Han kände sig som han var i himmelen. 
Han låg i Stockholms ensligaste berg femtio meter under jorden som i sin egen grav. Aldrig i hela sitt liv hade han känt sig så trygg - rakt inte i sin mors mage. 
Världen därute kunde få brinna, 
här skulle han ingenting märka av det.
Han började gråta tyst. 
Han visste inte vem han skulle tacka för så mycken lycka.

Han gjorde inte bot och väntade inte någon ingivelse från ovan. 
Endast för sitt eget höga nöjes skull hade han dragit sig tillbaka, bara för att vara sig själv nära. 
Han lögade sig i sin egen existens, som ingenting distraherade längre, och fann det härligt.
Som sitt eget lik låg han i klippgraven, det var knappt han andades, det var knappt hans hjärta slog - och ändå levde han så intensivt och utsvävande som en lebeman ute i världen aldrig har levat.




































2011































































                   















































































































































Jag älskar er















Where I work
































The wind is blowing so
as usual i turn my back at it
step right out on the horizon
why would i stand there look at it
ya look through binoculars
so you could neither feel or hear it
and i could neither see or feel you
and i'm frankly fuckin glad about it















When the dayn is over (Hey) the doors are locked on os
cus money buys the access
And we can't pay the cost
How can expect anyone to listen
when we're using the same old voice?
We need new noice
New art for the real people












And we're dressed for the occasion in a sumptuous
new black outfit that is like an echo of the Black Orloff diamond or again perhaps,
the reflection of the moon on peacocks that strut about the gardens of Shalimar at night



























Top 4 ställen att glömma i

1. Ruset
2. Drömmen
3. Fittan
4. Duschen


















Fan/Fan!























Mmmm. Big city.


Overgrown with weeds, but flowering weeds.

On every corner a wrecking crew and something new and crooked going up catty corner to that. Windows missing in every edifice like broken teeth, gritty wind, and a gray high sky full of ravens.


Prophet birds.


Piles of trash, but lapidary like rubies and obsidian, and diamond-colored cowspit streamers in the wind. And voting booths.

And everyone in Balenciaga gowns with red corsages, and big dance palaces full of music and lights and racial impurity and gender confusion.

And all the deities are creole, mulatto, brown as the mouths of rivers.


Race, taste and history finally overcome.



And you ain't there













I THROW SPARKS I'VE TRIED TO TALK IN A FLAMELIT CITY


YOU'LL HEAR ME BARK ALL YALL MOVE DRONE SLOW


I'LL TARE OFF THAT BLINDFOLD WENT FROM


DARK TO THE LIGHT OF DAY FROM AUTUMN


GREY TO THE END OF MAY THAT'S


NOT THE SUN SHINING


BUT MY FAVOURITE


COCTAIL
























When the sun peaks

join it!






























I wouldn't start a fight
The sun is much too bright
so never stare into my eyes























IRL











































186

Sit back and watch

how we ride














TAKING DRUGS TO MAKE MUSIC TO TAKE DRUGS TO






















Hämtar andan i en helt ny fas
































NINJA WAS HERE










































&














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