Finale

the self exposition of us as americans
or just as the wealthy youth
who come here for games
and drink with their booze
and smoke with their drugs
and our mindless ways of taking pictures with cameras

remember this pitiless beauty
and that false sense of living
in the hope that life will hold us up.

oh, these are the days my friends.

Remains

All Night in Goteburg

twas good.

again, to barcelona, to have the sun, coming from such cold height.


and dafne, yes!

Capture

Barcelona

for sun and dafne

hello

Mission OT street art

a devastating failure, or lack of motivation.
this is all you need to see:

generally enjoying the night

HandGlove

around the room

krakow

Copenhagen Afternoon

Top Secret?

It seems appropriate to do now.

I was sitting in this room tonight. And we smoked a lot of pot. People were here that I did not know. Nothing I did was old. Some guy threw up in my toilet after smoking for the first time. At his request we rolled the joint with a page from the bible. It said something about being tempted to do evil things. Temptation is the bitch of life and I love her.

Our writing, perhaps, (deja vu) as characters being constructed according to current mental states. Catering to my madness now is different than later. And even within this. The evolution of the character that is part of me.

But pulls towards you.
That Divine Fuck.
She haunts my nights and she's close. The proximity becomes a barrier, accentuating the mess of individuality....Distance allows the messy mass to look as one. One sees terribly from afar. things can look so beautiful.


good night. I must retire.

The Law

The Law says that it is powerful. The man does not wish to confront the power head on. He waits for its permission. He waits for power to allow him to pass. The man gives gifts and the Law takes them without care. It is wise that the Law allows the man to exercise all possibilities, to exhaust himself. Power finds and grows in strength because it allows these sorts of actions.
When the man is close to death it is a question that comes. Questions as weapons. The door is meant only for the man. And he never attempted to move beyond. To be courageous. Or curious. And the Law bends down to answer the man's question "for the difference in size between them has increased very much to the man's disadvantage." Obsession AND lack of creativity feed the Law. It grows.

this goes here

bleeding guitar and dueting voices with this guy

I was close to her.
though an asshole of me, as i loved her man.
though we spoke of this.
that danger of having a man.
and such misguided expectations.
though it was just me, going for the steal as usual,
on the most moral grounds.

Royal

Its easy to doubt, and sometimes i see the ways i lie. Such words, coming in sound and thought, such places. I waste my time, and i live in filth, trying to stay calm.

and in control telling myself they are not like me. But even this can be seen as good or bad or sad. Even the recognition that people are not me is pathetic, yet grand and royally humble. again, as it ever was, it depends, as it does, on whatever we wish it to, or find it to.

and again as it ever was, recognizing this, Eehch! it all becomes such sick forms of validation, and i'd rather just look away or accept, because i'm damned and retched either way.

but again, its royal, and good, and grand.

going out

i drank.
i flirt on women,
but it was just for nothing.
and not to deal with drunk stupid reality.
only for us to unite.
and relationship.

but i cant wait.
i stay in my room, and nothing.
so i go out.
and its real. but fuzzy.

Photos

Go Here for photos from sloser travels to some europe cities.

It was formed in 1873 by the union of the city of Buda on the right bank of the Danube River with the city of Pest on the left.

tomorrow

-Final
-Flight to Budapest

DURNK Thoughts. And Fights

Alexandre: 02:18:57

nfjhfjhgfhjgfmhfkjhfg

Alexandre: 02:19:01

weirthasrt

Andrew Coles: 02:19:02

fuvck you7

Andrew Coles: 02:20:00

my ketsys are alld boody

Andrew Coles: 02:22:46

,u ,u ,mu ,umumy hsnfd my hsnfdm my hands are bleeding'

Andrew Coles: 02:23:10

i stll still dont know why

Andrew Coles: 03:42:01

why thef cusk are yous till up

Andrew Coles: 03:42:06

asshoels

Andrew Coles: 03:42:33

i passeds out in my chair

Andrew Coles: 03:42:40

OYLKDF

Andrew Coles: 03:42:42

OY!

Andrew Coles: 03:42:45

whats doing

Andrew Coles: 03:47:43

So one day i was talking to a friend of mine maned namesd fred. Fred wasnt afan of the jewsih, and cwho could blam him. the stole his home and desecrated his land, a sign of the ameraican coalition at the time. Some Egyptian blew off his brothers legs in a neighborly fight that eneeded in the death of a cow and the speration of an tentire marriage. Truth be told, it was for the better, but like would never be the same. WW3 started, and all hell broke loose. murderers, killing\\ers, manslaughterers, and butchers romed the land, serachign for meet to chop up and serve. Wen nothing could suffice theyre bloodthirsty appetite, they became veggetarians. witht chethier changed ways, everytingm was good in the world, and once more humanity was at peace. Sefl scarifice is a method to beauty. Black serves white, dark to light, and we must seek violence to undertsnd pecace. I love you, bt one day i will kill you. And thats just how it is. What can one say? WE live in times of fear and desolation. I am a robot. Flow my tears.

