My dear, my love, minor third ( Read more... )

Mom+me+Islands of Adventure=awesome. Ano 26 of the Brad Clymer era.

The dreamThe first thing I remember is the church. I walk into a mass, but it's arranged like a UN summit or high court marshall. Everything's white and lit only by the open windows and the curtains' washing of the overcast light. So it's not painfully white, but rather somewhat dirty and the curtains, blown in from the wind, gently but far, are ( Read more... )

Being lied to is one of my favorite things. Most especially when it's about something stupid that I wouldn't have minded being told. Oh! And also I like it a lot when it reeeally insults my intelligence. Totally sweet bro.

Fuck it all with fuckin' no regrets; never happy endings on these dark sets

Became

Mama they try and break me. Still they try and break me. 'Scuse me while I tend to how I feel

Cha-$-ching

An oxblood instrument of love. An inability to retain water. Lies and hugs. Corrections to misgivings. A summer lie.

Liquifacation of carnal knowledge. The relaxation of detente. Mr. Belvediere. Rainbow spaghetti. A summer lie.

Factitous venereability. Baldness. Contortion. LIES.

In this day the shelves have cracked, split, rushed apart as quickly as things of that size do, and in their voids have rushed a new aura. An errant era? No. Errata? Erasure. The voilence seems to be napping (like a hundred hour nap) and the eddies that whirl reveal a distant and faintly colored core. Ozzy once said, "I'm goin through changes." One ( Read more... )

I tire of irreverance for its own sake. It died in the early summer of 1993, after being resurrected after dying three times before in recorded society, one of which was televised, the other two vividly emblazoned upon the filthily simple skin of the plebeians by widely conspired attempts to obscure. All four -Z- failed to have any lasting effect ( Read more... )

Relax. Watch it shrink. I have so much left to learn. The surroundings stay constant. This, I watch shrink, these pugiltips reaffirming my long-held theory that palms are tympani. In order, they strike. Shortest first, it moves fastest. Then another, and one following. I am a failure. I mean by that, that I am a god; the definitions may be easily ( Read more... )

Over, over. Click. Over, the turning of these wheels and spokes blurs into the flag of a national debt. This is the pasttime of percolating interest ( Read more... )