I am. I am an architect. But also a writer. I write spaces yet I write stories. Sometimes I take photographs. I am a photographer. I am a dreamer. Some times I have nightmares. I am not a liar. But I've told some lies. Not big ones. I am not a liar. I am a reader. I am a tourist. A wanderer in my everyday. I am a smoker. I always say I have to quit. Is that a lie? I am not a liar. I am a caffeine lover. I can't eat dairy. I am a mess. But I love order. Even structure. I do not wear a mask. Not even during carnival. I have a sensitive skin. Masks itch. I say what I think. I love being direct. Maybe too direct. I don't tell lies. I don't care. But in fact I do. Maybe too much. I am. Today? Any day? No. Everyday.

------------------------------------------------------------------------ today?

alice falls into the rabbit hole, swallows a pill. she grows, she shrinks.and they call this wonderland??? that's my everyday... today... I am a ghost in the world outside.

What are your hidden desires?
What part of you feels the rain when it falls?
Have you found the resting place of larks and sparrows?

this morning I woke up to a brewing storm...not a metaphorical one, but a real one. summer in the tropics seems to be over. it made everyone sick! a recipe for disaster when there are deadlines, but in funky paradise, it's the ultimate opportunity to open things up to the unexpected...
the happy accidents are pouring in....
like you cannot imagine! so I say, let it rain!

There was once a way Home.

There were places people discovered that altered the very fabric of their minds; dark places where Sirens wail from the sewers and alleys among the nightmares of the City; places where Enlightenment roams the streets and parks and boulevards blinding all those who will listen.

A strange World.

Our "places" are constantly, slowly if not sudddenly, evolving and destroyed, ultimately ghosting away. I relish the privilege of observing human drama, catching those brief concersations and the rare moments of human love, hate, betrayal and despair before it wanders to oblivion...

There was once a way Home until a stranger appeared on the path. He had the voice of many people yet spoke only in clouds.

As I sit here on this bench with my camera and typewriter, I wonder at the pedestrians passing by. Wondering what's on their minds? What pushes them forward? But they disappear into their own lives never to be seen again...

As the sky washed into twilight, he removed a parchment from his pocket and inscribed it with an instrument. It read......

A face. A flower. A walk through the everyday urban environment. A corner shop. They are selling food and dreams. In front of it a park. Old women chatting. Young people gossiping. A pigeon is running after some breadcrumbs. A businessman kicks it unintentionally. Back on the street a police officer is giving a ticket to a car parked on the curb. Right in front of the tiny store selling food and dreams. A boy is leaving the store with a small candy bar. Funky Paradise chocolate. He thinks about pigeons. Should he give them a little crumb? What was that feeling on his head? He turns his sight towards the sky. Pigeons are flying above him. He is now the involuntary target of their daily needs. A splashing rain. No crumbs for them. Back on the Funky Paradise choco bar. An illusion. A dream. Imaginary landscapes. A place where words become a choco bar. Old women still chatting. A curious world. Where imagination takes place.

light through broken undulating surfaces... hole-y things. punched out. filled and transforming. seeing the forest not just the trees.
multiplied perspectives. the un object...fading slowly into something bigger...

I wander through the City as all of us do; its an experience, its a belief, its... a way of life. Though our reasons differ, our cities, our homes, our secret places offers a seemingly infinite resource of artefacts for us to ponder and gather in the many realms of our momeries. Yes, we take from them moments in time and experience, yet we sacrifice something: a small change here a slight deformity of place or that sudden fracture of obduration that cause us to question the purpose of our daily exploring and souvenir collecting.

I am a Traveler.

A child wandering through a Strange World.

Everyday I take home some part of my experiences, to hold them, to cherish them and to remember them. They are my souvenirs. They are my histories and ultimately they are the things which I must leave behind (for Others whom I've met thoughout my travels will have taken some part of me for their own histories).

I'm a passenger of time. A transitor between two points. Memory and discovery. Am I going back to the past or departing towards the future? The sound of empty suitcases, the silence of the unknown, yet full of noisy newnesses.

