(the photo above is a few years old and quiet angsty and weird, I have thought to take a new one)
Studio
Dostoff-House / Södergården (Björnsträdgård)
Götgatan 45, Stockholm
Third Floor
I want to truly thank Södergården for providing me a place to work in.
POEMS
A stone
I will not utter the mind of my child. Above the air convulsed, a boundless weight pressing beyond my grasp. as I clench a stone out of relief in the worn map of my palm. Ablaze with the sense of breathing, seeing and hearing. Between breath and stone, I bury what the sky cannot carry
The outsider
I sat along the shore, as the ambiguous sea mourned its dawn. I witnessed silhouettes afar, & became overly deranged by their prideful forms and unknown titles. I longed to embrace the ocean in spite of my unknowing. I longed to be God of the ocean. As I drifted in, I was no longer prey to the seagulls, and I felt the water’s humility - more impact & present than the airs ease - and I dove for depths my lungs couldn’t resist.
Veins of Virtues
When my heart cannot bear my veins, my thoughts dissolves into heavy fog, my hair loosens and falls like dust, when my eyes soften, sink and rot, and my face loses my name, I’ll look through death with a bold smirk, and open my palm like I once held my brush.
Mad opera
The sun and the moon were in love, like a mad opera. They played their tune of eternal time, meanwhile I was their devastated child. I witnessed nights with no shadow, as days without, I cherished the hour when they mourned and my shadow expanded like a child’s.
Aquarium
Everything one says simplifies their unknown language. And their words might just be the mirror of your own, you won’t tell wether you’re staring into the eyes of golden fishes, or the people of your own. They will nod your head inside a glas pot, where the blue lies greens, and time swirls itself a fish.
The politician
Ones mad of the perception of man. Saddened by his loss, Lonely creature with no heart, making sense of it all! His job will be to save the world, like it once was. Constantly rewriting his verses in order to preserve his true love.
The muse
Demeter worries now for her lost kind, where dark and light may be one. Hades has taken her, bound by his crimes. Only the rain would soothe her tears, and outlast the weight of their years.
The Field
The kid afar walks through the vast blues, and the contender of his dreams. Embedded among red flowers. A few dreams within him need to sleep, nevertheless the night has an end, like anything else on the field.
Woman in black
A woman is present on the street, but I feel nothing but her tumbling sleep. Like a cockroach under a rock, on a golden beach. Like a seashell which will seep and drift by the crude sea.
Le baiser
I bowed my head upon your knee, consoled by the breath of your longing. A caress, they prostitute us to our needs. Like fever dressed in silk. That scent I knew, somewhere, a ringing lullaby.
Nature
A longing clarinet pulse my heart, and the trees rhythms an orchestra. the night is young, and so is the tears, which sunk down that pale fragile skin, experiencing the nights wind, you compromised thing.
War!
Let’s orchestrate a war! paying homage to the old veteran, aged like fine wine in a masses glas. Let us be the ink in the tyrants autograph! let’s smear truths til day seize, let us never sleep! Firing into every spring!
Embrace
I wept in the folds of your years, Embraced you in your wrinkled skin, Why cannot you surrender to my dream? does your mind always desire to coexist?
Charcoal eyes
Those big charcoal eyes, whom deepen my sight. You who silent our grotesque collapse, weaving rest into the sailor’s eye, nourishing the beggars’ cup
The Castle
The streets filled and illuminated, my tower is tall, and has been for centuries to come. It’s corridors stretching wide, and in hollow glas nocturne light drapes my floors.
Below, tourists pass and bargain. One seeks to be a ruler, another inspired by their their story. Third and fourth, in one another. A fifth, now blind, with fragments piercing his old eye.
Terrace
Where people share their ideas! On these evenings where cafes are filled, where they speak of what has been achieved. A white night, where the bartender supports our sins.
The Bone 1 & 2
I solace a cat more than the dog on a masters lap, a faithful devotee, it’s demise a final act. There is more to her who tends herself a lifetime, than a dog who dreadfully yearns for the bone. The wheel has no imagination.
