…the art I make is worth it.
So endless and annoyed Despite such marks in an eye much lost and much so, much so and much ever so in such a trivial naked, drunken phase. Hopes and prayers to your sweet death, hopes and prayers to the end of such a ritual that is so and is so. Was so, was everContinue reading “Peaked and Pointless : Part 3”
Chapter 5 “I’ve just had 18 straight whiskies, I think that’s the record” Dylan Thomas’s last words. That night, I had a dream. The dream was about her. We fucked in my dream, we fucked in the hottest most passionate of ways, totally naked, arms and legs wrapped around each other and locked inContinue reading “The Burden of Empathy : Chapter 5 “I’ve just had 18 straight whiskies, I think that’s the record” Dylan Thomas’s last words.”
It was September, or some other irrelevant month that one a soul did read his book and sing her song. Some even celebrate it. Such a thing to celebrate, Nothing worth more stress and relief. It is no slave song or national or social anthem. To come all this way for nothing To Channel theseContinue reading “An Ambiguous Personal Truth: Part III”
Fear benign of exile are taken away by belief. Lonely haze, and there are no other descriptions. Ode to the addictions rush, always in the underhand bridge of night. Magnetic in disillusion by abstract bubble and vomit. Gifted oils and silver In morn and mortuary of their lad and frequent previous owners. Always excited byContinue reading “Morn and Mortuary”