Humpty Dumpty...said Alice...

"When I use a word" Humpty Dumpty said "it means just what I choose it to mean - neither more nor less." But as all beautiful girls know: "The question is," said Alice, "whether you can make words mean so many different things."

We are all in Wonderland when we use words to locate the so called map of the world. So, enjoy the ride of semantics in the Russian roulette of meaning...

Welcome to the chaosmos...

What I believe in...

I believe in the beauty of girly web-cams through the horizons of our computerized delusions; in the girly shadows of a gothic kiss; in overexposed flesh burning its shades like the sizzling light of a rainbow by moonlight; in burning moons and dead suns.

I believe in the curved edges of exhibitionism, pregnancy and bondage; in female youth taken by the sudden budding of their breasts; in the silent murmurs of orgasms taken by infraction; in the spiral waves of pain and pleasure; in the spellbound transparency of rain drops, in the luxuriance insouciance of ivory nudity.

I believe in the deserted highways of car crashes lighting up the boredom of our eyes; in the empty rooms of Hopperian solitude; in the adolescent flagrances of suburbia; in the blank gaze of security cameras by empty trash bins.

I believe in the waves of frozen music by synthesizers unbeknown; in the high-tech transparency of glass towers glimmering by sunlight; in neon lights of artificial demurs by a two-moon junction.

I believe in all the synthetic possibilities of pharmacology marooned in the virtual light of our digitalised infinity.

I believe in the violent cotton dream lands of blow and smack, long live the new flesh; in the molten nights of Acid corrosion, in the DMT worlds of swirling vistas at high pitching speeds, in the four letter words of ecstasy: MDMA.

I believe in the curvature of space without gravity, in ellipses without inflexion, in fractals without repetition.

I believe in the sublime beauty of dying stars by a millions of a second in the black holes of our anthropomorphized delusions; in the sombre and tranquil beauty of Voyager Il reaching the edges of our solar system shining its ocular metallic perfection in the abyssal silence of an interrogation; in the tranquil beauty of cosmic photography with its snapshots of stellar bodies unseen to mankind’s anthropomorphic gaze.

I believe in the chiasmic dance of Shiva and Kali creating the world in arrays of space and lust; in the interplay of ascetic repetitions and ecstatic differences in all things.

I believe in the beauty of crystals as yet unproduced by our silicon and carbon formalities...

Answers for a question

Marcel Duchamp playing a muse for a dream

Is death the dream of life? Are we living the death of being born by the shadows of our inexistence? Is death the waking-up of our dream?

The sphinx calls the phoenix by playing the chess of life against itself..