Jury Annenkov (1889 - 1974) Montparnasse

  Lim Heng Swee

  Louis Jean François Lagrenée, Mélancolie

  Marc Gabriel Charles Gleyre

Jacek Yerka

The Town, 1903
August Strindberg

Annie Leibovitz Patti Smith with Her Children, Jackson and Jesse. St. Clair Shores. Michigan (1996)

Moon Love
On a clothesline, the sound ofromantic objects hypnotizes in syncwith a pendulum swish—lassoed the moon to swing around totick, tock, tick, talk abouthow many coffee spoons it measures out tomeet a crescent smile. Never blinking, butsinking, steeped into the flats below, held like a lollipop& dipped into cosmic ice cream,lick with your fingers & carve your lips intoafternoon delight: a sight to see, dreamspreserved & not deffered: here’s the receiver foran old game of telephone ontin cans, my dear—“Hello, who is this?”It’s me, the Man on the Moon (from once upon a time). Letting go of this stylus,tonight plays something finer, nothingmajor or minor: once in ablue while, the Space FM dial figures in a roundabout waya music station that shuts us up &plays the hits, never missing. Don’t mind me, my love—I want to sing a tune just for you, too:some song about gravity &you’re still in orbit in my brainno matter how far you’ve swam awayfrom long ago, like broken records scratchingout glitching verses abouta thousand violins playing, orNick Drake (the reincarnation of John Keats)finger picking an autumn mood inlieu of a pink moon—I’ll neverchange the channel, at least anytimesoon.

Moon Love, 2014Ana Sayfa, Turkish collage artistDigital arts collage

Anonymous said: You're one of the most beautiful and interesting people on here. You're honest yet reserved, weird but relatable, and even within your limitations you have endless possibilities. Whatever happened today, is just today, there is no bad life, just bad days. I know anxiety attacks are terrible, but try to spin it, take all that adrenaline and slap it in the face. Then simmer down and await a better day, because it will come. I promise! And if it doesn't come, feel free to file a complaint.


There are days when I realize nothing I do really matters, so my frustration would follow suit. With that being said, everything can be just as banal as my incessant dread; therefore, I take it upon myself to just be pissed only because of the temporary nature of this eccentric life. Transience. Emotions are fleeting like memory. The reason I don’t beat my fists on the brick of my house is much due to venting to the void of the Internet. Sometimes, a kind stranger like you comes along.

I may not agree with things you say, but I’d be a fool not to appreciate them. My mental sobriety is fine at the moment, and perhaps it’s why I can approach you as warmly as I can.

My anxiety had already died down. Still very frustrated. But it’s only temporary. It’s a matter of riding out the storm. As I do every day. I’m afraid I can’t be saved from my mind until I die, so I’m not so easily to comply with what’s really good or bad. To define is to confine. Everything is ineffable and so we are merely babies babbling out and trying to hold on something tangible to ground us. For me, it’s just a mountain I have to climb whereas other people dissociate to avoid thinking about their problems. But I’m not saying this to throw away your words. As with anything I do, I offer an antithesis for everyone’s consideration. Not for an argument.

You have my gratitude, though. Really.