¬ b e r l i n 0 4 #7

I'm sitting here calmly, inside a white box with rigid walls. My neighbours drill into them, have been for weeks, god knows what they're up to. I paint a canvas of vivid, forbidden colours and smoke too many cigarettes, more than when i first arrived.

Opening the wing door I'm hit by silence and the crossroads absorb me like a sponge. A giant stillness, wherever you go, only broken by trashy images, like splinters which pierce your skin. Distorted layers and you leave them to the walls, the next day they will be ripped off anyway. I don't know why, but sometimes it's all you end up with.