Sorry for the long hiatus, I've been pretty busy lately and also not very creative, but I'm planning to make a comeback. I'm also (more or less) working on a website which I will switch to at some stage.  Here is a piece of street art I found in Tallinn, Estonia. I really liked the colours and the drawing style.

Shouldering my backpack, hot sun burning down on my long unkempt hair. Dust floating around my dirty feet in their worn-out sandals. The smell of smoke still fresh in my nose I get up to move on. Travelling the world like this - two feet, two legs and an open mind.

The caravan moves on, tingling, tangling, under the blazing sun, ringing, ranging, with bright and exotic goods, binging, banging, the caravan moves on.

Agromania drives me out of the safety of home; out into the far-stretching woods; makes me embark on ships to travel the never-ending oceans; makes me climb icy mountain peaks; makes me run over the wide grasslands... ... until homesickness befalls me like some thanatomania, making me return home like a doomed and humbled one, keeping quiet about the worlds I saw.

My braids after about 10 weeks of wearing them.

The machinery works slowly, weary of its ways, worn over the years. The doom machinery is hungry. It needs fuel, it needs to be fed. It runs on vile things, on everything this world is. It runs slow for now, but you are steadily feeding it, cogs are rattling faster now, stomping, beating, moving. It rises to its song, cheerful, but terrible to hear, it has been fed, the machinery rises and works its way inside, inside our fates again. Cold and glassy stares on the street, ignorant of the monstrous machinery they carry on and on and on, they can’t see the monstrosity they created. And we - with our eyes full of madness - we must see and we must watch and we cannot act. Bound by our all-encompassing fear, unable to stand up to the machinery, there are only silent, internal screams, the cries of despair at night, the vortex of insanity tugging at our minds, slowly dragging us down. And will someone stan

Cold morning air tugging at the rims of my eyes as I look up into the empty streets. Cold is encircling me, my body feels twisted, turned inside out, like travelling to another reality. Oh, how I wish my brain was nestled against the crook of your neck, containing the endless throbbing, so I can let my eyelids drop without fear. But the crystals of air are cutting into my skin as I ascend to spend another day in dullness.

Your eyes are the moon, haunting. Waxing and waning, roaming the earth mercilessly. What did you see? What turned your skin blue, what made your lips quiver? Where is the time that was trapped between your toes? Your hands cut into my soul. Where is this salvation coming from? No trace of human life - overrated. The worms are feeding on your brain, but they'll never get to your mind. This cold and restless mind, racing infinitely, emanating strange and cruel dreams, nightmarish, like the stare in your eyes. Don't you ever sleep anymore?

Stars are in her eyes, her hair is a piece of the universe, intricate geometry leading down to her slender face, leading you to her full golden lips... Lips only kissed by the sun, her hair only touched by the night, she is eternal. Eternal girl with streams of life running out of her constellation eyes.

Let the music trickle down your intricate skin, beautiful child, as the heat of night blows over it. Lay down your hopes by our feet, darling one, and we will savor them for ourselves. Let us drink from you, honey and milk, the golden promise of our lady, as we trance across the ancient world.