Am I leaving?

Am I arriving?

Is there a line dividing these ephemeral movements or are they indeed connected with a blurred threshold?

I am a constant traveler. Through the everyday. Through the next day. Through the unknown via the known. In every hour and in every place. Am I leaving or am I arriving? Does it matter?

"Partir c'est mourir un peu. C'est mourir à ce qu'on aime. On laisse un peu de soi-même. En toute heure et dans tout lieu"

being a stranger in a place, wherever that may be. does our alien presence invade it? alter it? at least for a second we are part of that scape? and like napoleon take pieces of it for ourselves?

do we find ourselves in these worlds that belong to someone else? flying through their windows, walking through their open doors? realizing this jarring displacement --- we jump out?
and suddenly it closes up and realize we forgot a piece of us was left there ...

and can never retrieve it ...

Lines. Dots. People and Ants. Streets. Maps and Plans. Neighborhoods. Trees and Benches. Concrete and grass. Destinations. Tours and Trips. Tourists and Wanderers. Fruits and Sushi. Colored and Black and White. Viewed, lived and perceived. Space and place. Holes and Malls. Glass and Rain. Asphalt Jungle. Or just Jungle? Too much dogs poop. New shoes. Oooooooooops!

Silence demarcates a forgotton prejudice.
Within this quiet place rests a Modern effort to bind this vastness of silence, an artefact of measurement and a determinism that refuses the natural balance of things; to inscribe a "familiar" so that Man will never lose his sense of place, his center of Being (it is the reason why we have programs, education, cities, streets, suburbs...). Even though the crowds of Mankind struggle to affirm its place, Silence dances in the spaces of the unknown marking its territories... What are and who are we when the boundaries dissappear. when there is no layering, when there is no system in place to guide our behavior. when its just You, alone, naked before the emptiness?

I am forever getting lost. I cannot read maps. nor can I map my own life or days out. believe me, I have tried. my driver (yes, that is why I have a driver to get me to appointments) knows my schedule more than I do ... mapping time or distance... I can only look up at the sky to guess what time it is, or where I am.

however, I can drive to milan from vico sans map and get to where I want to! I can smell a good shop from miles away! 10 corso como!

maps are there, leading to many places, I say , follow your nose!

following someone else's directions/instructions will only get you lost!

Exploring the unknown. Experiencing the city from a different angle. From above. Like angels? No! Like people who broke into a door with the writing "Do not open this door". Feeling new spaces. Taking pictures . Black and white. An urban dream with shadows of grayness. Writing poems. Interacting with a sign. Words in the sky.

Layering the city and words. Staring towards the future which in fact is the past. Like in a review mirror. Fantasising about a hypothetical urban funky paradise.

Yeah, ok. Looking down is making me sick. Let's get back inside. Throgh a colored black and white hotel.

black out. why do we all wear black in the most sociable situations? to become shadows? to be ninjas?

***to be a true ninja, one must know loss...

I'm Black!

Like Man.

Like life!

Spent twenty years of it in jail

between jails

Been in jail all my life

Gonna sufha Black

Gonna dy Black

No compromis'n

No white womens

No womens in jail only the niggas

and they dont give it up

Gotta beat'em

bend them over

'Whatcha gonna do wit dat?'

"Gonna give it to ya good.'

II

'Where ya goin'?'

-home

'Wuz'dat?'

-my house...

