I wave to my shadow,
My shadow waves to me.
To my right Saturn,
To my left the moon,
My moonlight shadow,
Waves to me.

My bowels,

Over the burning beach.

Making love to the white granitic sands,

Drawing the infinite,

With an infinite orgasm.

That’s all I have and,

Wish no more.

I have never been weaned and, when mather and father died I felt like a two years old child abandoned on a beach facing a sea ravaged by a terryfing storm. Since then I have  learned  to blame only my self and, trying to dig a hole on the quicksand of the world I live in. A refuge, that each tide in my mind wash away!

” If You return to earth,come armed,Lord,/ because enemies are preparing other crosses/ – not Turks, not Jews- but those of Your own kingdom”

How slightly soever I am esteemed in the common vogue of the world, for I well know how disingenuously Folly is decried , even by those who are themselves the greatest fools, yet it is from my influence alone that the whole universe receives her ferment of mirth and jollity: ….

It now seems that hardly a day passes without a new museum opening somewhere in the world. More and more often these new institutions are concerned with contemporary art. The reasons for this focus are logical. First, there really isn’t enough old art to go round. Second, mass audiences have an increasingly limited historical perspective, and mass audiences are what all these new institutions are aiming for,for both financial and purely political reasons

Edward Lucie-Smith

Basically I convert accident into apparent design and randomeness into organized patterns. It is a random affair  taking place in every direction