Problem in past pursued in present Populations inherently passive, perpetuate intergenerational pain partially intolerantly protesting particularly inter parental post-traumatic inheritance pledge Papa is paradoxically perturbating inner peace Perception is paying Peruvian indigenous prayer Panic is persistent

I prioritise safety over freedom It’s still so hard to grasp. And it will always run like sand through my hands After you I experienced life from far Who is the main character again? Pulling up the boat out of the water? Lost touch with my skin, my muscles, my appetite. After you I felt…

Can people really change? The way they look at you and the world and themselves? Well you did. Or maybe that’s a lie. And you never changed the way you looked at me: From up above in the end. From down below in the beginning. But never on eye-level. I think change is the hardest…

So that you would open up I wish I was more sensitive So that we could talk I wish I was more sensitive Like we used to be I wish I was more sensitive And you more sensitive to me

I’m trying to see the beauty. In It. The ugliest conflict I have ever involved in. Which began as the most beautiful encounter I ever witnessed. The terror, pain and fear of losing each other in conflict after having experienced tenderness, vulnerability and love for the first time. Ambiguity. Beauty. Anything else would have been…

What is there more beautiful on earth than two people getting to know each other? The gestures, looks, smells, and styles of their belongings? The way they move. The tone of their voice. Their worries and wishes? Their fears and desires. The form of their body and texture of their skin. Their hair. Their home,…

All these unspoken words. All these spoken words worthless without you listening. After all our arguments. Is there so much left to say. A lifetime of a child. Unspoken. In my head I speak them all. It’s like singing without making a sound. Quiet. All these words. I tell them my friends. I write them…

I am so annoyed by people who claim to make art. It is such a self-entitlement. It is so arrogant. Why do people who claim to make art describe their enlightenments as complex as possible? Like „A mild breeze ascended the embankment of his sitting bones.“ I know nothing more ugly than making a fuzz…