#photo #dessin #collage
#association d'images #mots

pics are max 800px wide → right click + "display image"
to see them big (it works sometimes)



mercredi 1 juin 2011



"this poster needs more exclamation marks"

jeudi 21 avril 2011

strawberries, tales/stairs, cuss

whoever comes are the right people
whatever happens is the only thing that could have
whenever it starts is the right time
when it's over, it's over

« Death juice is a mixture of Cocaine, Marijuana, Oxycontin, 2 different types
of cough syrup, & beer. It makes you bleed from your eyes, nipples, nose, ears, and
it makes your teeth fall out and your fingernails fall off. »

one’s real life is often the life that one does not lead

000 - Blood/b-dogs/ dogs
001 - Ghettos
003 - Mad dog
007 - Know what I mean
009 - What's up
012 - Lookin'
013 - Tear him up
014 - Put ya stroll on
025 - You sure

031 - I got love for you
038 - Hold on
044 - Blood, it ain't easy,
             but it sure is fun
050 - Stay on point
067 - Ghetto star
069 - Shake down
073 - Tear him up Blood
091 - Send a kite

0001 - Enemy

a.) where does the light live ?
b.) where was it born ?
c.) what sign distinguish them all ?
d.) are they all gray ?
e.) are they fed up ?
f.) is blue the new black ?
g.) is yellow the new black ?
h.) are blue and yellow complementary color ?

I./ find the child who has a child
II./ point out the whole that isn't made of its parts

0.) which one came first : the egg or the chicken ?

[spoiler] the chicken is the artifice that uses the egg to create another egg

               § Apr 21, 2011

oh good god

« No, no, no ! You guys have it all wrong ! I don't have a problem with drinking,
I like drinking, it's the guilt I have a problem with , like when I wake up in some bed next
to a complete stranger with a moist sock over my penis and I can't remember how I
ended up in this type of situation again. I don't wanna feel bad about that type of
stuff anymore and I thought you guys knew how to get rid of guilt but obviously I'm
wasting my time here. A. A. is some bullshit ! »





Introduction to Mathematical Philosophy

« I have become my own version of an optimist. If I can’t make it
through one door, I’ll go through another door - or I’ll make a
door. Something terrific will come no matter how dark the present. »


lundi 18 avril 2011

i was thinking of art projects and not doing them (as usual)

you decide that you will sit here and write, as often as you can, possibly every day, for a few minutes. use the shower just before to get some ideas together. and use the 2am-4am time slot.
tonight you’re surrounded by god-only-knows-how-many (too many) twenteenagers, that all are way too sophisticated (each in his / her own way), you’re safe

that is studio (atelier) lyf (life / vida / vie)
everyone had, has or is having a studio lyf. B has studio lyf. E has studio lyf and there was a point in his life when he had two studio lyfs. M and F have a studio in which they lead their own separate studio lyfs. now S, Y, M and me are having collective studio lyf and S even has two when she’s not on a break because her life outside the studio IS studio lyf.

you discover there’s this thing called an irony mark (it’s basically a mirrored question mark) and you will now use it in sentences like “i really know what you’re talking about” or “this looks great, really”.
no. really.
and there’s that sudden dream about football (the soccer kind), and that other dream that seems like the sequel. woods, balloon(s) and then buying clothes (shoes and the sales girl speaks to you in russian) and then water and then a competition, walking down a paved street and then a city.
and it really feels like it begins at the exact same point where the other one from a day or two before ended.

it’s unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same. seldom only seldom only.
like you want to dance with / to / for L right now. (right now. right. now.) but Y is gonna read you a fairy tale out of his magic hat, M is gonna have meticulous fruits, beverages, bluffing rocky peanuts jumping out of a max ernst landscape with you, never-ending fingernail blood and meat (the yellow / pink / white kind) and ever-lasting cigarettes. because he’s younger. because. he’s. younger. and S will just have to sit there upon some dead weather background music and do her stuff and she knows what she’s doing.
the rest is just blur.

— what, what makes a man ? is it being prepared to do the right thing ? whatever the cost? isn’t that that makes a man ?
— ummmmm sure. that and a pair of testicles.
— you’re joking. but perhaps you’re right. perhaps. you’re. right.

