treason for the artist


the obsessions, the revelations, the blue mondays, and tuesdays and all  the days we cannot pronounce or know or understand . how does it feel today to be part of a conceptual world, spreading dreams, lending hopes, impulsively asking for more? can you understand my reasons, my fears, the treasons? how can one act normally on a thin line when even the world itself doesn’t not count lines? …how much can you count? a hundred. why did you stop? a hundred is enought. once you’ve counted a hundred the other hundreds are the same…

see thru you by flunk

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