| gera. areg. rega. erag. egar… he is everything. he is nothing. he is everywhere and nowhere at once. he is the one to be loved. and he is the one who loves everybody whilst loving no one. gera paints using his fingers and embroiders his paintings with tapestry. he writes poetry using no rhymes. yes, he is talented. yes, he is different.he is the sunshine making everyone around smile with pleasure and, maybe, envy inside. he seems to grab the life by its horns. he seems to be forever happy. he is so loud and present. he loves girls but fucks men. girls just adore him. straight men also do. gera’s everybody’s friend. how come you don’t know gera? everybody wants to be gera’s friend. gera is the king of the castle. gera is the party queen. cheap cigarette smoke blurs his face, torn t-shirt with stripes and dirty jeans on- he looks like million dollars. and, oh, his hair is always perfect. he is the queen of the neighborhood. you don’t know gera yet? well, then let’s get some weed and some arak and throw a roof party. gera will be there. gera is a smart boy. that’s why he plays it simple. why bother? anyway, everybody just talks “art”, everybody is talking ” creativity”. so, why bother being too deep? why scare them people with the depth of this hole? it is black as pitch. better off. why go there when it is another street party and some sedative sex and theme party and all sorts of substances that he can drink and smoke and sniff and another bar night and vintage sale and gallery opening and film festival and… and… and…so he laughs and hugs and kisses anybody who is pressing his cheek. while smoking a cigarette that blurs his face. and in the mornings, when there are no people around, he cries. and thinks he will never make it to 30 year old. |
on my way up 