At the end of August 2015 Henk asked me to spend a week with him in NYC. So I did. I liked it BIG TIME. I wrote some notes and made some gif-s.
Round shapes are mostly perceived with pleasure. Mickey Mouse was constructed based on knowledge like this. Folks say. I see some truth in it. My nipples are warmly welcomed, but not my blister under my foot. My blister is exceptional!
I don't find this exceptional pleasant at all. It reminds me of long walks in the big city, which I loved and I see that the blister is just a stupid symbol that love hurts. If you ever want to sound numb, say these two words - love hurts. Such a toothless label. In need of a good pair of vampire teeth, cause its content is a pulsating blood circulation. Content matters. Cold ice-cream matters a lot on a hot summer day. Specially for those who have been waiting for a long time to go sledging.
I walked until I was tired and I dug myself underground to let my legs rest. Apparently my mind was at rest as well and I let the metro take me to the side I wasn't planning to go. But metro - it sucked me in so fast and so far, that when I finally climbed up to a ground I found myself surrounded by colorful people. It helped me notice how plain I am. Instead of hiding it by going underground again I kept walking. It wasn't an act of boldness, I just found that metro sucks. It sucked my juice out :)
I like panties with coffee. Don't get me wrong. I like pastries with coffee as well. Like most of us - I mean people who have access to coffee-shops, but also the ones who find time for baking at home. It reminds me that I haven't done serious baking for ages. Waffles don't count. It is just quickly ironing some dough. Pancakes don't count either. Even though it is cute spooning of morning love. But pastries that I'm talking about are made in oven. Everything else before that is a foreplay to end up in oven which is hot as hell's kitchen. It burns and makes you ready to come out all fresh and smell so sweet. You have risen closer to heaven. Some would say that this is just an illusion. Hot air inside of you. Nothing you can put hands on. But why should you worry about thoughts and hands of others when your head is above clouds. All you need to think is that do these raindrops coming out of clouds and sliding along your body towards black soil - do they find their way down to mother Earth whose gulps make flowers blossom? Oh yes they do and sorry, baby, my mistake - you don't need to think, cause you feel.
don't listen to me!
did you hear me?