—the wheel is unimaginative, because it’s ruled by nature;it’s the eternal clock. To be concerned by death is unimaginative, what matters is the odyssey towards the unknown.
Little Girl
little girl with a fierceful smile, a forehead of mysteries. What was it under her round cheeks, that she tried to convey me?
Ego
Ego, the source to all greatness, every living creature embodies it. Every pulse is a rebellion against the husk, every desire carries an eye.
Still Life
I yearn to be the dried flowers of autumn fields, curved with all its petals to a careless sun, to taste a delight, a bitterful ecstasy of light. Proudly improvised by nature, a magnificent still life
Law of death,
In law you’ll get decomposed, in a manner of a grave. But my confusion will be freed. Everything in between is a mystery that I’ve chosen, a path embraced.
The Moth
There’s a sadness beneath every pride, beneath every roaring man, every rage against man, beneath every joy, beneath the clack, there’s a moth seeing light in the glass, and there’s beauty in that.
The Sovjet Man
Ah, poor sovjets- bereft in art to tender their dying; their letters breed dread, enthroning kings of the dead. And teach the living to worship death.
The Rebel
Sleep, sleep, revive yourself, I tell her. Spare the children your anger, they are carried by sincere whispers to destruct authority.
Animal
What does the animal care for oneself, what does the prey think of me? What does the infant turtle striving on land think of me? Why does the dragonfly not grasp me? Why does it matter to grief in front of a serpent?
No longer
because one day I’ll not be here anymore,
no longer there to hear you play,
I’ll no longer be in your ears, or tears,
I’ll no longer accompany your souvenirs,
I’ll be on another side,
with a promising smile,
too far to recognize.
Imagination
When I turn off the light you’re beside me. Your presence greeted me in all various objects, the intense dark greens invoked me a native language. My imagination, my creation, and the owl would howl, and the bats, hanging upside down. The ravens would awaite me, and I would observe them fly.
The Eagle
What is the eagle, more than limbs and living flesh? A sterilized pet in a gallery show. The preforming eagle, distressing hearts for the sake of his own. Prideful in his solo act, blaming a prey for his touching show.
Strangers
Thousands faces I’ll never know, close to me in spirit, that I always pass by but never know. And it’ll take a lifetime chase down the sewers. A face with depth I won’t unfold
Cinema
Cinema we all fear, renewing ourselves in. Movies that drug/drag us in. That are not explained by ear. All transcends, all interprets. We will stand tall, softened by the heart.
My Type
a flirtatious type, she make alive, a parfume of divine. A dignity, the kind who excites me, no longer making me eager to write.
Possession
When none is right, thus trauma cannot channel right. Life’s a bordel where it tries to channel their wilded eye. A desire so bright.
draft
Little sheep dreaming for greener valleys, a green valley…
We’re visitors to our time, we need to take as much as we can.
A philosophy requires a language, a society needs a language.
we need to break lego’s to see what’s underneath, and how it’s built.
just a dot on a canvas, just a color.
the world is a lie, a unkept farmhouse.
one of a millions, unknown stories dying everyday, unknown strong memory.
idolize, dehumanize, humanize
Beneath the bimbos hair is bald, her hair sits loose, her lips are fat..
Titanic, beliefs sinking down the ship, paintings meant tremendous value, value system sinking.
The vicious orphan,
his cigarettes will exhale parfumes of ligning coals upon his elders, which they despise but so lured upon. He will burn fire into his son! And make sure to be smelled a diamond. His fire will be continuing despite the construction upon.