'Y' you luk preety. Sut down here'

-getting off

"Ruby red with garnet highlights. Rich and complex in the hints of red berries and small fruits; in the background there are mint, vanilla and liquorice spices. The taste is dry, generous, full-bodied and of significant structure".
Hold on! What's wrong here?
The color! The fruits! The smell! The taste!
Any description can be tricky! Imagination flies! You talk about wine showing an image of tea leaves! It doesn't matter! I adored the wine...but I honestly have no recallection of mint!!!
But I felt the "significant structure"...I am an architect after all!!

laundry, books, dirty plates --- things consumed tend to pile up, just like a list of things to do. whereas dinner parties, spread sideways, filling up a table with more empty glasses than guests... resulting in a scape. unplanned, unexpected and full

There it is. The spectacle begins. Lions with their combed hair. A seal playing with a green ball. Clowns and other funny characters are filling the space. A strange lady walking with a sign announcing the next artist. Number 8. A ballerina trying to accomplish a very difficult number. But she falls down and hurts her ankle. Acrobats flying in the air. Compositions and forms in the big top. Finally, the big jump. Adrenaline is swimming through my body. Artists performing a double jump inside my brain. A funky smell, is it popcorn? No, more powerful. People are screaming and applauding. Mission accomplished. The show is over. I thought it was a circus. Instead they are only wasabi peanuts. Adrenaline in my brain. A circus of taste!

red, yellow ... go! waiting at a (traffic) light. to cross the street? cross a bridge? cross an intersection? that's what's great about the open road, it's always a green light! or the third world, where no one pays attention to the traffic light or the police!

"Honey, be careful! There is a tree right in front of you!"

"My dear you think I'm blind? I'm just nearsighted. Sometimes I think you believe I am stupid"

"I didn't say that hon! I just wanted to help you"

"First of all stop calling me "hon" second I see what's in front of me. In life you can see what you want to see. It is as simple as that. Plus, I see out of focus if I don't have my glasses on and, believe me, sometimes it is good to see life in a foggy manner. Unlike you , who wants to see clearly what's ahead of you. Stop this thing and let me ride my life the way I want"

"Hey Lady! Careful! There is a tree in front of you! You can hurt yourself!"

"Geee! What's wrong with you people? Am I the one to be careful or the freakin horse???"

What's the big moral behind this? It's good to see life out of focus. You allow yourself to avoid bad details! If you can't do that...well...blame the everyday horse!

driving clears the inner eye ...
surfing clears the nasal passages and everything else...including the past ...

Funky Paradise decided to upgrade! A new template. new theme, new stories. Order within the disorder we call "life". This is it! Everyday a word. Everyday different interpretations of it. New results, new readings new perspectives. Let's say goodbye to the past and welcome the future of this new experience we call "Funky Paradise".

finally getting some art in my studio(it's a painting my ex just gave me, he must've done it 4 years ago, it's me with our 2 french bulldogs)... the scale of the piece changed the space... finally cleaning up. getting it more organized...and maybe decorating! after 4 years of living here!

I keep leaving. total ADD. I keep going everywhere. camping out, trying many different 'lives'. pretending, yes, I have disguised myself in several 'jobs'...and got away with it. just for fun... until I realized, the joke's on me!

maybe now, I am finally 'home'. at least through what I am doing, I am making myself (at) (a) home.

violent femmes - blister in the sun

If nothing else, life is interesting.

As bored as I am most days here in the City of Light, someone or some thing always finds me in the coner of my little world and pulls me out. At times its exhilarating. Most of the time its painful and aggrevating. I'm just not a part of the social euphenics currently exploiting the masses. Then the day comes, as it alweays does, when you get get invited to some function or other. I honestly don't like parties or get-togethers. I always find myself wandering away from them for various reasons. But this time a friend from work asked me to come. I immediately said no, then I thought it over in concert with a million other things I could've been doing. Then I remembered something Perry Kulper once said to me about 'thriving on experience'... hmmm.

So I said yes.

It urned out to be a very interesting experience indeed. We even had our own bartendender and weed to boot!!! Plus someone brought a Wii by and the fun continued till 4am. Afterwards we went to Ihops and had pancakes...

I read someone describe how the paris skies turn from blue to gray and gray again. I think that is the perfect lighting.
I wonder about what perfection is. everyone has rules and beliefs about this matter. I just find that I keep throwing rules and perfection out the window. not on purpose, but they keep flying out my open windows! and in my mind watch the paris skies change from blue to gray, then to blue again.