One must have a camera attached to the forehead not to miss certain things…

Three aspects of me:
Joy,
Regrets,
Memories…

Seeing red,
Light on my back,
Hovering darkness,
Longing.

Why do I get the feeling that, no matter what happens to the cats, the one that goes down first is the fucking horse?

Love ain’t flowing,
Dry, empty husks,
Wall stains of
What’s been,
Indelible mark,
A timeline of
Nothingness…

Geeze! I use my eyes for my photography. I should sue these people for pain and suffering. How can anybody do a translation like this?