               § Apr 18, 2011

samedi 16 avril 2011

does language affect thought ?

you lay awake in bed, you’ve been tossing for hours probably.

last night you shared your bed for the first time in awhile. you woke up and felt disgusting that morning. semen had seeped out from inside you and had dried to your leg. you were moist when you reached down to touch it.

you are sat at a large table, some nondescript bar that’s fairly cramped and loud and sweaty and smells just as bad. you can’t disdain who is here that knows birthday boy, or who is just a regular. you talk to any one passing the time until you see a familiar face.

there’s about 10 people at the same table and they’re all involved in conversation.

you’re pretty far gone by this stage, you try to ease into the conversation to your left but it’s going a mile a minute and you’re distracted by an overwhelming desperation to leave here, soon, with someone else.

some people are laughing hysterically and it rings in your ears and drowns out the kinks in the background. you’re talking to some girl whose appeared next to you with a drink, similar age, and wavy red hair. not exactly your type, but that went out the window a long time ago. roughly the time you bought the first round. you’re trying to work out if she’s flirting, friendly, or drunk.

some people have their arms around each other in an embrace and are singing, and sloppy drunken drawl, and two people directly across from you are locking lips intently, it almost plays out like a conversation. you watch their tongues twirl pushing back and forth and then you realise just how intently you are staring.

you turn back to the girl beside you, she’s still talking and you’re nodding. she pauses briefly, maybe she realises you weren’t listening. she catches sight of what you were staring at from the corner of her eye and then looks back at you. you are fumbling, you realise your hand is between her thighs, just resting there and you’re looking at her lips. she wets them with her tongue delicately, then presses them together. she pecks you on the lips and lets out a giggle and looks into your eyes to make sure she’s done the right thing. you push onto her body touching as much of hers with yours that you can. you’re wondering if she will push back with as much force, you like the tug of war.

you stop and you sigh, some people are smiling at you both and raise their glass in your general direction. here’s looking at you.

you ask her if she wants a drink, she holds up a tall glass that’s full and by the time you’ve stood up she’s already miles away from you involved in some other dialogue. ♦


you’re in the shower and it almost feels like summer.

the light bulb is so old and the whole bathroom is embraced in its dark glow. everything that’s white looks yellow. everything that’s yellow looks orange. and your skin almost looks tan. you look at the water pearling down your hip and the shower gel makes your skin look like a tanned baby. but don’t worry it will get back to the usual paper texture as soon as you’re dry.

there’re like 10 people outside in the beaming white appartment, talking, yelling, hustling and bustling, but the door is probably 10 inches thick at this moment and you’re safe.

you are sat in an overcrowded seminar hall. the capacity is 200 people but there are 300 people and more and more and more. the chair to your right is still empty and the woman began talking 45 minutes ago. people in the back of the hall lack chairs. you don’t give a fuck.

you eventually put your boston red sox baseball cap and the papers sent to you from côte-des-neiges-notre-dame-de-grâce montréal on the chair. the guy to the right of the chair notices you. similar age, mocassins, bermuda and polo. he’s the typical guy you typically want to punch in the face. he stares at your cap like he’d never seen one before. on the way back to in front of him, his gaze quickly adheres to your face. later it comes back to your cap and turns away via your hands. then your writings. you sit with your legs spread.

he thinks you’re a huge thug in a respectable environment. you think he’s a huge faggot too close to your element.

he keeps giving you, your clothes and your belongings quick glances. at this exact moment he is judging you. you know it — you like it.

he doesn’t know you know he does. your mood is agressive, brutal, violent. you seize that rare moment when he looks at the woman, and you very very slowly turn your head towards him and stare at his profile. you feel he feels the weight of your gaze and you won’t turn away until he comes out with some nervous twitch.

you stop and you sigh, some people behind you are smiling. they’ve been observing the whole scene.

you’re miles ahead of that woman. she’s speaking about abstract projects and impractical theories. the people in the hall are asking her thousands of even more retarded questions and by the time you’ve stood up your cap is already on your head. ♦

≈ ME

               § Apr 12, 2011 — λ — construction symétrique — kim