winter evenings, creeping over empty skies, after cold awakenings from nights that seem detached from everything else, every episode so lonely in itself that no string is strong enough to string the events together. suddenly details matter, and that's unnerving and that's thrilling, and things are beating again although nothing's moving, all is based on falling in love with ideas of what people are. the S and G kinda living has left a long time ago, and the only moment in the day when it comes back just a little bit is that minute of blissful fatigue just before eyes are closed and true nothingness is found. the air is colder where i want to be, there's more space between my head and the rest, more space to rest.


VIENNA



A ROADTRIP











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