d'Amor À Flor da Pele

fuck you just cos you went to Thailand for 2 months don’t mean you're down with your south pacific brothers. Fuck you and your tribal tattoos zooming up your neck.

fuck the red man: no I really think it’s ok to make a little song to give kids some traffic awareness but it’s 2 a.m on a Monday morning, cross the road you fucking sheep.

latest news flash: the green man is not real, he won’t tell you when there’s a drunk driver or some reckless immigrant on a bike coming to squish your 4 year olds brains out. Try looking before you cross dickhead or at least teach it to your kids you idiot

fuck you boss

fuck you and your fucken scooter hooning round on the bike lane at 70 k’s. That’s about as cool as your buffalo shoes and your greasy hair and that funny way you wear your hat. Get a bike you baby. Talking of bikes, fuck you for stealing my bike at roskilde that day I hope you crash into some immigrant in his boom-boom car

fuck you bartender where’s my discount

fuck you and your dingdingding bike styles. You’re gonna save about 3 minutes a year wizzing round like a crack addict on laxatives. Chill out and enjoy the ride

Fuck all the geeese in Canada

page 32, of a street mag found in Copenhagen, Bitchslap #3 (mostly about the ladies)



Quando non si sa dove si, si sappia da dove si viene




"An adult is one who has lost the grace, the freshness, the innocence of the child, who is on longer capable of feeling pure joy, who makes everything complicated, who spreads suffering everywhere, who is afraid of being happy, and who, because it is easier to bear, has gone back to sleep. The wise man is a happy child."
- Arnaud Desjardins




I love women

I love them in all their curvy, giggling, flowery smell glory. I love when they dance. I love when they throw back their hair and laugh their heads off. I love when they can’t open jars. I love that look retarded when they throw a ball. I love when they wear skirts. I love when they smile at me. Those smiles tug at heartstrings deep inside me: heartstrings which are apparently connected directly to my penis. Nature’s original winch mechanism, patent pending….

Think of my love for women as the balance in a bank account. It rises and falls (some bank accounts do rise, I’ve verified this with several authorities but they do concede that it’s rare and agree that I’ll probably never see one). It can even be a negative value. I always love all women. It’s just that the strength of this love waxes and wanes. I am the tide. I can actually show you. Turn on your stereo, turn up the music, watch the little digital display for the graphic equalizer bounce up and down. That’s my eternal rollercoaster, right there, right in your bedroom on your stereo and you never knew.


self same street mag earlier along..page 5



Imparare a vivere e imparare a lasciar andare




...but how am I going to prevent myself becoming an ordinary, average, mediocre person?'
`If I may suggest, never under any circumstances ask "how". When you use the word "how" you really want someone to tell you what to do, some guide, some system, somebody to lead you by the hand so that you lose your freedom, your capacity to observe, your own activities, your own thoughts, your own way of life. When you ask "how" you really become a secondhand human being; you lose integrity and also the innate honesty to look at yourself, to be what you are and to go beyond and above what you are. Never, never ask the question "how". We are talking psychologically, of course. You have to ask "how" when you want to put a motor together or build a computer. You have to learn something about it from somebody. But to be psychologically free and original can only come about when you are aware of your own inward activities, watch what you are thinking and never let one thought escape without observing the nature of it, the source of it. Observing, watching. One learns about oneself much more by watching than from books or from some psychologist or complicated, clever, erudite scholar or professor...


Krishnamurti