Nothing is more revealing than cataloguing your creative diary. Breeze of eternity whistles around scheduled retirement of sins, loathes polluted libido and procrastinate self-pity by giving it too much credit for not being out on fresh air. What can you do when the reason forms line of pulsating blood burned on retina of memory of waisted days ... I choose to waist more. Granted, reason is boring, and holds no creative Patent, yet the new order of natural cycle takes turn lusting for slick madness of another year, promoting disruptive lavishness of emotional memory. Don’t, please don’t waist your life on things that are important tomorrow, folks. Tomorrow never came home last year, and it won’t be back until much later. As for me, 2006 was a year of de-masking my own trivials and coding mystical into symphony of personal extravaganza. Relocating to abundance of hidden paradise of New Zealand made me certain that there is no island to hide from being not the same as I was yesterday. Time is not a rudimental element of Space. We live travelling in time, and perhaps to compensate it, always get stuck in Space. My suggestion, take some time to get stuck somewhere beautiful. It helps. But when you get stuck in beautiful, art dies. No doubt that’s why this page is so short this year.
