Creativity is a drug

Thinking too much, again.
::..

Why am I making photos?

Why am I making anything?

It could be anything. Doesn’t matter what or why, as long as I want. If I don’t, I fall into a sleep deep inside myself.

There’s a hole inside me with a gravity so strong my head will implode and eat my soul if I don’t feed it.

I used to paint, draw and scribble, like a crazy maniac. I used to run like hell, work my body like a berserk. Whatever just anything that burns. And I used to do what I’m doing again.

A ladder of creations stretching through the void of time and space from where to where.

And I write my thoughts. Whatever the words are saying – keep on typing. You may find something about anything.

 

Follow the invisible rabbit.

Addicted to the unknown machinery behind the never-ending story. The ghost-hole inside me.

I don’t need answers. I don’t want answers. I want to be lost and keep on travel through my mind and the secrets of life and death and the dreams in between.

Where and for what reason I don’t know. Until I no longer understand who I am and forever lost in my own mind. Captured and conserved in gravity. Together with the invisible rabbit.

The point is not the end .

/made in the United Neurones of Insomnia

 

…until I drop dead-sleep

Then some coffee, then some more. Today the rain is pouring down and I will get me out and shoot it.

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the Gatekeeper of Antimatter

 

In one of those worlds where everything matter
But nothing but white noise when the door opens
Unseen tales stay unseen behind the scene

Living in the same room as everyone else
Naked behind hidden environment
Unseen by correction

The wall of perception separating the worlds from colliding
Protecting visions from the underworld to slip through
Staring at the dots in fear of the depths
Numb in the mainstream

We live in layers separated by antimatter
Only accessible through small wormholes in spacetime
As most do not see, dismiss or dare to touch

The sensitive drowns
Creating subways in the underworld
Like whales

Living together in different worlds
In different ways
At the same place

As nothing is as it seems to be

 

 

 

REaDy pOrtal

On the Other side

the Other way

REaDy pOrtal

hOme I gO

a wOrmhOle is a bit like a black hOle Only different

time is awesOme : it makes us eXist

If you think that I have become a bit too much of strange lately. Don’t worry. This is normal. The only difference is how close it is below the visual surface. This is what my mind is made of. So nothing is actually strange, just more noticeable.

In the other dimension, I was just on my way home after an ordinary late evening at work. I like to flow through all the layers.

I have a need for art in my life, and I want to make it. Sometimes more. So I just do it, because it wants me to.

Fragments from the big bang
Insignificant details from the beginning of time
The unknown searching
For searchers of the unknown
Collecting Connecting
Trying to understand one and the other
Not knowing – nobody knows
8 Or always has but never understood and never will
The mysteries grow in the seeds of knowledge
The knowledge grow in the seeds of mysteries

O1ne < t

::..

 

 

 

the end always begin somewhere

Dead or Alive

Solitude moments
Snaps of life
Peaks and valleys

I have always had a crush for the mystical dimensions of life. True or false is of no concern. What matters is the art of imagination. I like to dope the science with fiction.

Expanding life beyond our ordinary perception.

It doesn’t have to be that very different from the everyday ordinary to imagine life beyond WYSIWYG.

Dead or Alive
It’s your choice
Everything lives
Only nothing is dead

I love things. You find stories everywhere. Some only spoken inside yourself.

Just objects, dead stuff, life of the living dead. Dead or Alive? You choose. Imagination is magic.

Just a walk through the old parts of my city – Kvarnby, the ancient trace of once upon a time. So close but far away from where you can buy instant manufactured happiness in a plastic bag.

I love those empty silent streets. Wherever they are.

 

 

Yeah, I know, I’m odd, probably nuts. It makes life more interesting, so the choice is easy. Wine helps to understand…

Meanwhile we dream

My head is full of space
So deep it never ends
Is it the feeling of nothing or everything I feel
On the surface

Sometimes I have it all
Sometimes nothing
In between, time is running in circles

Hiding the magic to fit the matrix
Inside the beginning and the end of the tulpa

Not meant to be revealed until the code is safe

Meanwhile, we dream in 36-dimensional spirals

 

sometimes I wonder, Why!

Sometimes I wonder, Why!  ?

Then I think, Why!  ?

On my mind. Words moving around like foam on waves in the sea made of thoughts.

Thinking too much makes you feel too much. It’s easy to begin to disbelieve in yourself. The more you think about it, the less you see the point of anything at the end. Everything you touch dies.

A sense of context.

I often find myself wondering. Questioning the meaning of what I do. I try to ignore the purpose of my doubts. Demons, watch me do it anyway.

Since I never seem to get any useful answers anyway from those doubts I keep on doing what I need to do what I want. Even if the meaning of it all is hidden at the end of the universe. Out of reach in my ordinary lifetime.

I don’t need, I want.

I need to sleep, but I would prefer to do it when I want. I need to wake up…

I need to cope with the rest of the world to serve my possibilities to do what I want. But I can’t control it. Everybody wants. So control yourself.

Live together, die alone.

I keep on shooting, post processing, share them. On Insta, Tumblr, my blog. Write loads and post my shit on this blog. Not many cares, some likes and then passing by and disappears into the unknown shrubbery of the past.

Instant pleasure of creativity. I want more, but don’t know why. I just do it. Because it’s satisfying to create. That’s all I need. As long as I want.

And then? Who knows. That’s inspiring enough – the unknown life of the past in the present. Creating a story and the history of your life. Documenting the creation of a memory.

Catching moments of life as it occurred in your mind. Sometimes changing during the post process. Discovering new things, traveling back in time with a slightly different mindset. Changing the scene. The past suddenly grows into new depths and heights. Crossbreeds now and then.

In every photo every made, you not only caught what you saw. You also made an image of your own mind and mood. In both directions.

And words. There are so many things inside your thoughts. Use them, play with them, decipher them. Even if they seem to make no sense, or mean anything of significant importance. Just do it. Open the hatch in your pond.

Forward in any direction. Where are we now

Photography is art. Words are art. We make art of life. Life is an artwork. Art is life.

Don’t do what you love. Love what you do. And don’t doubt about that.

 

Why is the wrong ?

 

Onmywayhome

It’s happening again. And will so do from time to time. My life is not always linear. Not my mind anyway.

I have always had slight issues with my memory. I usually remember everything, but seldom when or in which order it occurred.

I feel perfectly comfortable with this. It makes life a little more intuitive and exciting.

Time in any direction on its way to the same goal. Cause you can impossible avoid the black star in the center of it all – the gravity of the future everybody is heading.

For no reason but saying…

And this is

A regular reflection through my two black holes that consumes the light. After a long hard late evening shift at work. When my mind is released and my soul catches the flight.

It’s quite fun just snapping shots from the bike.

.

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