Soul Artist, Teacher

The poet Jorge Luis Borges, one my favourite, from Argentina, a wise, lyrical man, who became blind quite young, and who lived until he...

embedded in us, relating bodies, encapsulated (petal) #skins, there is a body-language, living in a symbiotic relationship with ...

when you forget the one who forgets you step into the #play, and take over the act! and the #awe of what you are, changes you and...

as I disappear, into a pumping muscular heart, that sometimes hurts, i see masks/ personae , shaped by shades of light and dark on the...

There will always be the big sky. Will it protect us ? Well I say it is no simulacrum. It is a palpable dimension in which we are...

The poet asks: "What was said to the rose that made her so smiley?" Well... Will she be peacefully contemplating the noisy green garden,...

What game is possible to play in the midst of no time? What still action can transport us to the labyrinth of clouds? Can we learn about...

Loving London, I found my heart in the heart of the rose today, it had fell to the floor of the patio. I pealed its petals in search for...

Words are things. They have life. They explain and make the rules of the universe, the wavelength of sound, the clouds of dusk....

Because my castle, my interior castle, is not interior anymore, its a movable castle. I feel, I know . The castle is not being destroyed...

I am starting a new project, which assembles all the work I have been doing, over the last months. It is called Vibrant Matter,...

I met you last night, my friend, my bearded old wise friend. I met you in a dream. You lived on the top floor of a narrow old building,...

I am prone to theoria, contemplation, speculation, theoria makes the world. its the first step to commonality, to a common world. the...

We are not apes anymore, but struggling angels, cyborg austronauts flying and fooling around. Cyborg austronauts aspire to travel to...