Casa Robino

Waiting for joyous tomorrows is what kills our joys today. The future is worse than the ocean itself, for it contains nothing. Blueprints, plans, the long-term view : castles in the air. a solidly constructed present is the only necessity - the rest will take care of itself.Raol VaneigemFunny. A crazed laughter bounces out of me. Doubtlessly, I could drink the future, plans of Central America and dance and spanish wretching out my tongue and hot foods; I am simultaneously more and more able to hold the present, to bury the past as best as I am able (the hand keeps creeping out of the soil..). The days gallop and slither on by leaving a great silver trail behind them. More and more, I am convinced that the inner life is one which can transform the life, rather than the inverse, so often have I been praying for events, people, happenings, exterior enlightenments to guide me out of my own hell nestled up inside my, fresh acid always on hand to spill out into the guts.Wandering through cities, I've waited for explosions, gazing into every face, searching the pits of eyes for acknowledgement, fascination, laughter. The frustration of despair when all you can do is wait for colours to reappear. Down desolate roads, I longed for company rather than my own ever changing thoughts, desires, ideas. Onwards, onwards with broken legs an' all! Ye'r body never really full or satisfied, extinguishing every real sense of reflection, change. Survival marked only by the occasional droplets of joy, exhileration, temporal love of mystery or foreign lands until they became familiar - the enrichment of everyday life masked before the abstract, the temporal.Ah yes, every moment is key, I had forgotten, the painting is no longer as important as each stroke of the brush.Anyway, the choice is clear - life or death, there are no other options and to revel in my own self destruction is no longer an option, monsieur. So we must trick or deceive these days until believing they exist, that time still passes to what can be gained instead of what can be transformed, transcended. I cannot keep toppling from the disappointments of people, these stilts are too fragile. Lay waste to what holds you up, the underworld is far more interesting than what is above, regardless.