let my imagination go
i wonder why and how im still here.
im thankful for all the people who put up with my endless shit.
its true, when im sitting all alone, i dont give a fuck.
i let myself go and explore the abyss of my mind.
its heaven and hell and the country side and dirty ghettos and dusty lyrics.
im made up of this shit, and it flows through me till i die.
but enough about me.
wtf is up with the middle east.
peace doesnt seem even remotly acheivable in this theme.
grandmothers with ak-47s, frizzy black hair, wrinkled knuckles.
perhaps we are killing ourselves?
i heard this quote from somwhere, i dont remember where but its true, 'we work ourselves to death and then party to death trying to lead balanced lives, and in the end we kill ourselves.'
tight.
danielle and i go to dickies.
yah<3.
i never get to write about shit i want. something always comes up. i have scraps of papers, napkins and other shit that i write on..with crayons markers whatevers closest. i think about the littlest daily tasks and how they effect strangers, neighbors anybody walking by, anybody with a face that looks like the one i saw a minute ago. too many guts and so little time.
trembling. and the mouse is leaned up against the volume knob, fucking laughing.
im thankful for all the people who put up with my endless shit.
its true, when im sitting all alone, i dont give a fuck.
i let myself go and explore the abyss of my mind.
its heaven and hell and the country side and dirty ghettos and dusty lyrics.
im made up of this shit, and it flows through me till i die.
but enough about me.
wtf is up with the middle east.
peace doesnt seem even remotly acheivable in this theme.
grandmothers with ak-47s, frizzy black hair, wrinkled knuckles.
perhaps we are killing ourselves?
i heard this quote from somwhere, i dont remember where but its true, 'we work ourselves to death and then party to death trying to lead balanced lives, and in the end we kill ourselves.'
tight.
danielle and i go to dickies.
yah<3.
i never get to write about shit i want. something always comes up. i have scraps of papers, napkins and other shit that i write on..with crayons markers whatevers closest. i think about the littlest daily tasks and how they effect strangers, neighbors anybody walking by, anybody with a face that looks like the one i saw a minute ago. too many guts and so little time.
trembling. and the mouse is leaned up against the volume knob, fucking laughing.