Here, in the den

There’s no secret void, or knowledge of solitude and empty passion; it’s all out there in the open, in the centre of this concrete jungle dictating a beat of its own. In dark corridors and empty allеys fucked up with graffiti on the side; in the underground behind unseen cityscapes, stories unravel in spaces when space is just a noise. Some seek what’s irrevocably lost, others that which is inconceivable, most are lost themselves and only speak of nothing, when few are old from exhaustion.

I don’t know about them, but I know how it’s here, now, in this day when nothing is out of reach and everything is here for the taking, everything… and this city is my base, when I have this game where there are only few rules left to break. Here, in a practice of power play, spheres of influence are expanding forevermore, for only few are no longer fallen. Existence is in the interior of the essence, when the lot is the essence, and everything is the necessity. In this ancient battlefield, where even stars fall out of impossibility to endure, men do what men know best, destroy each other with the ferocity of our savagery. In this den, it’s never about greed; it’s about thirst, hunger…

My tears don’t work and I know why…