Keep on drooling

With the second batch of snowy dough, spring is trying to get to our souls and kill gently hypnotizing and freezing. However, not everybody is willing to give up and doesn't matter how loud I would scream "There is no point!", I'll still manage to find teeny tiny point in actual moving forward.

Four months or even five months of winter is just trying to scare the shit out and getting boring as constantly repeated phrase "the winter is coming" in game of thrones. Advice: Nevertheless, instead of giving up on a minor mistake or obstactle continue training your strength. Wax your shoes that they wouldn't get soaked, wear your mittens, read books or at least read your labels, feed your ego. 

As talking about emotional harmonization and feeding ego. If sexual treatment is hiding deep under snow piles there is old good women beloved way to the fulfillment. Ice cream. I'm not a big fan of ice cream, though, I am a big fan of Mr. Boonstra's, Wyne Veen's and Zack McDonald's baked advertising campaign for Frozen Dutch.

Dripping, melting and vividly exposed. Unusual assortment of visual and textual quality resemblance of the guilty pleasures. And the lack of romance and hot air whispers are being changed by admiration towards subtle and tasty advertising. I think it is flirting with me.

 

Flaws and jaws

Actually it has been hard to put words in places but easy to make meaningless sentences.

A construction worker with no attested experience pouring grout in nano-scale cracks - trying to fix you. Trying to vanish old paint from facade. Trying to. To try. Physically exhausted and spiritually drained to the last drop - gained a spacious gap between tiles, which is filled with that admiration leftover that is leaking and soaking into passengers', strangers', buddies' bodies. Ripped up by the winds and blurred out from the blinding rays - it was tricked into the innocent white appearance. 

Relaxed muscles after the hopeless work, and an assured thought "I am just an insecure mess", in doubt to make any step that would lead further from the wretched remains of the previous temples. As someone said, you'll have to sweep all the dust and debris away to start putting up new things in a place instead. You're allowed to make mistakes, you are allowed to try to fix you, in case that doesn't happen I'll help to take care of wreckage. 

The cleaning period will be over soon. The construction will be put away for a while. Until the spring comes, now the facade and interior as well as exterior are being prepared for the snowy storms and frosty evenings. 

I'll be there. 

Inside. 

Getting cozy under my blankets and you are more than welcome stop by. 

To have a conversation, mhm, meaningful, mhm, with words in places.

walk

I've started walking with no actual reason or destination. It's been going on for a while. I've been going for a while. Trees, remarkable stones, rocks, forests just passed by and I was feeling that I can walk through any kind of surface, any kind of emotion, any kind of environment. That was partially true. Tripping on harder rocks and slipping on rotten wood pieces I kept on walking, sometimes against the wind, sometimes with the wind. I kept going. I knew that coming back would be hard and I've never liked coming back and disturbing the peace that settles down like a layer of dust after one leaves. I knew that even if I would be kicked out I had to go that direction the foot directed me. I had to continue and then just follow marks on the ground. Bread crumbs, white stones, blood spots. It doesn't really matter. I knew that if I walked to the end of the world all I have to do is to keep walking. I knew.

Usually, emotions betray really quick, and they still do. With tears in my eyes I kept on walking. Kept on biting my lip and humming Fisherman's Wife song. Where I pretend to be a good fisherman's women, working hard everyday, my hands cracked from the cold and salt, and in the night when I go to bed, I try to fall asleep listening to the boat breathing. At these moments my face beams with blissful solitude. I don't have to wait. That's my way and I keep on going.

Rainstorm

Rainstorm doesn't stop for the third day in a row and you would not stop complaining about it even it would be gone. Small jokes, that this rain is trying to wash off your sins, but apparently you have them too many that's why it is raining so much, are not comic anymore. Overall situation is so sad that it is even funny. With a marble face staring at you. Asking what have you done wrong? Asking what would you do?

My shelter has no holes for water to leak, no gaps for spiders to invade, no... I've sorted out many things and many things still left to sort out. I see things moving and searching for their places. I just levitate. I just flow with the rain, downhill, to the sea, to the tips of grassy hills and then down again. I do not care and I care too much. I waste my time and I plan my schedule thoroughly. I sit there nostalgic and suffering and I sit here melancholic and joyful. 

Rainstorm mixes all four winds and confuses them too much. If I could I would hug them all together and read them a fairy tale about how the winds have chosen their paths, about how the seasons have divided their territory. I would stroke their light and soft hair. And now I am just pouring down on my own shoulders with a marble face, with some confidence and confusion. Very strong in my very own shelter. Very calm.

Shelter from Carl Burton on Vimeo.

Winnie Truong

The week is on its midway. Unfortunately, today Wednesday feels like Monday just because I wasn't counting time since Saturday. And the minute when the awareness of the time flow tickled my toes this morning the vision of the future appeared to be sleeping next to me as well. The month is on its midway. The autumn is already putting its coat on and planning to pay a visit no matter where you would be. So if we are counting time - here and now is the time to give a smart advice to style and grow your hair, to prepare a natural fur that would cure you from a bold chilly autumn wind. Or that I could crawl into your hair and sleep until the winter is gone. The moon is in the right position and the day seems to be perfect for a new hair style. For a new activity as well, for new findings too. Winnie Truong a pencil crayon artist, with an amazing ability to expose a vivid attention to details and structure, is my newest finding. The big sized drawings of human Sasquatches and XVI century lady hair styles improved with a bit of nastiness. It is all about counting time and trimming your hair ends. 

Be aware and take care.

Robbie Augspurger

Coming back from a slight mode of depression and shooting it with a salvation burning in ones eyes. One more weird hobby to collect pictures of chicks with guns inspired by one of the Q.T. movies lead me to the little bit blurred out photographer Robbie Augspurger. Robbie Augspurger got his first camera in one of those fast food restaurant kid birthdays when he was twelve, the film was not particularly brilliant but here we have a grown up artist with actual ability to photograph. Or at least an interest to photograph. 

Idiotic and quite random shots of country like looking people, women in universe with animal bones and 3D glasses and more is just putting you into a line where you don't know if it's better laugh or be silent. Either way gives you something to be confused of.

Sophie Curtis

i have way too many personalities in me that they would listen to each other

i would sell my doubts for free

periscope doesn't show the horizon 

not created to give up at this point

photos by Sophie Curtis