About

the photo above is a few years old and quiet angsty and weird, I have thought to take a new one soon

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 -Somnocentrism

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

Ces yeux tendres, profonds, couleur de charbon,

Qui ouvrent en moi des abîmes de clairvoyance.

Toi qui tais notre grotesque effondrement,

Tu dresses le voile du repos sur l’œil du marin,

Et fais pleuvoir la sève dans la coupe des mendiants.

Ideal of idealism

Idealism is the opposite of truth, truth is fluid and adapts constantly to your environment, the fool speaks of his truth, the courageous strives for the feeling of truth

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.

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

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 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 it’s ruled by nature;it’s the eternal clock. To be concerned by death is unoriginal, what matters is the odyssey towards the unknown.

I’m No Longer

I’m not bound by money tonight. I’m no longer bound by my dead wife. Ego! Ego! where’s your long proses just to keep you beneath. I’m no albatross, I am a whale in disbelief!next time you give me a tale for my bruise, or open your mouth just to fill the air of your shallow views, I will laugh, as I humiliate you a facial of my youth.

Insight

The main study to excell all creative fields is to recognize life as overwhelming. that’s the starting point to your temper and loneliness which will be turned into obsession for your personal insights, and provide the most ecstatic beauty.

insight 2

I am misunderstood. I have to constantly deflect everything I hear. I have to carry every belief. Always having to alienate myself just to commit to my work. Although being very sensitive to life, and my desire to embrace it. I’m dismissed for my self-pitying and self-centered personna.

Insight 3

I believe nihilism stems from a lack of individualism. I think the main thing that makes people confront thoughts of death is a lack of fulfillment, which makes life feel plain and triggers these reflections. But when you experience movies, visual arts, or music, you engage with a vast range of emotions, which makes you more experienced and enriched.

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.

Terrace

Where people share their ideas! On these evenings where cafes are filled, where they speak of what has been achieved. A white night, whereas bartender supports our sins.

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 Sovjet Man

Ah, poor sovjets- bereft in art to tender their funeral; their letters breed dread, enthroning kings of the dead. And teach the living to worship death.

History

History Every love is history, every revenge is history, every war is history, every rule is a history, even is history, the more man tries to articulate, the more will he be bound by history

Animal

What does the animal care for oneself, what does the prey think of me? What does the infant turtle striving on the sand think of me? Why does not the dragonfly grasp me? Why does it matter to bring grief to a serpent?

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.

Morality as superiority

The most intellectual pursuit is compassion, respect and empathy, it shows maturity and awareness of our instincts and grotesqueness. Morality is the key point to greatness and refusal of the laws of nature

The Wind

Do you feel it? Do you hear it? How the wind breathes? whispers in its longing, how its melody seduces grass, and trees seduces its sweet air. It was that the awareness the acceptance of slowness! all caressed by a motherly voice.

Lover

Love a pure thing, it would require little for me to fall in love, maybe a shared birthmark, I would pick up stones, many stones, and give one or two to my lover

The Fire

Do you see eternity in the fire now? Do you sense your distant parents in you now? Are you easily mocked by fire now? Do you feel heavy with your sagging body now? It is fire who casts shadows now.

Weird Reflection?

We could run, until my tongue was dry

There must be a balance of melancholy and joy, there must be knowledge in the joy

The end is certain, pain is certain, restraint is certain. 

Reflection

Why shall I care for someone’s work 

if he does not care for it himself?

Pills

Someday every evening will pills to go down her throat and make herself invincible for the times spent in the woods.

Love

There’s love in your mouth. It speaks to me effortlessly, it’s beautiful, the words go in harmony and I hold them dearly in my pockets.

Depression-insight

Depression is the contradictory to inspiration, depression is a wheel, art is reinvention. Art has a public, depression hasn’t.

Random insight 1

In despite of physics, so can an old man have more intellectual insights than a smarter man.

The Aged

Respect the aged, they are frail. Wisdom is the experience of time. The inevitable that everyone will face down their path, there will be loneliness in knowledge, beyond measured intellect, wisdom in feeling and therefore it’ll be incommunicable. Intuition is an experience of the factual

Time

Time is an illusion, a projection of ourselves, and can be manipulated by doing something beyond one’s capacities. Time is an experience. You defeat time by engaging yourself to an ideal.

