dread lion

but there's also life. beautiful, real feelings and sex and breathing and rock shows.there's love and a sense of well-being that is right there, in yr very own chest. don't let anyone make u believe differently. stop. step aside. help someone out.puff puff give.TAKE EVERY DAY AS IT COMES, BROTHERS AND SISTERS!

after i turned off the tv...

A plane flew over the city and got me thinking about the end of the world, and how it sometimes doesn't feel so faraway, but that maybe that's just a part of ordinary living--the crushing sense of dying--the feeling of the towering black wave out there in the distance.Perhaps it is every generartion's gift to think it's The Last.shakespeare was a minx.Annihilation: to be in love is to be snuffed

Americans are becoming so tuff and cold. Even the movie Happy Feet had sad and scurry parts.

kick satan out!

All the great artists agree on one thing: the easiest way to do something is almost always the best way. that's what made michelangelo paint the sistine chapel on his back and that's what made andy warhol turn photographs into huge square stencils...it's what made kafka send his characters to bridges they can never cross...these great artists had things they wanted to do and this was the

driven

u know yr possessed by something when it takes u along with it.no matter where it goesand you become a passenger of your own lifeyr thoughts hurtle thru space as billboards flash by,filled with remindersAnd u drop a handful of Swedish Fish on the car floor.

B Ferreal.

I remember working at the duplicating office at college and talking to one of my co-workers about how I was so gullible that I believed nearly anything anyone told me and how this prevented me from being cool.“In my little high school crew I was like Vern from ‘Stand By Me’—my big round face was always lit up with awe at whatever nutso shit my homegirls said.”“You’re lucky,” he said, in his slow,

thou ouest god a death.

how can u have yr pudding when u dont eat yr meat?

the spectacular spectacular

we lay in bed listening to my 5 hour weekend mix and remarking upon the high number of sick girls who were amongst our fave bloggers.i thought of those poor chickys--trapped inside and growing deep. we smoked their dank hydroponic ways as the mix went on to a track that was really a hidden minimix that i had done in a dj class at the scratch academy. a mix within a mix...a submix like a

My church…Is a bold, cold frontthat descends like The Mothership when seasons change, blasting a remix of Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy the Silence”.Inside there’s an opening—an unpainted steeple. Long wood fibers stretch rigid against the moisture filled sky with its bands of cloudsit’s purple and pink sunrise evocations…(backdrop to rockets red glare flag raising declarations)Down below a dying man

It's time 4 me 2 make ammends with the hipsters.Please forgive me, hipsters. It isn't yr fault that u can't understand.

TRUE FAKE

One night, they woke me and told me it wasn’t safe where we were. There was a blur of activity as everyone helped to pull up camp. I walked around with ground glass in my joints and watched as one after another my peoples hopped onto the back of beat-up bikes and ancient, rusted cars. Five kids helped me gather my things and then drove me through the canyon in the back of a pick-up with a

i feel it too:something is about to happen.

dance with me

i've got the rhythm.i can take u there.let's hit the limit.(u gotta lot of technique)

I quit therapy. Three years is a good long time. Freud would have approved, and in the end, I sure do luvs me some Sigmund.The challenge now is to step out into the cold and become who I am.Like how a snowflake becomes it’s pointed tips as it falls against the muted, noonday sun.A black shape. One of many.The mode of actualization has been given to me through this blog.BRANDTRUEBOY=WILL TO