14/09/2018
6pm

The Kiko's Cave
Rue d'Artois 44
Bruxelles
Belgium

very few words of reference could give a full explanation of the excellence of a definition of a pain to a lover's wounded heart. The Artist's own. Einmal ist keinmal.

Loving hearts never die, broken hearts never lie. Love unreturned leaves a scar. One way street. Cold at night. Bruxelles. Muscles weak. Rue de Prague without a light, shoulders carry hindsight. Only some could see in the moonlight. Hands in pockets. Wait. Woh. What happend next?? The secret lover M. The unwritten rules of his erotic friendships. The orgasmic three-way parties. The lover M. His high road between fear of losing his freedom,alcohol,thoughts of love and lust. Wanderlust. Running to a fuck bar after ten until who knows when. Found SMS on the phone: " Awh babe! Come here, sit on my face,let my tongue say sorry, your Judas". Hidden agendas. Lies. Deceit. Betrayal. The hands smell of another asshole. Profiteroles. 2 days in Paris. The city of love. Searching for a smile and a cup of tea. No words. The wounded heart becomes violent. One day at hospital other day digital. Sober and drunk. A broken heart in melancholia. Palais de Justice Under Construction. Still.The materialist lover loves money more than a good morning honey. Familiar symphony. It's winter. The weather is cold and rainy. Ancient history. Lack of intimacy. Career is greedy. Political flowers in a pot. The bitch goat plays the violin endlessly. Something old something blue. Marriage. Was it a marriage? Broken the same day of contract. Blue moons turned into red giants. Happiness isn't happiness, a soldier out to a war his eyes on to the lover, turns back for the last kiss goodbye for true love. The integrity of his love. Mars and Venus. Fatal attraction. A poem to a lover in the form of a letter. Sing and play the bareback poetry without a saddle. Painting is the weapon in the war against unhappiness. Behind the scens playing da Gamba with owls and bats late night with an unapologetic blackness on the brush. The Artist murders her own shadow to become the lion to her own crown. The countdown. What a liberation, even the redemptive impact that the unexpected major third closing a piece in the minor can have. Chopin's Nocturne's The Picardy third, only at the very end baby try it first! A cursed needle slammed once more its insidious juice into the already blue veins. What a hash to crash. To have a crown is a serious business! False kindness fake politeness and modesty. Some call it nobility. What's heavy on your mind in dim twilight, my sweetie? It's not the right time for X,Y and Z. The unnecessary. Memory loss for uncomfortable details is an excuse for a floss candy. Invest in love, humanity, equality, mutual community. The mission isn't morality. Freedom and future destiny. Where is Anarchy? This is Europe in 2020! Dehumanized enemy! Controlled society. Walls and borders. Irritation, frustration. Who is the famous chef of love? One needs an entire life to know about tomatoes and tomatoes. The lesson isn't far. The true one taste the bitter first. The next could be ten times worse. The lover M loves you at first and fucks the world around you again and again. Abused society raped by authority. Volatility. Assassination/Terror. Cyber Attacts and DarkNet. Current reality! Privacy/Transparency. Published and established. JA. JA. JA. Pussy versus intimacy. NEE. NEE. NEE. Love is far away. Love is forbidden. Love is punishment. Love is lawless law. Love is a business. The Artist paints to the eternity the letters M and H. Septembers are break-ups. Summers are love. Homme fatale! Secret lovers exist. They are the protagonists! Are you scared of heavy love, my love? Touch every object you love then cry. Muss es sein? Es muss sein! Es muss sein! Ja.Ja.Ja    JA! der schwer gefasste Entschluss! Aber es konnete auch ander sein! If your love is unforgettable let the sparrow fly. Daily life is full of serendipity like a painter on a street drinking with a lover to be. Or is it a paintings? An understandable lie on its surface under a truth beyond imagination. Brushwork No Brushwork. The color is the only clue. No form no subject. No color theory. Titles are the hope of hopelessness for a critic. Forget them like every other lie. Write it regret it say it forget it. Pure art is not clean neither Artist. Great Art never a victim of a censored world! There are only forgotten shades or colors on a painting. Anger and hunger. Corporate secrecy. Pharmaceutical bribery. Transparency, please!! Institutional Corruption. Which one is left credible? Breakdown Governments! Evil Capitalist Corporations. False leadership running the show. Who decides? Private power! Failed and dashed dreams. The big sleep. Filthy dealers in the dark corners selling art. Money laundering. Down with good old boys club that turned into sex shop. Dual income turned into single. The artist's failed career. Her bad faith. Suicide by hanging is the last aid. Rent half paid. The art guy eats his bread and honey with an artist who loves money. Everybody loves money. The hardboiled detective loves money! He loves you more!! Are you still reading, my love? Heraus mit dem Beutel! Who do you trust? Your doctor or your drug dealer? DADA DADA DADA DARK DADA NOIR. Le Chat Noir in her boudoir hungry for another mois... to eat his goldfish. Golden fish with giant genitals. Forgotten Gurus. Post-intellectual culture on iPads looking for an easy shag. Loneliness. Anxiety. Arm robbery. Secret society. Oligarchy. Autocracy. Plutocracy. Corpocracy. Political ignorance. Armed police with no tolerance. Everyone has guns. Left blame the extreme right. Some obey some resist some are activist. Post blackness. Black Matters. White suck! Authority SUCK! The Artist woke up in an unfamiliar world black and white. She is sad, desperately sad. The Art recognizes no hypocrisy or aristocracy. Business-driven art students want their 15 minutes with an extra to fill, neglect the homework, surfing on TV channel to channel Tinder/Grindr. A gallerist and a critic whose blood they could drink! Good-bye mediocre Art Academy packed with rich and privileged. Institution of Authority is the circle of Hell, mythological authenticity, welcome to the Divine Comedy! A cursed moment in history. Political Conspiracy. Self-Authority. Polarized Society. Constitutional Crisis is the new Democracy. A big yawn and a 'so what' attitudes. Vague speculations. Fake News and Post-Truth. The air is heavy. The air is suffocating. Psychological make-up with some blush on top. The scene of the crime. The clues left behind. The lover M returns to the scene of his crime. YES. YES. YES. Salacious malicious perverse pleasures. Behind closed doors whistleblowers recording private conversations in corrupt Houses. Secret agents spies classified information. Alternative facts is the only solution! When others silenced the artist sip the grapevine remain her famous silence. The youth is wasted in rave clubs apeshit drunk. Day and night, ying and yang. Artist is afraid. Artist is alone. Why the fuck she is alone? Who did it? Palais de Justice Injustice. Death is near in slow motion. Silent tears. Increased fears. Next stop Arts-LOI. Homeless black cats are on the street, hungry and fighting. Who's bored being bought for 10 sold for 1000? Come on! WoHO HO HOO. NO NO NO to professional jealousy. Those are lousy and boozy! Social Politics and REPUTATION. COMPETITION/AWARDS/MANIPULATION. Eyes with arrogance and condescension. Record selling paintings sold market best price. King of Trade! Everyone got paid and happy. Masterpiece again?? Oh la la so famous already, my sweet Da Vinci! Mona Lisa and her fake smile. Her vanity is the only immunity. Oh dear. Boys in great trouble. AIDS of love is undetectable! Can you paint anything great from now on? AH! Hah HA HA. You've got no inspiration! Strangers by day, lovers by night. This gifted artist is so melodramatic! Are you feeling secure? Romantic and so on? Very picturesque! The Artist is Dostoevsky's Moron. There is no business like Art business. Painting failed? Return to your studio! Find a new title for that damn failed painting. Cut off your ear or toe! Paint a picture at least one with Artist's sake! Magic is gone. Can you drive to Berlin and back order some cocaine? just to be honest! The Artist gives an autograph and kiss you in the morning. Frame it maybe you can sell it. Yo! Come on. Black Ray-Bans are back in. Great story for art history. You can do it! Picture it. Perform it. Paint it NOIR. Put some color on the corner. Au Revoir! Red, blue and purple. The future has no gender. Feminine power is the only power for human survival. Caged lion is not a lion! Artist and Poet gather together or die forever! End of the line.

