiritual waters (hindu-buddist-muslim) that allows for thinner veils between beings of different worlds..?
vintim 