Iceberg

A bottle of beer smashed on the pavement, while he sat there lighted by a lamp-post, acknowledging no before and…

… freedom which on this earth can only be bought by a thousand of the hardest sacrifices, must be enjoyed unrestrictedly in its fullness, without any kind of pragmatic calculation, as long as it lasts…

– André Breton, Nadja

Bumble

I stumbled through the streets where urine and flowers melt in odour quite like ourselves the eyeliner smirring into eyeshadow…

I am dépaysée in extrovert life – I lose my soul, my dreams. I would like to lie at the bottom of the sea, live there au fond des choses, toujours au fond.

– Anaïs Nin, diary (1932-1934)

The buzz of Slovenian music

The emptiness of the scene, its lack of quality and diversity, the awfulness of the general taste. Nope, don’t know what you’re talking about… I think you’re just looking the wrong way!

I choose love.

I’m done, I’m over responding with hatred and anger and scorn and fear and cynicism, I’m just done. I choose love, even when that means silence, even when that doesn’t necessarily mean hope.

Ljubljana.

The city that will always, no matter how I try to escape it, be my home. The one where I’ll notice the little things and the little people who have changed or haven’t.

No muses here. Just people.

There’s nothing inherently wrong with being a muse, quite the opposite, to be inspiring is a privilege. Nevertheless, I believe it’s wrong to be reduced to one, to shrink one’s existence to a dependence on the other.

Santiago de Chile.

Charming isn’t the word I would ever use for this city, a hauntingly stretched metropolis if you view it and its ever spreading horizons from Cerro San Cristóbal. But then there is a certain feel of delight in the streets of my favourite quarters…