The immense isolated space, I felt every dying star, every birth in the universe. A source to all living things, where my futility does not fall short. The ecstasy of every star glimpsing in my eyes. Every emerge, every energy in awe, curving restlessly to moons, across planets of silent move.
evolution is love. Essence, souvenir of parents.
war is the thunder of forests ecosystems, stabilizes unbalance and harmony.
the cameloent always adapt to the eco system in order to survive, save his skin.
a short, -profound-blue flower ,who weeps under his elders. He will turn every passion to turn his petals foerccefully to be seen by the careless sun. a dark perfume, a dark erotic,
the unconciousness, everything unknown which comes to us, is what makes us progressive further in the beyond.
insanity, possession, obsession, sadism, stir, protege, a lost wolf, souvenir, failure greatest lesson. Captivated, yearned sour your tongue , discret, absorbed in beauty. Regrets
Like sheep’s on the green velvets, with a stepherd, lonely and further away, a happy one. Valleys, they hop one after one.
A little coin in a pocket, which meant so much for this kid, their parents had sacrifice it for an heir.
La colour de la maigre! Qui me sourvomey
Native Language
Please get closer to me, let me embrace you, let me reveal my secret, let me reveal your native language. Let me be a painter in prose.
A garden of memories, a place my parents filled the place. Where my parents lived.
The raven always visits my studio for bread. He will stare into my soul. That bullshit out of thing, constantly mocking me.
We’re sinking but she’s laughing, it’ll be okay tells me she’s just fine with her childhood bruise on her knee.
To me it’s totally communism-oppressive not to care, no sign of life, no hint of individualism. Either you care or you don’t there’s nothing in between
A death so dark a place so dark and careless that someone commits a relationship with their camrates
Every dead person wearing our clothes,
foods and clothes in ships to us
All these lost souls, mad at each other art, perfumes, music will free their torment
A spark in their eyes, when they know dark is right. Where he smiles upon the innocents who are lost and vile.
Leaving him all there on the station brought me to a year, his all very compact yet tilting up a face innocently, his ears are all back, always like listening, and he sat there all confused, how could he understand this?
Paniere, orange sky
Snow came down to me,
The Whale
I’m not bound by money tonight. I’m no longer bound by my dead wife. Knock, knock, a wife unfaithful again? Go and sleep with another.
Ego? Where’s your long prouses just to keep you beneath, I’m no albatross I am a whale, in disbelief of your vessel, and the publishers can suck me off, and I’ll be relieved to be jacking off to a priest and not a god
A stupid granny who thinks she’s logically right and throws out his diamonds
I boasted a few citations from your history book to seduce a queen. And I tried to attend your funeral, but I am somewhat of an amateur can aristocrat.
A dreadful girl to wife, her body heavy as some Gordiment. A broody gesture where ever she goes, never having any other thoughts.
What was once a rose, pale skin and soft curves, now sinks into blotches and sagging weight. Once lifted like song, droop heavy and uneven, the pores stretched wide, sweating sourness. The face caves around the eyes, where damp sockets gleam dull. A stench of damp skin and faint rot clings close, as if beauty had been strangled mid-bloom and left to sour another perfume.
The Eternal Dance
Seven dancers move on a high green valley’s,
shining force in a vast.
Destruction rolls beneath their feet, and rebuilds for their lift. A thunder in a eco system. A desire and threshold.
Each step carries weight they sure master and mock on.
A living artifact evolving entity, and the result will be the same, culture.
Each step carries the weight,
each turn echoes both loss and hope,
the cyclical rhythm of life
The wind will take us, let it move us. Let it pass us. The will wind ease us, let us move within the sublime nature. where are we? such stupid question, always on ghe move. Like goats running the green valleys. We live like thieves, I’m not scared of the path,
Regrets
I have lost my life to Prospero, what happened to my story, what will now happen to its significance? What are we now? more than lost animals in a cage, jntrapped in a societal room, filled by our life. Sensible. You middle of two swans, in a black intense lake. The movement of two swans, a reflection from movement in the still dimse water. They dance a ritual, on weird ground. Dracula hides in his ship about to come with his plague. Chemistry river and thief of fire Prometheus Possiere, Fashion The activist, those to be filmized, doing what they believe, controlled by their instinct. The rebel who believes . Time