Light goes by the top of this dead branches
with an open window
alone in a city
and the evening comes with more wells to drink from.
The crowd seem sold with directions,
to find a meaning in them is more frightening than to find a scar in obscure bodies.
I have worked for others, I have worked for myself
but where the mind stops,
where something is done without the realization of anything…
There lies the most beautiful works,
products like guns.
People are made of four walls
I am made of four walls
and the freedom, the elation, the colours,
the strokes
blurred and mystified in me.
I will die in this room and a woman will lick my ass with her tongue…
My death is a nymphomaniac one.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: George Hodan.

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