Past all of the whirring machines that send their probing lights to circle my head, Around and Around, until I can’t stand it, I feel like the arcade boxing game is mocking me, it’s asking me to punch harder but I can’t and I’ve started to anthropomorphize this game and I don’t want to hurt it, I want to escape into the deep jungle beats of Richard David James that seem to eminate from the center of the mirror maze, I just want to run and sweat and bleed and explode, scatter across all of you at the fair just having a pleasant evening and a piece of me will float up to the top car on the ferris wheel and make you, yes, you, sneeze a deep hard sneeze that shakes you to the core and you’ll think of your childhood romance and the Place That You First Found God.
Go make something Real.
Look how they massacred my boy (democracy).
“This is a [wordsfromdrew shirt]. And for me it’s a symbol of my individuality, and my belief...in personal freedom.”
St. Martin’s Church, New Delhi, India.
The two girls in bedazzled hats who make mixed drinks in various places are the Greek muses incarnate.
I had a dream that the Pirate Bay was alive and well and when I downloaded a Songs: Ohia album I was transported (sucked into the computer Cronenberg-esque style) to a grassy plain and there were two men in a duel and I was both of them and the sun was setting and when they turned they just stared at each other instead of shooting and I started shouting: shoot, you fools! shoot!
em dash
Go make something Real.
Look how they massacred my boy (democracy).
“This is a [wordsfromdrew shirt]. And for me it’s a symbol of my individuality, and my belief...in personal freedom.”
St. Martin’s Church, New Delhi, India.
The two girls in bedazzled hats who make mixed drinks in various places are the Greek muses incarnate.
I had a dream that the Pirate Bay was alive and well and when I downloaded a Songs: Ohia album I was transported (sucked into the computer Cronenberg-esque style) to a grassy plain and there were two men in a duel and I was both of them and the sun was setting and when they turned they just stared at each other instead of shooting and I started shouting: shoot, you fools! shoot!
em dash
Where is my Gypsy wife tonight?
“The true adventurer must come to realize, long before he has come to the end of his wanderings, that there is something stupid about the mere accumulation of wonderful experiences.”
I spent most of the day near the fish market, south of the bazaar. The mid-day sun reflected off both the water and the coats of oil that were thickening on the scales of the recent catches, giving the entire scene a silvery glow, one collective glint of temporary blindness. I would sit across from the stalls and watch the tapestry of the market weave itself with blues and silvers and greens. There was one merchant shouting above all the rest, shouting of the inherent power his goods held. Degraded commodities of god, he would shout. Himself being made in the image of god, he made the logical leap that there was some trace in the things he had made, and willing to part with them, he was in fact blessing each individual who would buy an item.
The Times They Are A-Thievin’
France flits open like a ripe fig in the wind, we are raping the land, we are not stopping.
“Two figures are approaching an oil well. One of them holds a lighted torch. What are they up to? Are they going to rekindle the blaze? Has life without fire become unbearable for them? Others, seized by madness, follow suit. Now they are content, now there is something to extinguish again.”
In the professional wilderness of our 20’s, we are the most feared and hated.
I listen to Japanese harsh noise and I’m not registered to vote.
“The true adventurer must come to realize, long before he has come to the end of his wanderings, that there is something stupid about the mere accumulation of wonderful experiences.”
I spent most of the day near the fish market, south of the bazaar. The mid-day sun reflected off both the water and the coats of oil that were thickening on the scales of the recent catches, giving the entire scene a silvery glow, one collective glint of temporary blindness. I would sit across from the stalls and watch the tapestry of the market weave itself with blues and silvers and greens. There was one merchant shouting above all the rest, shouting of the inherent power his goods held. Degraded commodities of god, he would shout. Himself being made in the image of god, he made the logical leap that there was some trace in the things he had made, and willing to part with them, he was in fact blessing each individual who would buy an item.
The Times They Are A-Thievin’
France flits open like a ripe fig in the wind, we are raping the land, we are not stopping.
“Two figures are approaching an oil well. One of them holds a lighted torch. What are they up to? Are they going to rekindle the blaze? Has life without fire become unbearable for them? Others, seized by madness, follow suit. Now they are content, now there is something to extinguish again.”
In the professional wilderness of our 20’s, we are the most feared and hated.
I listen to Japanese harsh noise and I’m not registered to vote.
Monk Mode. Honeymaxxing. Shutting the fuck up.
Kubrick’s melancholic, long, withdrawing roar is a whisper now, a candle being blown out by our own methed out lips.
And slipping through the arms of my sweater, I threw it on her, knowing she would put it on. It fit poorly and immediately became an object without enchantment, without my body beneath it. I urged her for an impression of myself, to see myself in her, to recreate myself in someone else, to finally see myself through my own eyes, what I so desired my whole life, what I imagine we all desire. To see ourselves cast out before us, submitting to our own vicious judgement.
