big fish eat the little ones

a compressed photoessay from skrova.

partially edited by jonas bendiksen. WTF.

some days, depression gets the best of me

and you get the rest

whilst others, you get the best of me
and depression gets the rest


such fine undefined lines.

to spend every day, all day

thinking about what's wrong with me.
that's what makes me unhealthy.

narrow down everything into split seconds.
navigate your way through every moment and action that took place.
make a map and see for yourself.
constructive as an insect with no legs, strapped to a pole made of gum.

all day every day,
the struggle never cease.
the struggle against my disease.
to rid me of this; a game without matchpoints.

listening to sounds all day long.
some form of entertainment.
listening to my brain argue with itself all day long.
some form of torture.

what is this place, anyways.

feeling trapped inside a moment, and then suddenly snapping out of it.
feeling trapped inside an insight, and then realising it's all fiction.

not to worry, there will still be surgeons. there will still be people across the street who knows more than you. there will always be a reason to stay on track.

all day every day, what is wrong with me.
the things i see,
what is wrong with me.

the perception of youth that slowly fades into nothing.
in this haze of lies it gets harder to breathe.
impaired by noise and restlessness.

i'm in great need of stepping into another dimention,
since it seems like i've ran out of perspectives to gaze upon my problems from.

sure, miss beer

sure miss beer.

this vital piece of traintrack that's in my hand

says loudly:
don't take the train.

at least i wouldn't, knowing where it came from.

it's a kind of torture

we live in the age of distraction
 in the deep ends of knowledge,
 less and less people pay for visits

they think it's all for free, scanning the shallow waters looking for reflections they can retweet

i'm not smitten by this, only bitten
its venom has my veins in a grip and it hurts to sit still, to find a certain peace

to be serene enough for complete absorbtion
it stings me into motion, always hungry for action

i'm an advanced dog and need lots of stimulation

but how come i think so far into the future references that when i read or experience something, the only thing occupying my mind is how i'll tell tall tales about this shit that's happening now, later on?
this is a form of insanity, i'm certain
the need to amaze people has become an illness
and my restless being absorb that channel, the vibrations and those disgusting habits of feeling important.

whenever i read something, all i think about is when, how and if i'll get use for it in future situations. what the fuck is going on.
"remember to remind me about this reference, put it to use, coming across as smart is way more important than actually being .. smart"

fuck the age of reply..

simple scetches of old cliches