“…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…”
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.
[…] 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.
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”
Caged birds hung from the roof ledge. Stopped singing in the face of discarded beauty. Life goes on in careless disonant rainbows sometimes. În mozaic de sfinte sparte. Sacred gods all around us.
Be assured – YOU WON’T BE SAFE anywhere on this road. Not even if you’re a motor/scooby deus.
watching this punk-rock swooping about in their skate-flow surrounded by rice fields and palm trees in THIS very spot and heat, you get to be HERE.
Transgresiuni oniric erotice se imbulzeau pe la colturile noptii. The night ride, the smell and sensuality of barely seen mostly felt smelt and tasted new “this-balisland” reality were pushing the boundaries between subconscious and manifestation. Kept everything at bay and let it all diffuse back into alter realities, slept on it. I needed to appropriate all these energies and make them work to a more reach experience the following days.