And I still do prefer the orderless bum gun to the fully integrated bottom idol. Visiting Japan in Winter, yes there are some pros. Just taking a seat in the early morning hours, preheated, though not knowing if there isn’t a rest of resting heat of the preoccupant, still kicks ass.
Some of the toilets might even say hello, opening their lids, taking a mouthful of your shit, that’s what I call commitment to hospitality! The remote mostly decoded in japanese, easy to understand by very indicating icons, symbolizing the pleasure of a fountain’s blessing. Press the button. Sometimes you hear the mechanic sound of the tubule lowering. A discreet intimate butt-ler. And for a second you feel this hell of a welcoming surprise, low pressured body temperatured water sprinkling your dirty anus. Like this buttler dude would first lick you ass to check if his tongue has the right temperature. To then subsequently do his job, the water whistling baroque man-child living undersewer. And that feels good, like by definition a anus whistle should be like. But maybe my area back there hasn’t develop its fully potential, I can’t tell surely enough where the man-child whistles his blessing. On spot? Or are these my balls sprinkling their half-bald head. Or is too far out to the end it valley. Where is the fucking display to shoot, a whole new game generation of an Angry Neat Freak Bird! – A shame how less I know about down there, how do I feel down there. So you start to move a bit, carefully of course, don’t wanna get the magic whistle right in your face or squirt on the back of your shirt. With a relaxed question mark in your face you slide now back and forth, the toilet seat gets hotter and hotter. After and as long as it takes, estimating in shape and consistency of your shit, you will have to check at one point if it worked out – or not. There is always of course also toilet paper, at least two dispenser, of course. With sheets thin like rice paper. Now you have this wet business and you need to check with this transparent white the coloring of your signature you not wanna leave behind visibly. And to ease you upfront, it never works so get a catalogue of it and clap a bit with your ass cheeks before to shake off, the man-child back in his hole, creaming his nozzles and preparing for the next show or a bonus pack, will appreciate it either.
And so there is on the other ass the bum gun, which might sometimes blow off your balls or give you a bit of an unfriendly douche, but you will be slick like new born asshole, remoteless and you can clean your feet as well, which is totally connectionless to the original purpose.
I love you though still, Japan.

Updown

The only fact which makes me an artist is the shifty-hearted inner conflict I worship invariably to my lifetime. Invariably thinking of design, how to manipulate the illusion to get closer to, to people, structures, patterns, codes, the world, to penetrate, a shifted across, make it visible, enlarge its beauty. The beauty of creation.
I don’t accept the state as it is.
Absorb black.
Corporate.
Incorporate.
Excorporate.
Decorporate.
Spirits.
Religions.
Systems.
When did people stop to begin.
When do people start to realize that all what is is unreal. When do we stop to talk, think, and be for which we are not.
I am dying since I draw my first line. I am bleeding since I learned my first word, the beginning of the conceptual fuckup in my head. The wall which surrounds all of us. Not even our shadows reach the top of it.
Invariably I am contemplating.
I am still the boy who wants to save the world.
The boy who wants to be heard by his parents. The world which can’t be saved as it is in all of us. And the man who dares not to disgrace its beauty anymore. I am only spitting on you humankind.
And there I am again, in rage. I wanted to write about my deep rooting and festering unhappiness, about me still not being connected to what I miscall the artist inside of me. About my depression I was always stronger connected to, as I feel, I see, I hear, I Wolf with all my senses, how the hell can you live and be not depressed and why are we not doing it, changing it, or string us up, push the button, which would be the only fair and sustainable solution.
But I believe in you, because I believe in me, that one day I will take a breath and I feel light. And I will not know what comes next.