The rebel

The rebel believes his bare feet will grow experienced the more he walks on the rough ground. The rebel believes sun as God, and the stars as false. Entitled for being the thief of fire is to be blind to the mesmerizing lights, and the solitary dots perfects a harmony in the empty sky

Poem with dark coffee

Each morning I wake up late, I fill my cup with chopin, my walls are decorated with my face and the face of my ancestors. And I found my truth. I don’t have any job, but I’m told in the wall that I’m a star

Lunatic kind

There’s something lunatic about people’s eyes, a thoughtless snake, lost in its ecosystem trying to sustain itself with its teeth’s. And how I wished not to be its tail

Art

Art in any medium transcends the animal state. Technique is essential. Without it you disrespect the subject you’re working on. But high execution on a poor subject disrespects the soul

Friend

There is only one friend in life, and its own voice, everythng else is corruption of the soul

Expressions

I don’t see the difference of cryng or laughter, both serve the same purpose, if you are crying I have convinced your heart, if you’re laughing you still serve your own heart.

…. another truth

There is truths everywhere, the problem is the philosophy reflected upon.

Dark Forests

Deep forests has stolen my child, and I shout for hours searching for him

The Wind II

The wind will take us, let it move us. Let it pass us. The will wind ease us, 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

Old

My house is a museum, I am weary tired now. My trees are old, thick but fragile in tactile, I walk with my thoughts. I have a garden full of proust memories, and I like to water my dying plants. I live far away from country sight

Universe

The immense space, I felt every black star, every puzzle in the universe, the sublime large source to all living things, where my death does not toll for a night. The ecstasy of every star glimpsing in my eyes. Every flower curving their planes to the sun, the planets movement. I am a satalite into the savage night!

Possession

When none is right, thus trauma cannot channel right. Life’s a bordel where it tries to channel their wilded eye.

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 

The Rebel

Sleep, sleep, revive yourself, I tell her. Spare the children your anger, they are carried by sincere whispers to destruct authority.

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.

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.

Part 3

We're mesmerized by society’s impressions but to truly understand, you need to study all its aspects. And when you realize how overwhelming life is you won’t reduce it for your contemporaries. Be constantly striving for a higher state, and never apologize for it. Whatever you do, do it intensively. You'll be exhausted by this c- oppressive country, every moral will bores you to death, and let your writing embody your rage. What tremendous beauty you could provide if it wasn’t for the rage and hate. Pitying yourself pain like a brat

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

My paintings are but a book, that people praise for its flattering words. The significance of art is to stimulate the brain. A touching story exists in every household, an inspiring tale does not come from a household. horny youth

How would you, when your old and frail describe Italy to me? /grey

I remember seeing my father in his shrouded elbow pose, i asked how come could he cry, when he was not exposed to any damage. How I tried to mimic his expression in the mirror once, how courageous and cool it must been to explicit no vulnerability to any physical damage I thought

An artist must embody the dystopian spirit. Otherwise they’re trapped in ideals that they repeatedly have to express upon and therefore  bore their audience, an artist make their own language, to wander high up in the sky, to feel innocence render their eye, and maybe just then would they be capable to make a sky cry. But if they cried on earth it would barely fill a puddle. 

My point is that rebellion is naive and just another form of authority, everything is inevitable, 

Art evokes more to the old, because art is a mystery and a projection of the beholder. 

When you feel someones sad, it’s rather a part of yourself that you mourn, when you love someone, it’s rather about the emotions you feel that you love, We don’t respect each others quietness or integrity, it’s obvious that we are animals, but we shouldn’t feel it’s truth.

I just turned my back, I had plugs to avoid the clack, I tilted my face so I wou ldn’t have to witness the neglected expressions. People are like pidgeons, people doesn’t deserve my work.

I don’t understand why I sympathize with people so much, I’m too lost in my dream world

To describe my work as broody tells more of the person than me, I’m done spending time defending myself to whom doesn’t see depth in the first place. It’s exactly things like this, which gives the false impression that everyone is like this. I don’t want weariness, I don’t know why I’m writing this 

The birds are singing,

Art is the sensuous form of philosophy, art creates an environment, and philosophers take inspiration from what they see. If the arts is unpleasant; lacks soul, intellect or technique. It’ll influence the citizens, and make them fall into decadence and lose their morality and meaning.

I can’t tolerate mediocrisy, it’s like seeing something beautiful smells bad or poor acting, just pure artistic decadence, art is to transcend the human suffering. Bad art is danger, more ugliness in this world, less balance and reason will there be. Art is an ideal, the more tragic figures or pieces we encounter the more will we be shaped by them. 

Society represses our natural instincts to maintain order, but this repression creates frustration and unhappiness

Humans are fundamentally driven by instinct -yet we decline and chose to suffocate with no sense of morality.

From birth to death

It appears to me that every philosophy that touches someone is the ideal

People are likewise since elementary school, and we need to be it’s compassionate teachers.

