A heart is like a savage. It's starving out and hiding low. It sees a chance and strikes and DRIVES ITS KILL BACK UNDERGROUND TO GORGE.






It's like rain when they say libertá.
Pink amoebas (spawn of panzers) are more characteristically true to themselves than when they actually were pink amoebas (spawn of panzers). And however preoccupied, even nauseatingly idle, one might be with other matters - it is inevitable for one to wonder how this category of addiction and the concept of its abstract realization can exist if cause of being for such mass long since has has absented itself. The coping of it.

As much as we can bear; audio, thoughts, thoughts of fantasies and audio and the thoughts of others. Their fantasies. Spectrums of tolerance, excruciatingly vast, though never absolute or universal - and then the love goes everywhere.




More refuge for perception.
More floods for matter.
Scarlet swellings for beauty.
And all else can unwelcome itself.






Once more if sure, in time, maybe others.
And the love - furthermore - goes everywhere.
Hi, hot stuff! I like to screw for hours and I'm right here in Billesholm, let's fuck.
Eastbourne 2007:


n wh th fk r u ½-lings


I'm not immune to all the fears that float in my atmosphere

am I awful will I, I end up alone

BIG ONE, you're not mine to share no oh-oh


Fantôme
"Okej" säger jag bara.












Min kamera funkar förresten igen, 'sup.



How do I feel for thee. Your smile brings disease 'cause we're young, willing from the start.