My walls, my celling, my spreaded armchair,
all are infested with silent yellow.
Somebody is bombing thousands of honest animals, somewhere around the corner.
The madness of a rotating electric fan and the ordinariness of it’s soul…
making me remember those gone days of blossomed metaphors.
Somebody just played the most motherfucking piece of guitar in front of a numb and gutless crowd.
Indie music on loop…I am sitting here like I belong to some old group of lucky explorer,
a bullet has just been fired somewhere beyond that red mountain to kill a bony but radiant infant.
Winning can never be purposeful when we all live in a night party of beautiful nudity and thickest alcohol and a rusty farewell song…
I believe in loosing the shits…I believe in disappearing when it’s more artistic to be alive and craft a future,
I believe in 4 am void stares when it’s more reasonable to sleep through a death spread night…
I believe in all the isolation of the people…I believe in how you can measure solitude with every units of indifferent geniuses.

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Photograph: Godziny Otwarcia.