Old Posts.
September 7, 2007 - Friday
Harvesting love scenes.
We are solely attatched to these midnight combines.
These country roads are fearless.
This hush, hush wind is screaming.
That gold dust moon will save you.
Let yourself dream child.
August 30, 2007 - Thursday
If you want to be an artist...
let me see some skin.
August 20, 2007 - Monday
Bronze champion.
Crushed.
We are untouched.
Who, so abused, could you turn to?
The Devil keeps you dancing.
She'll keep you on your toes.
Tapping.
While your audience is laughing.
Clapping.
You are the show.
And now, everyone is watching.
You are falling.
Tripping over one shoe.
Left heal over right ankle.
Shaking the fever loose.
They know you.
We all know you.
But you can fool us.
There is an encore.
Demise will be the follow up.
We are a lifetime short.
And two tears away from the gold.
June 20, 2007 - Wednesday
We're all about this.
Dollar fifty
Thrift store personality finds
Tight eared
Tongue choking alibis
You are wired fine
Potentially benign
Essentially unaware
We are so close to the ever
Encompassing dream mines
And they tell me that war is what you want
And if war is what you want
I am ten tons of ammunition
Major malfunction
Private seduction
You have our attention
Eighteen years of fresh repetition
Our fatalities laced with proclaimed sanctity
We are immune to serendipity
Phantasmal amour
Full frontal body identity
Exempt lust tradition
Cherishing
This lasting moment
May 18, 2007 - Friday
And then came Thursday.
They were all running around.
Screaming.
Doomsday Wednesday!
Channeling.
Conducting teenage love electricity.
Trace me in fallacy.
With simplistic words erase me.
With seduction and worry.
I am this overweight death trap.
Popular boob tube extravaganza.
I am pretty plastic.
I am dirty habit forbidding existence.
A hand held masterpiece.
Agony sucking disaster.
I am hammered.
Dead blessings.
Undressing the sanity.
Unraveling the alimony.
I will buy you two times.
I will give you everything I have.
I will idolize your fucking smile all the way to the six feet under.
The hammock lolled summers.
I will remember.
Destroying you.
Holding my world ten seconds still.
Until the race of the crutch ensued.
I would have told you.
But I am not so dishonest.
I am not that gracious.
And I am so much better than that million dollar personality lift.
May 12, 2007 - Saturday
Paper doll romantics.
You are sure shot sex.
.357 magnum.
Slightly loaded.
Magazine.
Chalked full of subscriptions to the dead scene.
You are book marked by life.
Strung out on tragedy.
Love born society.
Running scared with the heart-sore war.
We are liberating the capital A, killjoy dreams.
Burning the simplicity of the lovelorn.
Tying strings to the rafters.
Hanging destiny from the ceiling.
They are strategically subdued.
On a delicate pursuit.
Treading through blue suit infested waters.
We passionately rape the guilty souls of the strongest.
We drown in the glory folds.
Garbage truck paramours.
Women have settled the score.
With challenge, we will fall.
With determination, we will crumble.
With medical mind transplants, we will no longer struggle.
We have morphed into the heroes.
November 12, 2006 - Sunday
I want you to be my head case.
This is who you see. And this is who we are.
We spend endless hours loving ourselves.
We spread our hearts thin, and our legs wide open.
Trash is a simple word.
Garbage is a work of art.
Generic is a way of life.
Flailing keeps us alive.
Losing sight of reality feels good.
So stop lying and let yourself go.
Touch me and know that I am real.
Feel up your thoughts and discover you exist.
Insert rationalization here: ___________.
Don't kid yourself kid.
Burn the last bridge.
The war of body and mind has begun.
Harvesting love scenes.
We are solely attatched to these midnight combines.
These country roads are fearless.
This hush, hush wind is screaming.
That gold dust moon will save you.
Let yourself dream child.
August 30, 2007 - Thursday
If you want to be an artist...
let me see some skin.
August 20, 2007 - Monday
Bronze champion.
Crushed.
We are untouched.
Who, so abused, could you turn to?
The Devil keeps you dancing.
She'll keep you on your toes.
Tapping.
While your audience is laughing.
Clapping.
You are the show.
And now, everyone is watching.
You are falling.
Tripping over one shoe.
Left heal over right ankle.
Shaking the fever loose.
They know you.
We all know you.
But you can fool us.
There is an encore.
Demise will be the follow up.
We are a lifetime short.
And two tears away from the gold.
June 20, 2007 - Wednesday
We're all about this.
Dollar fifty
Thrift store personality finds
Tight eared
Tongue choking alibis
You are wired fine
Potentially benign
Essentially unaware
We are so close to the ever
Encompassing dream mines
And they tell me that war is what you want
And if war is what you want
I am ten tons of ammunition
Major malfunction
Private seduction
You have our attention
Eighteen years of fresh repetition
Our fatalities laced with proclaimed sanctity
We are immune to serendipity
Phantasmal amour
Full frontal body identity
Exempt lust tradition
Cherishing
This lasting moment
May 18, 2007 - Friday
And then came Thursday.
They were all running around.
Screaming.
Doomsday Wednesday!
Channeling.
Conducting teenage love electricity.
Trace me in fallacy.
With simplistic words erase me.
With seduction and worry.
I am this overweight death trap.
Popular boob tube extravaganza.
I am pretty plastic.
I am dirty habit forbidding existence.
A hand held masterpiece.
Agony sucking disaster.
I am hammered.
Dead blessings.
Undressing the sanity.
Unraveling the alimony.
I will buy you two times.
I will give you everything I have.
I will idolize your fucking smile all the way to the six feet under.
The hammock lolled summers.
I will remember.
Destroying you.
Holding my world ten seconds still.
Until the race of the crutch ensued.
I would have told you.
But I am not so dishonest.
I am not that gracious.
And I am so much better than that million dollar personality lift.
May 12, 2007 - Saturday
Paper doll romantics.
You are sure shot sex.
.357 magnum.
Slightly loaded.
Magazine.
Chalked full of subscriptions to the dead scene.
You are book marked by life.
Strung out on tragedy.
Love born society.
Running scared with the heart-sore war.
We are liberating the capital A, killjoy dreams.
Burning the simplicity of the lovelorn.
Tying strings to the rafters.
Hanging destiny from the ceiling.
They are strategically subdued.
On a delicate pursuit.
Treading through blue suit infested waters.
We passionately rape the guilty souls of the strongest.
We drown in the glory folds.
Garbage truck paramours.
Women have settled the score.
With challenge, we will fall.
With determination, we will crumble.
With medical mind transplants, we will no longer struggle.
We have morphed into the heroes.
November 12, 2006 - Sunday
I want you to be my head case.
This is who you see. And this is who we are.
We spend endless hours loving ourselves.
We spread our hearts thin, and our legs wide open.
Trash is a simple word.
Garbage is a work of art.
Generic is a way of life.
Flailing keeps us alive.
Losing sight of reality feels good.
So stop lying and let yourself go.
Touch me and know that I am real.
Feel up your thoughts and discover you exist.
Insert rationalization here: ___________.
Don't kid yourself kid.
Burn the last bridge.
The war of body and mind has begun.