There’s a story of a girl, 100 years ago wasted her talent on her loneliness, who dismissed all, denied everything, and her fear turned into a blue room

I have realized i can’t express my feelings towards death in art or writing. Because what’s terrifying has nothing to do with the word itself but to every other word, every word in a dictionary, which I can’t name because it’s so vast

Solipsism 

In the belief of their own experience is very seductive, especially if you’re experiencing alienation. But it’s highly destructive, the belief is rather deflecting than consuming, which will kill la voi de vivre. Only knowledge and deepest commitments will make life

I was horrified by corpses, because they were as hardened as me.

A man will cry and shout until his last day for it to come, only to realize that what he lacked was sleeping. A scientist, Happy birthday, hope Courtesan of love

A woman bimbo balding 

Titanic, people in their beliefs, dying

Gotta respect the flies on my meal 

One is worried of his late friend arrival, the other tries to impress his best friend. The third tries to flip around the game, the fourth is writing a text

So many beautiful women in Paris, so crowded, I want fame there 

people express with their gesticules?

Being retired, like dancer

Collective optimism

Relationship still chemistry but done

Hollywood 

Hiking in mountains 

Mignon

Who ever reads bourgeois newspape e becomes blind and deaf

When the world goes down, when the Vulcans rises, when you understand you’re nothing but your senses, trapped somewhere, trapped in your instincts, let my poetry conceal you with truth. Let me conceal you with my virtues. 

Death is apparently an aesthetic, 

Arguing over inheritance 

A garden of memories, a place where my parents lived. 

Following fathers foot steps

I can program computers, the perfect time, I am the doctor in your mind.  A dentist you might name me once, a weird type. Open your guts now you big one.

In thousands years nothing of this will matter, an art form will be moving due to its meaning and not its image. 

A warderobe of Skelton bone

A spark in their eyes, when they know dark is right. Where he smiles upon the innocents who are lost and vile. 

The world is an hospital where they try to channel their perception on the other

There’s no shame, the king will die, and I’ll devour his meal

A motel

Leaving him all there on the station

Snow came down to me, 

Cringe

And my destruction will exhale ashes on the elders that they despise but so lured upon. I’ll be relieved to jack off to a priest and not a god. Or jacked off to an history book  

On a empty cafe on late juin,

I am a mummy, a pyramid, yesterday I was a whore, today I am an aristocrat. Yesterday I saw your wife, now I’m attending your funeral

He was grinning like a pig, and I tormented his ears, trapped him, , I was eager to slam him. He was shaking like a snake in two, meanwhile I dragged him through the bloody floor. 

A dreadful girl to wife, her body heavy as some Gordiment. A broody gesture where ever she goes, never having any other thoughts. A present so loud, what a sentimental child I was. 

Destruction is a form of creation. 

A body of finess , her breasts with rose nippels, skin, pores, flesh, brains, , microbala red vessels brains with moist, colonies of bacteria crawls and profilayes on every surface. 

From rose to meat.

From curve to gland.

From fragrance to sweat.

From lips to tissue.

From breast to fat and vein.

From beauty to body.

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

woven into flesh and breath.

I worked on gods motell

My cat at least respects my integrity and subjective view 

The lower intellect a country has, the worse is their taste for art. Art is to be enigmatic, thought provoking, filled by passion. It should imitate the soul, not copy it. I despise sweden, such thick neglect everywhere, like a heavy, immobile, angsty cloud that drains me. I’m not broody for the sake of it, I find life overwhelming and marvelous and I won’t exchange my experience for the sake of conformity

The collector

Empire of rocks, yearning for more. The pocket is a empire of rocks m full The ecstasy search in his wornful shoes and internal youth. walked with a bruised jacket, 

I like vineyards

Horror is the defiance of man towards the divine

I scratched my knee as a kid, I was in love with the girl from the square. She was my mystery

My father was a fisherman, a writer in prose. 

We sat as we killed those fishes and letting them in our dishes

The witch 

Sleep, do not let them eat up your tongue. 

Flirts into combat

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.

A whore, opening your legs like a gardiner, controlled by your desire, 

On a Deja perdu tout, oblige le temps

Dracula hides in his ship about to come with his plague. 

The cellar door, clock five AM and I am awake, 

Money=50s-60s romantic rue prince France film?

down to earth, see people through. 

 Playing cards in these hotel lobbies, too much fun to find ourselves, it’s a sin! Like a blame! A flame!

A cache of beans and cacanutes

 are only capable to touch their gesticals, totally blind, what’s funny is how everyone feels smells odd, they do not know what, yet it triggers angsty nees.

sex, we have sex?

I am hunter, Actor critiquing their cast for them not being truthful to their personna but world goes fine

doesn’t value their own lives and stick their nose into everything they find

until we wander like goats for those green valleys until the fragile morning