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    Camus said the City Ňis the only desert in our reach.ÓĘĘ But there are treasures in that desert as I pick through the residue alongside hungry children and tired market traders.ĘĘ I am looking, searching Đ I am part of this and I am not.
    Searching for what?Ę Do I need to find these things in the waste?Ę No.Ę But it would not exist without them.
    I find them, cut them and they become substance.
    Poetry seems to come of itself, without effort, and I need only let myself dream a little while painting to suggest it.
    Why have I returned to this empty space?
    These faces, these children Đ these remnants of a past gone forever Đ but still here.
    Alive, organic Đ growing in the canvas.
    We used to dance up here all of us, such times, such parties, such talk!Ę Now all life is below me, all over this city as I dance on the edge.
    The edgeÉ The edge where I belong. I keep walking. Just walk. Just walk and I have no idea where I am going. It is not a good feeling but not a bad one either. I feel caged and free at the same time, like it is only myself that would not allow me to feel either great or miserable.
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