And every breath we drew

And then the night fills with his poetry. It’s almost morning here in Holland and Im a bit weepy. I’m drinking cold tea and I smile. There is so – so – much beauty out there. And I cry. This strange world. Where beauty and cruelty stand so close together. Where every breath we drew was Hallelujah.

Maybe there is a God Above.



A letter to my younger self

Dear little one,

My eye. Song of my frightful heart.

Always remember who you are. Drink each cup of sorrow with great laughter and spit it out in a fountain of wonder and love. Sink your teeth deep into the apples of your imagination and let each core that’s covered in your bitemarks be a phantasmagorical universe of what you create.

And Sing.

Sing in binary and compose pixelated melodies of your soul. Let no one ever tell you that you weren’t good enough. And dance my precious, like a Nataraja on the voices that try to destroy you even when your feet can’t carry you anymore.

Love everything.

Love deep and with all the worlds passion, regardless if it would split in you half.

Dear little one. Fight. Even when the Earth has opened and tries to devour you alive and each cell in your body cries out in pain. Fight.

Fight for each song in your frightful heart.

image      What would you tell your younger self?


I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people


I know you loved him.

The truth is he was only but human. A child of this Earth. Just as scared and confused. Hiding in a pillow fort pretending to be a monster. Pretending that all he could give were his claws and teeth.

In the far silent distance he falls asleep and all the worlds beauty has gathered in the innocence of the trembling of his eye lashes. In the far silent distance a candle is blown out and the night smiles.

Love him.

And let your love be your art.