writing in the dark...

everything was ok. it always was: coz you don't have to sweat the small stuff. and by the way, it's all small stuff. heavy lines, hugging me like MOTHER. godamn i'm so stoned. writing in the dark, i can hear tribal music in the waves. i can literally hear it, singing. and the lights in the sky spell geometric patterns. dodecahedrons and spirals. characters and figures. they've got numbers, see, like dot-to-dot galaxies. one-two, buckle my shoe. three-four, knock at the door ... (dot-dot-dot) . dotty like my grandmother's living ghost, crazy with alzheimers. smash your castle before the tide comes in. or else nuke the moon in half. that's possible too. writing in the dark? don't even try. goodnight, sandman.

 - A cave on an unnamed beach on Gran Canary, March 2011

i wrote a whole other blog for the trip to Gran Canary, which you can find below. Me and M0 knew it was going to get seriously cold again in Berlin and we wanted to get away and go somewhere warm. We figured with the shit-show in Egypt, by which we mean the revolution, flights would really cheap, but that wasn't even the case. The cheapest warmest place we could find was Gran Canary, so that's where we went to live out the cold month of February.

https://atobtoa.blogspot.com/