la din intamplare

My wordpress user is  ‘capelasextina’.

I perch into this words’ world bribing it with these visual guardians.

Michelangelo left his later works unfinished.

I live alone and miserable, trapped as marrow under the bark of the tree. My voice is like a wasp caught in a bag of skin and bones. My teeth shake and rattle like the keys of a musical instrument. My face is a scarecrow. My ears never cease to buzz. In one of them, a spider weaves its web, in the other one, a cricket sings all night long. My rattling catarrh won’t let me sleep. This is the state where art has led me, after granting me glory. Poor, old, beaten, I will be reduced to nothing, if death does not come swiftly to my rescue. Pains have quartered me, torn me, broken me and death is the only inn awaiting me.

Sometimes and some of these times I wish I were living in a huge, perfectly isolated sea-shell where Bach harp were playing in loops.

Those who ask what do I mean with that will now fuck off from my life.

Eight million Shinto deities travel secretly through the Earth.

Artists are these sneaky bastards who escape the system’s hands like sand flows through your fingers.  Can you see the great fist in the sky leaking artists? I bet they are well aware of the ‘leak’ up there and they are sending out plumbers to fix it.