~ to belong / as we hurtle ~

I can taste the revolution on your skin 2016, adriana © (p #58- 040117)

The scent of homesickness for somewhere that isn't home. © 2018, adriana

talking about trips don't trip don't move don't groove sitting in street poverty such cross nailing you down in the tomb of lost paradise eating at your brain your eyes your infinite holes piercing the guts of well-fed bourgeoisie never gave you a penny what fear they tumbling down your nameless night sucked up into the pit of your desire ever forgetting the laws of herdy life us folks too dumb too spoilt too bribed naturally striving to crush you in filthy squares and let you die in the fire of your extinguished stare and the why of hunger gnawing abandoned in cardboard bare just ignored your ruin in native rug dreaming of plains and flapping wings of eagles white and black plummeting your body shaking essential truths unquenched

~ where is your bliss station / you have to try to find it ~

win a fist fight with the sky and she'll tell you all her secrets

well... i took the cover photograph