about a creature called lust.
- -
There's a so-called mangod for almost everything created and celebrated, or so it feels.
I always think that I'm constantly ripping off others and it's never true. I guess because there's always this lingering fear, dangling in my skull like a cobweb, that subconsciously, I know what the hell I'm doing.
If there's an accident, one person can describe it in certain words without even thinking about it and it's suddenly beautiful. Another can destroy everything some more and make it seem even uglier than it really is.
Everyone always has ideas of what they're gonna do, and when they don't it comes out perfectly anyway. Nothing for me ever comes out like that.
I'm learning to enjoy making accidents out of accidents.
Smashing things into shapeless objects until virtually disintergrated, and gluing a bunch of random letters together as if it's some sort of description.
There's a so-called mangod for almost everything created and celebrated, or so it feels.
I always think that I'm constantly ripping off others and it's never true. I guess because there's always this lingering fear, dangling in my skull like a cobweb, that subconsciously, I know what the hell I'm doing.
If there's an accident, one person can describe it in certain words without even thinking about it and it's suddenly beautiful. Another can destroy everything some more and make it seem even uglier than it really is.
Everyone always has ideas of what they're gonna do, and when they don't it comes out perfectly anyway. Nothing for me ever comes out like that.
I'm learning to enjoy making accidents out of accidents.
Smashing things into shapeless objects until virtually disintergrated, and gluing a bunch of random letters together as if it's some sort of description.