Why I Moved To Malta

The real question is how I ended up in Sofia, Bulgaria. Anyways, I met Matilda in Sofia. And we were  hungry for love. So we gave it a try in Malta. After a very short honeymoon (as a matter of speaking), it didn’t turn out to be as we would have liked it to be. The rest is history. For now.

Seriously. It’s too easy to get lost in this life. Then again, I am still here.

Here is the second out of maximum 6 contributions taken from Islander. This one is from June 10, 2017. So,  the previous one turns out to be not the last one after all. Okay. Where is my head?

Why I Moved To Malta

Voluntary Exile In Malta

Copywriting is like fucking for money – if you like fucking. I wouldn´t recommend it. Too many rules, too many formats, too much of everything but not enough love, nor time. Writing for money. And I know it beats a real job. At least my job doesn’t bore me to death. Real jobs are truly a pain in the ass. So extremely disrespectful. (If you have half of a brain.)
Some people make me smile, most people bore me to death. It´s a fact. They are worse than boring. Compulsively faking. Real adults.I managed to paint it and called it ´The Real You´. Was fun. For once in 2017 the canvas was working with me. As if my Imaginary Friend held my hand. The Fucker – as we call eachother.
It is nice to be back in exile. Voluntary exile. Living on a island, staring at the Mediterranean Sea. Yes, it’s good to be back. Checking out these women on the beach who seem to be reading magazines – fashion, lifestyle or gossip. But are they really reading? The pages turn fast as hell.. Maybe they are too smart? Maybe they realize it’s guys like me who write that shit? Not that I give a fuck. As long as they keep on spending their hard earned cash on keeping me alive. For all I care they stole the cash or did whatever they are good at. Honesty Killed The Cat. That´s gonna be my next painting: Honesty Killed The Cat. I like it. Consider it done.
If anyone is reading this and has a suitable place in Valletta for my next painful exhitbition, let´s say in December, feel free to ignore this. As always, how many would show up? 7 or 11? No offense. I would probably be in some bar myself. Talking to some real piece of art. Life is all about choices. (Which makes it even more unbearable to some.)
Can anybody borrow me a fifty? I need to buy some shit. I mean to paint. Obviously.

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