Back where

we started.



Paste fericit is romanian and roughly translates into "we're closing down half of the town for no apparent reason, so please go visit your relatives in the country side".
Left behind are the old and the forgotten ones, and yours truly.

And everybody's dancing

the dance of the dead..


spent the last weeks away from the internet and locked up in a dark cave. Now it's 1am and my neighbours obviously own a bongo drum. Life is good.

What we're dealing with here

is a total lack of respect for ...

while rocking out to said song on the balcony of my humble abode, I entered zen mode and contemplated the cctv security cam

and the gypsie kids playing with a piece of styrofoam it is taping.
In the event of amnesia, the city will recall.

Blowing through

the jasmine in my mind.

Every morning I take a walk across town. Looking left and right before crossing the street is important and lengthens your life considerably, but at this intersection, for one reason or another, I really enjoy looking down the street to my right.
One day I might even make a turn here.


For some reason, my second favourite sight after the street to my right is the wall to the right of my bed. Then again, the wall to the left looks roughly (pun intended) the same.