I wanna be a model and be seen by many. I wanna be discovered, I wanna be found, I wanna be rich.

I wanna be a model and be seen by many. I wanna be discovered, I wanna be found, I wanna be rich.

Hi, my name is, hi my name is, Hi, my name is, I would really like to be a model, I would really like to be a model, I would really like to be a model, a high fashion model, a high fashion model. I am sixteen years of age, I am fifteen, I am eighteen years of age. I come from Russia, I come from Latvia, I come from Poland. I have long blond hair and blue eyes, I weight fifty kilos and am 175 centimeters tall. I can walk and look the look. I love high heels and miniskirts and I turn the heads on the street when I walk. I have been told I could be a model, because I am beautiful and slank. That is what you want, isn’t it. Here is my picture. I also have a portfolio of poses taken by a professional photographer. To be in a magazine on front page is my dream and to be admired. True woman is feminine and takes care of her femininity.

Despair? What despair?

A poem for monsters. How much is in you to give? A test.

Can you love an ugly child? Fat, tiny, whiny and useless, suddenly appearing into your life? Is it organic or manufactured, artificial or natural?
Can you love an ugly child who looks like trouble growing with hunger and thirst, who does not belong here or anywhere but needs a place to stay? Whose whole being yells how out of place she is even though she is quietly looking at you.
Can you give affection to a little beast who is an image of you? Maybe forgotten and hidden. Who reminds you of your weaknesses, your desires which you cannot attend to and fulfil because of that visible existence of someone new, an invader, an intruder grabbing you from your gut. Sounds like a leach.
Can you put priorities of your own aside and love someone with two heads and a heart that pounds noise in which nobody can sleep, unconditionally, without saying you owe me?
Screaming, needy and pathetic, noisier and messier. Heads following sudden ideas, not obeying anything said. Someone with three legs, several hands and wide open mouths nonstop.
Can you love an ugly child that needs to be loved more than you could ever imagine, loved more than you love yourself?
Put all your warmth on that tiny body that breaks everything just to try out what happens? How much warmth do you have to spare and what changes?

Size of ours

To measure something we do not know with something we think we know. To be exact is difficult. It demands effort and knowing of facts, knowledge over the world, how it is and how we are in it. Such knowledge which is not measured by eyesight and thinking you know takes time to find out and look for. To know how the world and nature work is a very basic method of learning to see connections, links between happenings, reactions and outcomes, comparisons and dimensions. Why something happens as it does and how patterns evolve and appear in front of us, in us and without us. We often like to know how big something is and are astounded by vastness, grandness and miraculous infinite nature of what is, for instance heart of a blue whale, temperature of volcanic lava, suddenness and randomness of nature and how close can we get, yet the very accuracy and beauty of it and danger: distance to Mars and could it be inhabitable. We would like to know and do because we can and cannot. We are curious to the limits and beyond. Whether something could be done just because we can test it and try out, experiment with any cost entails also the question of what should be left undone. Imagining diving inside a blue whale in its veins, imagining being eaten by a whale and ending up in its stomach and staying alive, getting out when it washes out to the shore. Where would we have gone without that experiment? What is unimaginable becomes reality, an adventure, survival, living, breathing, to think how many cars should be put in line to measure the Earth to know its circumference. To measure something which size we cannot comprehend unless we measure it with something we can see and we know, comprehend in everyday life, size of ours.

Mother of


INTIMATE RELATIONSHIP: TRYING TO HAVE SOME FUCKING FUN.

How many bin Ladens do you make when you kill bin Laden?

(making that money.)

We don’t like those stupid and crazy. We know what is stupid and what is crazy. To eliminate those among us to hold community clean, free, happy, intact and more importantly hygienic and safe. You understand, yes. It is our right as people of God. Chosen ones, choose the ones.

Mother of Madness
Mother of Comfort
Mother of Thieves
Mother of Tears
Mother of Psychosis
Mother of Mercy
Mother of Bread
Mother of Night
Mother of the Lost
Mother of Anti-Social Tendency
Mothers of The Disappeared
Mothers of The Executed
Mothers of Tigers
Mothers of The Lonely
Mothers of Terrorists
Mothers of The Dissidents
Mothers of The Freedom Fighters
Mothers of Strangers
Mother of Suspicion
Mothers of Comfort

Blind boys running downhill. I really have witnessed it happening. Oh I have seen the Japanese garden. Fill in the blank, but I don’t think you’ll get the job, Motherfucker.

Elbows wrists, elbows wrists, a pornographic magazine under the loo carpet.
Sudden movements and sighs.

Who is that flying through the air? Cover yourself itzy bitzy spider. Limbs breaking the brisk air.

Terrible kleptomaniac spent warmly days in the sun of love. (Don’t ask for permission just do it.)

