Friday, December 15, 2017

When I got old, It was already too late. When I was young, I couldnt tell you much. Still lady luck blessed me. With a curse to crave love. Love I did. Many times. Each time more real. Deeper each connection after last. Better through fsikure. Love isnt lost. Just easier to forget with the tick of marching heartbeat

Cropped circles

Tirelessly tired
4am again
wired
Fed up waiting in line to end up where we stsrted
Hired only to be fired
Head west for now
Look back
 Passanger side flashback
Stacking stacks of collapsing traps
Everything that keeps em together is falling apart
Designate a space to waste
Come together by tearing apart
Revolve in place 
Sip dont taste
Hurry to wait
Love to hate
Disappear but leave a trace
Contradict agreeably
Or not
At least willingly disagree we cant agree that argument maybe
The last fun activity for human beings
From this devils are made
Evil born of good wombs
Nutured naturally
Raised an enemy
Loved by all
Living inside me

Dear diary, go fuck yourself

I havent wrote
Lets try something new

Blue
Morning draped
Escape
Late again
Shake sleep off
Again
Mistress made of thousands of threads
Instead of surrendering to the safe blanket place
Warm embrace of womb like state
Traded daily in haste for black coffee
Fuel for the freeway races
To return again
at later dates
After much debate
We lie in beds made
Wishing for death
Or something like it
Halfway between breathing
And dream weaving

Turn it off
Then back in
Should work now




Sold out

If i had an audiance
Id lie and say its fine
When the works become a hit
A thousand pretend smiles
Aimlessly accepting praise
Shadowed in denial
Shared and shaking hand over fist
Feigning socialized bliss
With a kiss or two stirred in the mix
Thats the feeling that acompanies taking a shit
Writing vomits of words
Painting eleqont curves
Capturing technocolor  filmed fits

Make create build destroy
For a sold out show
At an empty theartre
For free
america free
Every night
City to city
Coast to coast
From sea
Shining
Blindingly blind burning the sky





Spit

Talk to me desire
That fire
Burnin red
Riding high
 till were expired
Misfired
Reliantly defiant giant riots
Quiet pilot
Flying below radar
Underground
How we like it
Bass dropping wub trunk rattle
Violent like
Despite how right the mic delivers our nightly chourus
of bad decisions, the best of times
The dopest of hits
One take its lit
Keep rolling
Spark the spliffs
Humm along like chong
The second coming came and went
You werent looking
Im jesus christs half twin
Sleeping with sin so savory it drips off your chin
Wet willy your friend tim
Its in, they voted me best dick with a pen
Better than big
Bigger than mesurnment is
So tall my dick looks infinite

Lol







A muse-less

Every creator has need for a their muse
Inspiration is just lame filler for motivation
Even science
The godless
Have a muse in mathmatics
For what better reason to create at all?
If not for the objective desire of another?
There are no rules to it
Its probably already with you
Whether known or not
Worshipped
Or seeking tirelessly for a tattered taste

I fired my last bella muse
That which brought motion to my hands
Jumbled thought into knots
Tied tight
Just right

Which I liked so much
At night
Id write to her

Every maker has a muse
Every muse needs a maker


Emp T

Too much time is ironicly spent trying to be good in a world that craves bad

Dont be a pussy. But dont be a mean son of a bitch. Dont strike your partner. Unless they are into it. Be nice but not a push over. Dont take advantage but stay agressive.

I get that things have sides. And middles. While having zero purpose at all. For not is an all. All for the not.

Be neither. Choose to use the finger. Flagerantly. You cant, wont, ever need or want a correct outcome to a never ending eqaution.

So what? Why waste space ranting about nothing? Will you think about it, dear reader? Will these hollow words inspire any to burn the something in the night?

We will see.