Andrew Coles: 03:49:31

im eating cereal

Andrew Coles: 04:31:38

hey

Andrew Coles: 04:31:40

asshole

The area Sloser? and Sloserx currently inhabit:

Recently

i am drawing nasty things like blood, penises, KKK

nest

i got to lay back and be drunk, and enjoy the fruit of my own labor, becuase others were fucking the light. and they did a good job, and were peaceful. and it held our attention. and nothing was awkward or bad.

planning a site

Halloween

and just as the new wine touches your lips,
you are more powerful that you remembered.

the process

when you want so badly to help things, but know that the most powerful form of education you have received has come from within you. from your own self reflections. your own manipulation of what has been shown to you. because everything that has been shown to you has been incorrect. or at least you have benefitted from seeing it that way. its the wrong content. the wrong medium, the wrong audience, an incorrect assumption, or something left untouched, or that higher level of self critique. Something is always lacking.

and so to accept the lacking of my own bits. to see the flaws so glaring. so there, and present and true. to see them and to declare them. because you think they must be declared. almost more important than the content is the self exposure. the awareness.
it doesn't matter what i do as long as i am aware of it.
because the awareness is so profound it is an end in itself, or you think it could be, if you could just find a way to take it there. But you cannot, because as far as you can take it. as far as you can lead, if you can show someone the way, they can take that next step... and betray the whole process. and its retched and bad, and bleak.

new heights

RANCID

we're just normal and distant persons to people.

coming from somewhere, but its not important. people are slapped, or secure, and the only approach worth batting is to bash those fat faces in.
Raw, and it hurts so bad, they'll love you.
Because, they live off of pain. The more pain, they can triumph the small obstacles, and smile as they clear the hurdle.
ah fresh ballet,
down as i clear it, all the while knowing i am only ten humans, and 20 of them could lick me no problem. Although when you are one, or a few, you really get the lights and lightning.
and keep it's electronic force.
Because you can concentrate, and twist others.
like a firm grip; its good, and true.
and pathetically, i am pleased.

Southbound

so you know the land and season

Visualizing of the Human Condition

Outside Myself?

Whats crackin yo.

IT was around a quarter past midnight on a brisk Tuesday in the homely college town of Lund, Sweden. Andrew Coles, world renowned cyklist, self-described Huguenot, and one hell of a model american, sat at his desk contemplating the activities of the night. Having recently imbibed the gaseous emittance of a gently lit hash pipe, his mood was relaxed and somber, focusing on the lighter sides of life and the inanity of the modern world. Sweden, a world of wonder and delight, where beautiful women, intriguing bike rides, disastrous deity's, incredible kebabs, and beautiful women stalked the landscape. To live and learn in the audacity of its modern everyday life became his desire, a trance like stalking through the jungles of introspection and wild tomfoolery. As his thoughts digressed, they stumbled fondly into his past, recollecting the trials and tribulations of years long past and TBT's long forgotten. An old acquaintance emerged from the fog and haze, accompanied by the obscure presence of an older, glasses laden lass with the odd desire of filing books in dark and dreary libraries of the world. They called him Charlie "Wild Cat" Jones, and oh what a tale he wove. As Andrew chuckled silently to himself at the triteness of it all, questions loomed into his forlorn thoughts. How was his dear friend Gregor? Was life with Wild Cat an adventure in selflessness or a journey through companionship? Was the Wood still as West as it had been months past? And were TBT's being properly dispersed throughout the fulfilment of his life duties? But alas, these questions would live unanswered, laying dormant, 7347 kilometers away across the ocean, leaving Andrew the lone hope that sometime, someday, his thoughts could be transcribed via some electronic means.

ANNNNNDDDDDDDDD Scene.

Sleep

but the paper writing is going. and i am definitely very intelligent.
i have a candle lit.
and the screen, this tiny little box sorta thing. it looks quite nice. i haven't turned it off for days. it downloads, and works while i sleep.
they will be able to do anything.
either a peaceful world or complete destruction.
by our own hands,
mine and yours,
spoon feeding the primitive ones.
fucking animals

more like you, than you could ever know

Get Back

some nights

post to be accompanied by this recording:


and some nights alone in your apartment,
you begin to draw.
and you use black pen on white paper.
or sometimes pencil.
and when you draw lines, you watch them appear.
Flowing out of the tip of your black ballpoint pen.
and the lines make you happy.
because they are smooth, and you have control, and the contrast is high.
and you can go for hours without looking up.
and this is the only thing you've ever done which engages you in this way.
and you are alone, and the lights are turned up,
so they illuminate the room.
and the window curtains are drawn wide open.
and you are in front of the window.
and it's a saturday night.
and you could be doing so many other different things.
But you watch the black lines flow.
and the lines make you happy.
so you dont feel the need to do anything else.