The secret third thing is taking a walk.
Discourse is a purely aesthetic phenomena; npr brain, weed brain, sally rooney brain, catholic guilt brain, retvrn brain, bauhaus brain, chatgpt brain, arthouse brain, fractal pattern brain, mid-cent modern brain, meme page admin brain.
‘New Objectivity,’ the style of architecture in Germany that directly preceded the rise of Hitler featured functionality, simplicity, clean lines, and a lack of ornamentation. Writing my thesis on how our uninspired collective unconscious is funneled into a raging fanatacism for anything that evokes emotion (Nazism, feminism, traditionalism, AOC, Jordan Peterson, etc.).
Stairs and contradictory stairs.
“Man became sinful the moment he was interested more in what’s in the book than in Eve’s gorgeous naked body.”
William Blake warned of the poison within standing water, I’m heading to Egpyt to find fountains, to find spice, to approach Al-Mu’tasim.
Rohmer girl vibes.
Kubrick’s melancholic, long, withdrawing roar is a whisper now, a candle being blown out by our own methed out lips.
And slipping through the arms of my sweater, I threw it on her, knowing she would put it on. It fit poorly and immediately became an object without enchantment, without my body beneath it. I urged her for an impression of myself, to see myself in her, to recreate myself in someone else, to finally see myself through my own eyes, what I so desired my whole life, what I imagine we all desire. To see ourselves cast out before us, submitting to our own vicious judgement.
The secret third thing is taking a walk.
Discourse is a purely aesthetic phenomena; npr brain, weed brain, sally rooney brain, catholic guilt brain, retvrn brain, bauhaus brain, chatgpt brain, arthouse brain, fractal pattern brain, mid-cent modern brain, meme page admin brain.
‘New Objectivity,’ the style of architecture in Germany that directly preceded the rise of Hitler featured functionality, simplicity, clean lines, and a lack of ornamentation. Writing my thesis on how our uninspired collective unconscious is funneled into a raging fanatacism for anything that evokes emotion (Nazism, feminism, traditionalism, AOC, Jordan Peterson, etc.).
Stairs and contradictory stairs.
“Man became sinful the moment he was interested more in what’s in the book than in Eve’s gorgeous naked body.”
William Blake warned of the poison within standing water, I’m heading to Egpyt to find fountains, to find spice, to approach Al-Mu’tasim.
Rohmer girl vibes.
One night, dreaming, X. is struck by lightning; he understands that he is dying and he is suddenly, miraculously, dazzled and transformed; at this point in his dream, he attains the unexpected, but he wakes up.
Chess.com as a dating app.
I dreamed that Gore Vidal was publicly shaming Henry Miller, stoning him, calling him a narcissist, a slut, an unsatisfactory lover. Henry was just laughing, bones disfigured and face bloodied, his super-contentment bursting through his pores. No one understands, he was thinking to himself, this is the only way I can die, my fate demands it. It was a monumental clash of ideas, Biblical even, highbrow intellectualism with old money vs poverty-ridden joyous ecstasy.
Tattoo artists love to be like, “Books closed.”
My high school english teacher told me to use the scylla/charybdis phrase on dates and it has a 100% success rate.
The only modern poetry worth reading is from a terminally online collective of angelic shitposters.
Sitting in a room blowing smoke rings with Leonard Cohen during a thunderstorm.
Taking recs for what piece of art to put in a 16x20 frame.
“Something which was already there, something imperishable, like memory, or matter, or God, is summoned and in it one flings himself like a twig into a torrent.”
There is a modern day crusade of scene girls that are off to teach english abroad, America is ignorant of such a valuable asset.
Succor Sweetness.
Chess.com as a dating app.
I dreamed that Gore Vidal was publicly shaming Henry Miller, stoning him, calling him a narcissist, a slut, an unsatisfactory lover. Henry was just laughing, bones disfigured and face bloodied, his super-contentment bursting through his pores. No one understands, he was thinking to himself, this is the only way I can die, my fate demands it. It was a monumental clash of ideas, Biblical even, highbrow intellectualism with old money vs poverty-ridden joyous ecstasy.
Tattoo artists love to be like, “Books closed.”
My high school english teacher told me to use the scylla/charybdis phrase on dates and it has a 100% success rate.
The only modern poetry worth reading is from a terminally online collective of angelic shitposters.
Sitting in a room blowing smoke rings with Leonard Cohen during a thunderstorm.
Taking recs for what piece of art to put in a 16x20 frame.
“Something which was already there, something imperishable, like memory, or matter, or God, is summoned and in it one flings himself like a twig into a torrent.”
There is a modern day crusade of scene girls that are off to teach english abroad, America is ignorant of such a valuable asset.
Succor Sweetness.