 

Dear my M,

It is a heavy poem, isn't it? You'd like it to be lighter, wouldn't you? You could say I can be quite heavy and sentimental when it comes to the matters of the heart. You are right.( das schwerste Gewich) Well, the life as we know it made up of full of contradictions. Hot and cold, being and nothingness, dark and bright, negative positive etc. I believe one can only experience true love if one go and risk to an experience of heaviest emotions ( suffer, loss, agony...) of all there is, to later be free and to welcome the lightness. Or else it's a huge waste time like ours. After death comes rebirth after pain comes joy. Won't you agree? Just like sunset and moonrise. I want to show you the most mysterious and the most double entendre of all contradictions. I was powerful enough to leave once I realized I can't be hurt anymore. Our break-up was the love of my fate. It was necessary whether I liked it or not. I hated it then what I've learned to love now. I accept my fate and every event occurred between us. I will show you some paintings, my most intimate and wild to date. It might resemble you the paintings of the past, or I'd like to call it my future to my past. Nietzsche calls this mythos Ewige Wiederkunft. You must have read it somewhere at least I'd like to think you did. Is this all clear to you, my love? Or shall we add this too to our little dictionary of misunderstood words? Being a lover or an artist of this kind isn't my mission. No one has a mission or should have. To realize that I'm free from all the missions is the biggest relief for me. You guessed it right. I don't need to look for another love. It is absurd. I'm happy.

To death do us apart,

Tu es degueulasse.

 

HO 2018 Septembre Bruxelles