Call me anything you like, Unemployed Hashtag, Ach Scheissenheit! I’m a real hipster, which definition was quite a surprise to me. Definitely, and it is forever, class and grace of knowing what to wear.

To understand

It is demanding to be kind to people.
It is demanding to be kind to the world.
It is demanding to be kind to animals.
It is demanding to be kind to strangers.
It is demanding to be kind to those you know. It is demanding to be kind to those you don’t know.
It is demanding to be kind towards nature.
It is demanding to be kind to yourself.
It is demanding to be kind to insects.
It is demanding to be kind to people you do not like.
It is demanding to be kind to people you are mean to. It is demanding to be kind to the street.

To understand what is and what is not.
To understand what you are and what you are not.
To understand why and why not.
To understand what you can do and what you can’t.
To understand how all happens and how things do not.
To understand what is said and what is not.
To understand this place and not.
To understand what to say and not.
To understand what is your place and what is not.
To understand right and wrong and not.
To understand how things work and not.
To understand your potential and not.

Escaped surprise

Green the color, yellow the color, leaves the color, color that left. Or it is there to notify, some shade of bright to make us see an enterprise, initiative of particular. Endless topic of us of what color are we, what season, what ideology do we stand for, we do stand for, always for something and like. Necessity to like to feel enjoyment and standing. What color to like, what colorless question to let out and what plain answer to give, short answer, because one is entitled to answer to such question of basic personal favorite. What is your personal input in this? Could one ask why do you want to know? Such attitude is hostile, to question the question. Does the answer make one more soft, acceptable and friendly when you know person’s most liked shade, named, preferred, enjoyed the wavelength of light hitting that wall of corrugated iron.

Do you know Jemma Lucy?

She is lighter now than when she started some weeks ago. Lighter, not as heavy as she was in her heaviest, approachable. Less of flesh, fleshiness in right places, round but not thin nor fat, seductive to look at.
Picture of a naked woman hand on crotch smiling by the pool. Jump in.
Picture of a woman in bikini posing and bending. Jump in. Picture of a woman flaunting her ample cleavage, perky posterior in a snake print swimsuit soaking up in the sun. Jump in.

Boob boob boob job, job job job toned body in a khaki bikini on Ibiza Holiday after causing a stir. Stirring beauty: How does she do it?
Beauty sported with a pair of pale pink jogging bottoms, look at her ass. Now hands full with her Luis Vuitton carrier in one hand and a mobile in the other barely containing herself in floral bikini, look at her ass. Jemma Lucy looks like she is pregnant. Look at her ass. Who needs the millennium falcon pert posterior in revealing swimsuit? I don’t even know what that means.

What is eating? Everything. This action we must do and be compelled to commit every day. Stay focused even though the focus is on wrong things, always the same things, such as asses and breasts, sex and things we can grab. Nothing wrong with sex. No, but something wrong with neuroticism and blind obsession. Body means very different kinds of things to everybody even though it is to mean very simple pleasures in life and yet a necessity to be able to enjoy one’s body and somebody else’s body, to enjoy life. And how do we do it? No other interest than self-interest and pictures to look at?

Do you know Jemma Lucy?

Language of turquoise

Excavator on a star looks lonely and abandoned. A horse called Flight was difficult to handle. The animal was sizeable and white. Only one who it let ride was a girl and I thought she was the bravest person I had ever met. I use to like to watch them work together in perfect harmony. The abused and hurt horse, beautiful and enraged, and the only one who could touch its white. How are we the same? What is the same? Why do you seek similarity? Why do you want to be safe with people like yourself?

Puta Madre conceptual garden sub specie Aeternitatis, where every deed happens: truth is a bitch.  Say the truth and you will be smacked around. Out-of-place, naturally dislocated.

Nymphaea looked for her earring on living room floor carpet. She said she has bad eyes. Great Horned Owl in her, in her bra was tightly pressured against her skin. Wanted to study her pressure marks, sunken bloodless steps on her, leaps of red. I thought it must have hurt to wear such bra. To wear underwear she did shaping her form. She always had a nightgown for me with a cartoon figure. I loved her furniture. She hung her jewelry on corners of her dressing table with oval shaped mirror. Smelling her bottles, her sheets, her plastic pearls, her things, her and valuables, details, piled magazines in her closet. Hers, language of her. I looked for it through her hanging clothes sitting on the floor. I poured everything that was in the box on the floor. Language of clichés,
language of beauty
language of trauma
language of banality
language of architecture
language of aggression
language of being a child
language of being alive
language of acting out
language of close
language of an old woman
language of dust
language of turquoise. 

Working class experience

Rose

I was given a rose at the cash register at a grocery store. The flower didn’t have a smell. I thought it was odd, a rose with no smell. I took carefully off its thirty petals which I counted. Carefully placing them on a paper sheet and let wind take them. It was strikingly sunny.