I wish I was a mountain or a lake.

Still visiting the other side.

Algorithmic thinking.

Jojagog äror soså gogloladod!
Foföror jojagog haror alolloltot.
Dodetot kokomom jojagog popå igogåror.

I really have a problem with the corners.

Behind the shield. The Earth has one flat side.

Floating, there is a distance.

Inside cave.

Cave, mountain (also called brain) (w.i.p)

Block, mountain.

I'll be back on Monday!

Now, all I can think about is food...

Today I saw beautiful things.

Taken by insects.

Insects, again.

Making insects for the very special luxury-poet Stefan Hammarén.
Dreaming of fantastic electronic equipment.

Baby insects pour Hammarén.

Something is missing, feel me - wrong distance. Brain not accurate.

My muscles. Rain rain rain - brain. I can see you.

Diamond fields. In my head it became a mountain.

Sharp objects pushing hard against my speed.
Walking.
Drilling.
There is one hole.

Inside mountain - brain.

Problem solved.
Fancy pants.
A smashing guitar, (mostly in my left ear).
The beating heart.
And I can feel my pulse, in the upper part of my lip.

Factory - The hanging gardens.

Factory ship. On it's way.

Safe in there.

Like mud.
I could still see green and pink dots, floating.
Wet and I shaped it into a mountain.
Or maybe it became more like a slope.

Inside the factory.

His anger. The bird stays cool beside him.

Four easter eggs hovering over their nest. The loss of four unique feathers.

Treasures, kept in a special place.

Rain.
More rain and some pink noise.
A new found banjo.
An explosion.
No indian summer.
Indian dreams.

Rubber blobs stuck in limbo, listening to Urania.

Collected items when dreaming of indians.

Today, that annoying music in my left ear, again.
Like sandpaper against my eardrum.
And that same voice over and over, it doesn't tell me anything of importance.
No letters. No words.
Grey sky, cold feet. It's a greyish pink day today.

Paper, an other kind of universe.

Sketches for Mary Kingsley.