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Shreds of a bizarre world is not a diary you have to swallow newest-first. It’s an archive of scenes, satire, and arguments. Start where you’re interested:

All posts by date are still below. Better to enter through a door, though.

Not a painting - Padova, Italy


Cotton balls,

dipped in lead,

weighing down

on worn out roofs.

Smell of storm,

moistened lips,

hurrying steps 

on fake fruit slabs.

Eyes transfixed

I watch that scene,

I sense a monster

watching me.

Blinking lids,

shiny eyes, 

am I enthralled

or terrified?

The air explodes,

my heart restarts,

I'm the only madman,

who doesn't rush.

The ground is blue,

the sky gray-white,

It's reversed reality,

more than just art.

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