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Ya big flippy floppy squishboot.

Love lifts you up, turns you down, tears you apart and scatters you in pieces. You keep going, no matter what.

It is a bullfight. A victory. A search for pillowy comfort. A battle between logic and letting go.

To love is to touch.

To build a lane of trust in one another.


Transforming it into a pleasurable and playful love game.


Inter-relation, self-assertion, opening and engagement.

Self-love. My hands tapping my body.

Soft and gentle. Lifting and grounding.

I keep falling into the same floor when I pursue a love that’s towards and away.

I love how you use your energy push me up together thingy.

Co-ordinated fallings, co-ordinated hair-styles, co-ordinated feet, co-ordinated pyjamas, co-ordinated breathing.


Love is an exchange that sometimes ends in a fall.



Love is pretty hard work.

To find the individual within the two. Union and isolation. Fluffling feathers.


You should like totes follow connection, find your synchrony, be like robots but make sculptures too. And rave and stuff. You know? Compulsion. That’s it.


A very colorful love from outside. A very distant love from the inside. Sometimes funny to watch, but mostly sad.

Do we have to be so similar?


Finding new ways.

Love requires unity (to an extent) and an integrity that also co-exists with a gentleness.

Growing individually.

Growing together.

Letting go, having fun, and falling off balance too.

Coming closer, embodying habits and rythms.

Pulling. Disappointment. Isolation.

Glue. Eternal.


You must keep moving.


Rootless tree, conquer pain, take your scattered pieces with you, or not. Just pick the ones you want.

Painful doubt. Alarmness. Stillness. Texture. Play.

Being alone, without being lonely.


Love is in the everyday. In the missing presence that once lied next to you. It infiltrates every small movement.

Love is moving and emotional and temperamental.


It offers softness and comfort through touch, weight, distance, voice.

Remember that your body, the whole thing, is an antenna. Use it like that.


Make the bed from where your dreams lay, sink on it (Sinking love. Is it true love?) and leave your body to rest, your mind to swirl.

The feeling of 4 layered fluffy blankets.

Be pain, be concerned, be respected, be loved and be ridiculous, be aphrodisiac.


The endless dimensions of loves’ heartbreak will only mutate and come back for more. Love’s a fickle fucker like that.

I mean feel things and sprawl.

(tension may arise)


It sometimes feels like a whirlwind.


Togetherness- Interruption- Competition- Displacement. 


Love as in looking out for another.

Love as in being able to admit when something is wrong. 


Sharp, quick, winding, challenging.

Playing with control though fun.


Love is / can be / should be uplifting. Optimistic.

Be loud, be bold. Whatever the fuck you want to be.


Totally give space for shit to be lost.

Is actually true love a real thing?

Love is a vacuum of self-delusion.

We are always searching for ourselves.

You persist in confusing me. 


 There is a possible foreshadowing.

The mythic other, the better half.

I don’t understand much about love. I don’t think I am supposed to.


Love will tear us apart one day.


Hold your weight.

Trust yourself.

Love is dramatic. It entangles you without escape or release. A reaching desire that sometimes cannot be fulfilled because we hold ourselves back.

Self-imposed isolations. Perplexity in relationships. Compass.

Loving what we cannot have.

Who is coming after a thousand years of being alone?


More, more, more. I need love life. Hole in the head. Faith. A lover of love.


I look through the window. You were there…Trusting in what I see and feel. Oh no – More bollocks.


I want, I can’t, I want, I can’t

Why do I stop myself?

Fuck it. Express yourself.  Escape your comfort zone, your doubts and worries. Don’t shy away from bondage if you are into it. You might also consider weaving, suspending your thoughts and creating tableau.


Love casually binds you like some jazz music in a bar that makes you stay that little bit longer.


Love is blind of course. But that’s ok. It has other ways of proceeding.


Love is finding the balance, breathing together, being patient. Coitus. Fulfilment. I need more space. Tensions. Fear of vulnerability. Intimacy. Listening. Care. Testing patience. Communication. Chorus. Searching.

Fighting (for)


Love as a sense, as a connection felt and not always seen, as a way of being seen internally, as something that requires deep breaths, as setting boundaries.

Listening to each other is not an easy task.

It’s ok to take a holiday alone, or just you and your friends.


Total collapse – no more compromise.

Irreparable breaks.

No more trust in seeing. Just perception.

Love is subject to humans.


Awkwardness. Mixed signals. Shall we pick up the pieces and try again?

Blinded communication is inevitable, yet experimental.

Move forward in love.

Embrace love with open eyes.


It can be useful to let go of what you know.


Love requires giving and taking weight.

To connect. A deep friendship.


I could say anything at this stage. Cliches will do; there is so much beauty in this world and suffering too.


Love as the silence you don’t have to fill

Sharing and negotiating space

sometimes toxic (is that really love then?)




Finding symbiosis, somehow. An understanding, patience, friendship. Evolution. Separation. Detachment.

Sometimes, what appears as forgiveness really isn’t. 

Co-existing, supporting, take a break, dominance, relief.

Can dance and music make love with each other?

Too soon for poetry, for beauty, for love.


 Love has many positions subjected by the subjugated. 

Love requires work. With effort and intention it can become a place to rest.


 Who is she? Who are you, really?

Togetherness in dance again, union again, ejaculation. 


 Love is as familiar as the experience of the sun setting.


Life goes on. 

 Imprint a memory in the body.

Trace. Trace memory. You need time and travel. It is a long journey.

Time doesn’t matter. Time doesn’t stop.

Unfinished. Non-linear.

You are the missing part of time.


Follow the thread you set for yourself. Carry the loads. Sit on them. Continue unfolding the thread. 

We will always go back to sleep eventually, with or without loves. This responsibility is ours.


As corny as it sounds love sometimes means you need to let go.

Not having to be between people. A self-endeavour. 


Love does begin when one is at rest in oneself.

Love you self.

Remember where you came from.


Love is 

 a flying bird that sometimes takes a few steps on the ground.

 a balancing act. Even alone.

delicate but tough as fuck. 

far from and never perfect.


The ultimate device to become…somehow…better.  

Love defines, re-defines, experiments, heals, holds the power to block imaginations.

Only when I say- otherwise don’t even give it a second thought.


 Looking elsewhere. Cycle of love. Need for connection.


The duality of roughness and gentleness. 

Sensual and sexual.

Longing for love. Thrill. Fluids. Mayhem.

I love your bottom. I love the way you shimmy that chest.


 Choose what to do with your body. 

Shake your tits, shake your ass. 

Listen to your body and listen to your feelings and your thoughts too. Carefully. If it’s not right, change things.


 Love is gold,

and it’s sex 

and it’s not sex 

and it’s Bowie 

and it’s being moved to tears. 



I  L O V E  Y O U

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