i dont think never think

free fake crap in the hole. luring dancers ever near messengers of driven tongues, monstrous minds, real as daylight. formula of fear: stinky riches shiver in flesh folds of cracked card carrying fish. going off the deep throat elevator. specified rock star montage critique feathered promise elastic.

slave

tubes

ears have been fucked for a minute. actually considering thee olde tube in the eardrum this time. depression lifting slightly, i guess. forcing myself to write because i care a little less but ideally i would not care at all, and yet care about everything in a completely different way. wishing i felt poetic right now. i would like to write a new song. how many have i abandoned? extreme lack of content here.

broken library lock chimes of death render user harmless. fanatical faery transititions in isms of prisms. fine! teleporto-potty mouthed liars they call to me in pictures on tp. i hate you

psychic withdrawal/detox hell

i  don’t know if i can even begin to describe this adequately.  crushing tearing screaming bloodthirsty demon inside me? looping insanity volume cranked way the fuck up and guess what? i’m just sitting here in my room, nothing special. heh.. show coming up, projects that need action taken SOOn, but i’m absolutely useless! i’ve always felt that there was something wrong with me. even at the best of times i was rarely inspired and the creative process has never come easily. but now it’s come to a head, that i am indeed a junkie- for whatever virtual energy that feeds this unquenchable thirst. and i want to kill it, this demon. loves shadow, a ghost . UGHHH!!!! tossing and turning. maybe now you understand. i don’t know. i wanted to get beyond all this, really- i still do. but now I UNDERSTAND why you had to just give up. for a while at least, my only solace in endurance of the unendurable is that eventually it will end. i have to believe that. and knowing that if i keep feeding it, it WILL KILL ME. look at all these caps, serious! there was a time when i had a lot less dignity then this. hehe. i can’t even cry or anything. it’s a different kind of torture!

and i accept it.. in agony. die motherfucker.

me me meme me

ok this is the warmup. crust of language perpendicular to the rose garden of makeshift monoploly seeming to create follows a curious pattern through the hedges. delving into dewey caverns of fae we lose an element, then another wordcrime hypothesis decadent angels in style. triumphant hordes crash the party. it’s a sing-a-long! paris tokio madrid castles and unmade beds aglow. happy songs. pretty daze.

still haven’t figured out exactly what this blog is to be yet. it is a secret one so far, so if you have stumbled upon it by accident or stalking, congratulations! you have found an outlet that although not so much used, is untainted by thoughts of anyone actually reading it. pure expression. but really it’s kind of a sketchpad right now and i’m wondering if i should go more in that direction with it creatively, magically, or both. it seems weird to combine actually but a pain in the ass to have all these separate journals. tagging i guess can help keep things organized. i wish there was a way to divide it even more. haven’t really explored the site exhaustively so i don’t know.

major deja vu’s..

staying with the feelings, trying to let go of the thoughts