Every time I visit the porcelain dump shrine,
I dream about the perfect time.

whenever you find a toilet offering books
it’s usually the same old humping bunnies
or sad old joke collections,
maybe some magazines
or boring bauble.
Nothing more than printed toilet paper

either let me alone with my thoughts,
or drop something I’d love to find.

Calvin greeting Garfield,
Gaston working for Obelix,
or Spirou chatting with Spider.
childhood memories, for grown up
shavers.

entertain me right,
or it will smell all night.

I know all the wars, the pain and the horror
not half as good as someone
who actually witnessed.

TV shows it all, so does it the web and
all the celluloid.
never been shot at, leave alone the old cam,
tortured or terrorized
but know all the moves, the weapons and techniques
to bury the innocent
that believe all they see.

tell me what i want
i tell you what i need
no matter what it costs
virtuality gives it for free
can’t touch it
can’t taste it
can’t smell it
can’t hear the sound if it drops to the ground and breaks
time to cherish the pictures
of all the stuff
i’ll never own

all money is gone
I can just sing a song
and dance all alone
in misery.

must all artists suffer
to spice up their output
or can they just dance
all nights away?

living the life
striving for fame
the crash is so easy
so easy to see.

oh sweet pain,
i know you well,
showing me that I live,
don’t hurt me bad, only show me the moves,
quit the stagnation,
start the fight.
the sweat, avoiding blood, sometimes a few strains.
only resistance will shape me.

without challenges I won’t evolve,
without fears I won’t cross borders,
we don’t have to suffer to feel good.
it’s only the random pain,
that allows us to have good times.

there is no good without bad,
but is there bad without good?

the sun rises,
light hits softly,
even though the yellow ball is hid behind the urban colored clouds.
we have what others want,
we don’t need some UV50.

pouring down, like someone is taking the piss at us.
no dance or sacrifice of virgins,
it simply happens.
european sunrises filled with beautiful blue drops.

full-throttle, still nothing moves.
the clouds pass by,
the sun rises,
but the horizon stays the same,
no sign of velocity lines.

It’s obvious,
breaking stops the engine.
stagnation while firing ’till exhaustion,
never going anywhere.

sticking to what we can,
slacking, dabbling, doodling, ranting, sitting, smoothing, procrasting.

they say in 2030 we all published something,
I say most people will struggle with the act of doing,
which will result in the usual 20/80 rate.

nothing will change,
unless confrontations arise,
putting us closer to the edge,
challenging our comfort zones.

what do we do when g does not know it?
does it still exist,
is it underground,
or do we have to erase it from our memories?

finding everything, knowing nothing,
only delivering what you are looking for.

no solutions, no answers by itself,
just being there when you look for it.

he wants to be a pusher
but is too weak to not be mugged
too scared to go out in the street
and sell his product on the corner.

stayin at home pushing pixels
late at night, early in the day
pixel after pixel
needing no face-time.

his passive does it for him
so he can be the geek he always was.

afraid not of the people on the other side of the flickering gate
cause that’s the only time he has no fear at all.
alone.

52 Cards, 4 of them aces must be the reason for all those lost races.
don’t need no dog or horse runnin,
dancin with the cards, that’s all needed to lose.
suffering, for no money, no fame, inglorious workers,
pushing cents to the fish below the neon-lights, swimming, drowning,
not cool enough to be surfing.