love me and come back tomorrow

“But I don’t want to go among mad people” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you can’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”
“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat, “or else you wouldn’t have come here.”

By Beatrix Potter.

Wonderful inspiration by Julie Nord, a danish visual artist.
Artwork on: julienord.dk

Digital artwork winter beauty psychadelic awesome surrealistic wizardry by Larry Carlson from larrycarlson.com. 

jumped through a polaroid and it started to melt.

Snow White in all her preciousness, but I prefer her in the gangsterversion.



Stickers from Vinylville.


Also in white.

She tried so hard to rid of them but they fill her up like bathwater.
If there is nothing missing why the fuck can't she sleep at night like any normal person.

All she ever had was words.
It's her breath and her choma.
They become her emotions, her lust, her passion and her perfect romance.
The written word is powerful, she knows that more than anyone.
She is the creator of herself.. constantly changing.
Improving, building up, breaking down, tearing apart and dissolving.
It's a manuscript and she knows she can make it come true by putting two's together.
Words never let her down.
Not at all like people do.
That was why she cut them off so easily and painlessly.
With words there were a deeper connection. Much harder to erase than any human she has ever known.

All they get to know is her outer actress any way they turn and any way the try.
To let anyone in would be a mistake.
To leave every person out on the other hand, is foolproof.

Did you think that person was me?
Did you really think so?
I am just the written word.
A fucking tornado of bulletshaped words.
This isn't poetry. It's just performance.

I love winning things.

I am just a lone wolf. I guess.
I'm like the weather, ever-changing, easily bored/disgusted.

Every minute with a man becomes a test of his patience.
I become an actress, who does things solely for reactions.
When there's no reactions left, when I know he is where he is true, I find myself at some far off balcony sighing next to boredome.
I break things before I get broken, leave before I'm left.
I guess I just pretend because I've been hurt a million times before so, I don't trust people at all anymore.
If it isn't love it isn't worth wasting time.
I tend to vanish.
Turn invisible.
Disappear, no strings attached. Just poof. Gone.

Maybe I'm just a forever-puzzle. A labyrinth where people get lost.

I'd love a man who could read my sad eyes even through my happy mouth,
piece my lies even though they are never spoken.
I haven't found him yet, but who says he isn't out there.