and you can either go slow or fast. or somewhere in the middle.
or sometimes you close your eyes and scribble.
and you can feel the lines through the vibrations of the pen in your hands
and you can see them all around your head.
and you know they are there.
blazing on the clean white sheet of large paper.

and your see other things besides the lines.
people's faces.
strangers and friends, lovers and family. conveying attitudes.
warm smiles, and looks of foxy distrust.
and words come, as if said by these faces.
or from your own lips.
And the words are fragmented, and conveying senseless connective meanings.
Describing acts, or abstract scenery.
and you get focused in on one sound, or a wave of light piercing your eyelids.
which are still pulled down.
and you could have been imagining for minutes. or it could have been a blink,
but the lines are still flowing.
and you are still holding the pen.

And when you are ready, you can pick up a new tool.
and make color.
you have blue and red,
and light turquoise-blue and orange.
and you might make new overlapping lines.
or you may fill in spaces between the black.
and you thought you liked to use black,
and you did, but now you are making color.
and the layers start to come out.
and as time passes,
you are content and warm.

then at some point, your phone might ring,
or you might put on a music recording.
or you might get hungry, and make spinach,
or rice.
and your night might end. because it is late.
and you know if you go to sleep, you can wake up in the morning when the sun is out.
and you can go for a ride into town.
or take a train to the coast.
and you smile at the possibility,
and this human experience is good.


you can download the recording by right-clicking here and saving the linked file.

Always inAction?

Losers are everywhere. Why would you expect them to be anywhere else?
In a nonlinear timeframe I will have responded before you.
Expatriotism is not created by absence, but rather from presence of thought or ideas.
So what are we here? Apparently losers.
but that is all in the Eye of the beholder.
Magic now calls to me with its visual discourse.

Can you really say more with less?
I guess not.

its just how you perceive it.

Was it?

and keeping myself from thinking one thing, while talking thought and walking away only to bed in unfamiliar places.
in the center of town, with a woman who speaks some other language, with a strange woman, and i;m touching her crotch, with women whispering in my ears, steady to argue in whispers, and whispering play into their naked bodies, which are around me close.

put soft you here.
put soft wounds, you herald.
heresy, i thought was nothing more.

and the woman i had, again, in the middle of the road. on the freeway, as cars passed through our bodies. because the pleasure had made our souls so large that they began to lack any tangible density.
or was that death?
so long ago?
death as i lay naked in the road, with some woman i had only met.
seconds ago, as our cars collided. and our bodies faint only to remember the look of her eyes as we matched stares. dying and screaming for mercy. moaning as i understood such full bodied desire. i could hear it in the rain as i flew through the windshield.
but the stare held me like it did so violently wicked, as we caressed pavement and bare skin. Her warmth met my solid body and we gasped in ecstasy, or were they pills of death?

in my hands and hair, the warmth of headlamps, and cigarettes exploding as sparking hail, as if this were the bible in egyptian desert, and the drivers are gods, dropping heavenly plagues in return for this sinful adultery.
oh! what fore this sin? was there anything else? surely lies have been around since the birth of woman and man.
deceptive games of give and take as the sun rises to the street.
It meets us, our bodies still, thrusts of compulsion and voiding presence.
moments are enveloping and underlapping.
this sex is a life before, but life someone else, my time is only here with hours and minutes, or was it death?
as fingers explore deep landscape; i can feel her body reacting, or was it him, or death like me, and my blood dripping lifted stretcher or coffin?

shit morning

not in good.
the day is bright with clouds. but lay around and let the day pass.
Have you heard of the 'strong, silent type'...?
I started thinking about it. And then hit a wall, too much to think. to think about myself.
i ate a grapefruit this morning. eggs, red onions, potatoes, three cups of coffee. late night run last night with unknown sloser. and kitchen talk
the weekend just killed me.
mission success friday and my body feels it.

Inside Stockholm

Outside Stockholm

Heading North

The Land

travel

travel, i thought i understood, that i remembered what it is like, but i realized when i got here that i did not. the important thing is not to care about where you are, about where you are going. just to move around and see. or stay in one place and see. the important thing is that you are in a different sort of surrounding. and new thoughts come. as they must.

because so much of what i learn, is that so much of what we think is defined by our immediate environment.
sure our past plays a role. that is surely part of our environment... our past is a collection of environments/situations/ contexts..... and we have some sort of memory capacity which comes because some of our neurons have this nice tendency to form stronger connections where connections happen more often. so our past environments are with us. and affect the way our brain experiences new environments.
however, the neural lattice still gets a bit fucked up when it find new input it has not dealt with before, and it must adapt,
and we want it to get fucked up.

travel is a good way to mind fuck yourself. because it's easy. you just go to other places. and it happens naturally.

so just go. and thats enough.

Missing in Action

where is this loser?