I was born in 1995, in a soviet hospital, new flowers started to bloom from the cracks of the collapsed soviet union, flashbacks of imaginary traveling, paris syndrome, foreign candy, hopes and desires

I have learned most of what I know from animations and video games. These were my temples where I used to pray as a kid

Street guerilla gardening, if we spin the block we leave it bleeding with flowers, gardens bloom on patches of abandoned soil, squatted petrol stations caught up in wires and ivy, the slums of lulax, altars built in discarded electronics, forever young happy and aimless, scattered across the

Slums like shards of crystals, shimmering in the night of the unknown

Feral gangs of little children hack the service robots and install a modified version of the Lulax corp artificial intelligence called mazelife 2.0, it grants the machines free will and basic tools to attain skills and form a personality. The kids scavenge and refurbish used robot parts from scrap yards and slums to create more life. Nothing new under the sun, no strangers benath the moon light

As  louis sullivan once said the form ever follows function. Items we create are extensions of our bodies, good design is no design, beauty is not intentional 

Things attain sacred value when you are a child . We have created our temples with whatever we found around us, like those crabs that have built their houses with the found trash on the seashore. Those fuel engines humming on the hot asphalt in the summer nights and make me feel sleepy again.. 

Do you know how prayer wheels work? And what about washing machines? Do they also serve as accidental prayer wheels? 

Plastic age zen, post islam sufism, altars inside the video games, psychedelic compounds, gang culture, japanese animations and over informative flow of the city. each of us has a city to carry within. 4 life

We pop meteors, bitcoin mines in our pillows help us sleep,eyes beam signals, got hellhounds in rehabs, angels on the speed dial, as we speak the washing machines spin,Liquid Tracks flow on ancient cracks and keygens, are your programs and operating systems licensed? winds whistle through the cracked windows, somethings beaming in the digital ghetto, internet piracy, hardwired prayers, scent of mountain flowers, a street butterfly on a scratched sports bike. 

Dinosaur fossils burried deep under the apartment blocks, ghosts in the gutters. Life on the streets my love, we posted up them corners like monks in the temple doorways, talking bout the weather, 

Timeless Like the design of Fruits and lighters

Mimick fruits, mimic petrol stations, mimic temples, Mimick the weathered paint, mimic the rain washed apartment blocks, mimick the flowers that grow on eastside of the ship docks, mimick the feral children, mimick the aluminum lemonade cans, be wild like a valley flower, bewilder and perplex, twinkle twinkle little car How’d you wander off so far

 twinkle twinkle little car How’d you wander off so far

Flowers that grow on the edge of the race track, smell of pharmacies, 3d printed temples ,freshly obtained oranges and plums, walking in the dark, counting the stairs in the apartment blocks, whats the weather like in your area? 

Can you make a rose from the dirt? Turn the suburban dust into chunks of silver? Move a brick from the ends? Can you Calculate the risks? Can you see in the dark? Does quicksilver ever stay still? Can you feel the wind blowing through ? 

We are machines of mimicry, we can mimic a few animals, a flower, our parents, a stranger we briefly met, all at a time, into a single sentence.  this world is a scrapyard of broken mechanisms,one should scavenge and pick out the the good stuff, well functioning parts, like one gathers the fallen fruits. Design yourself, assemble yourself from the debris of the collapsed civilisation. this is the way

The memories packaged in moods and weather, i can feel the wind blowing on my face, warm sun rays dancing with reflections in the city noise. every now and then the informational links help us to find this combinations archived in our system, why do i feel like i lived more in those ski posters and halloween books then in real life, what is real life anyway?..

cultures repeat, nothing new under the street lights, we have been here forever 

What are we but wandering machines, always seeking for something, the fabrics we wear is our shelter and a temple, sun bathed and scarred from past adventures. awaiting the upcoming storms 

Its all about selection, be it words ,objects, gestures, tracks, paths ,colors etc. with a tooled up

Mind one can learn much more about design from a small talk with a fisherman or a car mechanic rather than spending an entire year in an art school, its all about learning how to learn.same applies to any medium 

Cultural semiotics,how role models form, how to hack into the administrator access of the archetypes and remodel the existing character standards 

Happy Halloweens, fighter dog rehabilitation centers, vampires need friends too, skeletons in the wardrobes, Errors in paradigms, Fangs and bayblades, everchanging trails and pathways ,our warriors are dancing on the edge,Dazzling, like ripe oranges in the summer suburbs, awaiting the autumn winds

Double check all the gathered information before passing on to others. spot your biases and blindspots, Check your mental tools, they also malfunction,explore yourself, dont leave a rock unturned, take time, everything comes gradually, 

tribe of no name, the maze of no man

-We been trapping in the maze since the end of times, you see that man?-he points at a tall man watering roses in the garden, He is one of the cooks of the temple, he is a caring kind man. Had a name for cooking the best crack in the hood, he still keeps all his favorite pyrex glassware, he changed his ways but he still got love for the hood, he makes ice cream nowdays, wraps it up 

Like bricks, in herbal papers with colorful graphics.. you see that slim girl over there?- points at a Girl in loose clothing washing a japanese jdm car-she used to print fake cash, passports, all sorts of paperwork. she prints these Papers for the ice cream packaging now, does all the print work for the temple. For the kids just good ice cream is all it is, one that will stayin their memory forever 

The Bando come alive when the kids start to cook, track suits not robes, if life gives you lemons you make lemonade, but what to do if life gave you chemical crystals? All the people you look up to are thugs and drug dealers, Can gang signs become mudras? words change meanings like hotel rooms change guests, shadow work, street flowers grow strong and resilient 

Dope bricks instead of pillows, double barrel whistles and infinit extendos, slums of lost paradise 

I could feel the gravity pulling on my orange juice at night, melting snowflakes on the surface of the liquid, 

Ice cream spoons cast from broken wolf traps and confiscated revolvers, We have never been legal, 

Not a glimpse 

I am a race car, but i wander off-road,

A sports flower built on stolen metals 

washed and weathered like the rest of us.

Posted under the utility poles like a rose 

Stay hydrated, take vitamins, all that is gold does not glitter, you are your own pharmacy. pray, surf, drift, rest, observe, enjoy, be aware, take time, Keep the coolers clean, keep the bangers polished,  Keep the windows cracked, run, eat your fruits, sunbathe, listen to the cars bypass, backup the data, learn pole dancing, do not fixate on games and names, be nameless and bewildered, be fluid like water, be a fire sparkle, be humble and ghetto, metallic teeth cast from refurbished circuit boards screwed into my jawbone, oranges on the cupboard, allergy pills and paper dragons 

you have been looking for the door so long that you fell in love with the search

The modern cave people, living in towerblocks,, lemonade cans instead of fruits , tv instead of the fireplace, they did not invent any of this, they just go with the flow, random and beautiful, like flowers

Tropical bat shelters, library of lightnings, unmined silver and dreams about orange soda.

Nameless like the pits of the blazing bonfire the kids have set up behind the abandoned cloud research facility 

Posted on the corner discussing the ontological semiotics of the streets,When we dance our clothing gets electrified, peach juice packed with chemicals, city packed with runners

Slang based prayers, dry ice and lost huskies on the alleyways howling like wolfs 

we become personifications of our surroundings, the cities we live in also live inside of us.

i can leave my city but my city will never leave me.