Creating and Exploring Contemporary Culture in Words and Pictures. Mainstream, Underground, High Art and Otherwise.
Friday, 9 September 2011
someone without love is like a empty seashell, you can hear ocean but there is nothing in there
dark dark sky, and the night decendeth, cold wind whispers and then blows out its cheeks and the spring blossoms shake and shiver and the streets are wet. the stone glistens and the earth soaks in the water. they are wondering about me too much and their lives are begining to revolve around me and i must be free of this. they must be free of this, to keep their minds guarded against thoughts that take on my hues and my grace and damnation. these are my burdens and i wish them upon no-one and no-one shall have them and i will take my life with these morsels of proof of life and time immemorial. there is no shortcut to heavan it is relatively long but not in the sense of time. i call up to the winds to blow down on this place and push out the vapours that are clogging the minds of these people and twining them onto my being like magnets to a steel wheel. i am shaking anyway and ever moving so be sure little magnets, that you know where you are going and keep eye to know where you've been when you tumble off and back onto the solid ground where your seeds can sprout and flower and die and
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