Hillbilly grass flowers scattered around this unevolved and lonesome plane.
The vastness can’t be defined with human sagacity.
The burn, the sensations in it’s livelihood can’t be touched with soft feet.
I have always found the smell of petrol on human vulva
and I have always extinguished my inflammations with the liquidity of this petrol.
That same smell is here in this stretched and undressed earth.

Dissolved orange sun in an unconventional evening is great
but moaning eyes of a drunk woman and the rythyme on her bare ass is greater…I have found revolution in female nudity.

There’s nothing more poetic than being inside a reflective elevator and pressing the numbers you want to ascend…
I have found art in regular idleness of activities.

So here; when these nonchalant and tiny grass flowers rumble in unkempt wind, I find it very poetic…
But I can’t find the words to write down.
Black smokes and a bathed, topless city is enough to create ripple on my inked nib.

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Photograph: Mila Stelmakh.