Each one of these texts have been written in an hour. I haven't edited them after writing. This is how I express myself in 2014.

Tallinn, August 15, 2014: Poem + story


Could giving up be an aesthetic
I'm asking this mainly for myself

Man is 10 yrs older than me, bust a gut wearing white, toning it down with blue jeans tho
he and I let this war be

128 kilobytes per second of taming your political beliefs with pop music
why do people complain abt bitrate, it's a chance to hear how things sound like when u and i were high

—I got 1920's leftist thinkers finally i got it
Now that modernism is not a problem anymore in our 
late capitalist late atfernoon, I can crave 
for the singular art work again 
because really we're not we won't be ready 
for the stream of anonymous material just yet
gimme this one song

the referential i'm-still-hip-but-30 jokes i aspire to do versus my desire to echo forever

kill it gurl

a woman sits down on a puffy deck chair next to her current lover (the word doesn't make him justice), 
gets older by 20 years on the sitting
the man really the boy foraging for ad lib basis 
to his phone over-usage 
but she doesn't mind 
she gave up on her way here 
in a proud way tho

if you can heal people with kisses
you'll be needed both in times of this war and that peace 



A man crosses the water

My brother had confessed he was gay, says Belle and Sebastian to my ear. Their guitars sound like cheap white wine. 

I didn't know businessmen were sporting backpacks in our time.

Two thai women walking outside the cafe I'm sitting in. They're wearing yellow hard hats with a smile before 8am. I start to feel ashamed of my 9€ breakfast. "We can never be friends", I conclude, almost out loud, trying to surpass my guilt with kitschy dourn, my skills for resolution an afterthought really.

Another Belle & Sebastian track: overkill, I opt for Daft Punk instead. 

While going thru the titles this 80's theatre group Forced Entertainment -they're around still, makes them no justice labeling them as 80's- had chosen for their works I notice most of these names are snatched from songs made in the 60's or 70's. 

I imagine myself writing this observation out to Facebook and how I must not do the same mistake when I'm over fifty, fiffffty, & famous playwright. My most acclaimed work titled Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger or My Wandering Days Are Over. 

I'm thinking of Jonty Tiplady reading this. In my mind, I tell him to not fucking like this because this is nothing, this is way too little, we must demand more. Blog poetry reform kind of.

There's no reason to believe that Kanye West is what will remain of these times. At the same time, it's pointless to guess what history will do with us or Kanye.

People like the process of proving that something is true more than they like stuff. 

I'm thinking about Georges Jacotey doing what he does there in the narrow roads of Athens, he's not smiling because it's early and he's stressed. But then a dog enters the picture and he gives out his most kindest smile. 

Art historians, when you take on G.J., consider the dogs in his videos. 

They are the key. Although you shouldn't bother with locks other than the one to your house. 

As artists, artists have no secrets.
On a cruise ferry to Tallinn with other people. What we have in common is the conviction on life being unbearable without substance abuse. We're dealing with the limits and we don't know who we're with, sings Peter Cook or some other New Order member straight throuuugh my brain. Accepting new countries to European Union seems like an idea worth celebrating again. 

What I learned from the late Tony Judt was that Europe came in terms with WWII atrocities in the 90's. Tony might've overlooked the influence of Eurodance and pop hits in major key (such as New Order's "Regret").   

I'm safe here in writing. Art is never painful, to me. 

Now Jenna Sutela is in my head, brought to me by Soundcloud and the idea of Berlin accelerated by the hurt and hope of 21st century.

I haven't seen the dark places. My art takes place in the middle ground between pretty interesting and lifeless. 

A man in black carrying a guitar case on his back walks by, all curly hair and jaw dropped from the sight of a bar or a potential performance venue. He looks like Trent Reznor because no one else at the moment does. You get me closer to god, Trent the real one continues, but I haven't believed him in ages. 

I went to a service last Sunday. It was very touching. I was deeply moved, I think towards becoming a Christian again. 
Some liberal LGBTQ sensitive small church might do it for me. 

The church I attended to was on an island. I couldn't find the chapel at first. There was a young girl (not unlike the Tiqqun type) walking in front of me, wearing/sporting an apron. She was drinking coffee from a white ceramic cup while walking, like she was trying to drown herself. I asked her if the chapel was the small red wooden house in front of us. She said, "Yes, you're on the right path", which was a peculiar well yeah religious way to put it. 
I realized she was also going to the chapel. I guess she works here at this super small summer-fun island owned by the church. I follow her in, but slow down so it doesn't seem like I'm with her. Not that I would mind the proximity/association, but just.I enter the chapel and notice her behind the dais. She's a priest, part-time at least. For a moment, I cry out my love for egalitarian Lutheran Church, where the waitress becomes the priest. 

In my ear: shuffle mode picks Massive Attack's Unfinished Sympathy. It's 1991. I know that I've been mad in love before, and how it could be with you, will it hurt me baby, will it hurt me, baby? They uttered these lyrics at us after CCCP and Berlin Wall had collapsed, while recession was wiping out ppl all around Europe, and libertarian politicians were busy planning their future in EU I guess.

Two women sat on the chairs I had moved away from my table. I can't get their references re: clothes, but I understand they love each other, even here, on this boat.