fuck yo couch nckuh
"It's like squeegeeing this shit from your brain and out of your ear and onto a page at 3 am" [note to self: to be continued with teh actual quote next post. fckn bnnuhs]
ACTUAL QUOTE! -- It's like your brain squigeed out of your earhole and onto this page at 3am!!!
courtesy of my second wife's awesome artwork!
spewed particles of absurd thought; free radicals latching to the sentiments blooming in the shadows of the subconcious. the quality of light changes, shifting these sentiments to the conciousness; into the light. i never cared to keep track of this shit quite liek this before. it works out rather well for me; outlets i decide to take for a ride...see if it calms the temper..subdues the violent urges; leaves that dark passenger on the edge of the road. apparently so, plus the fact my style of expressing reaches right inside of those who Understand. its the perfectionism, i have to do it right, exactly to the caliber i feel it deserves, and precisely the choice of phonetics to trigger a subconcious collective. harmonizing the delivery to a comfortable medium and leaving enough of a nummie to distinct that line of madness to the other side of the plate losers vicariously permeate their lousy existance upon. I am just finding my bearings with this evermore climaxing of connections, of all and every variety; not the validation of what's writen nor the variables that a/effect the state this shit gets expressed out of count for anything. it's the manifestation inside of You that counts. the stimulation of magick; understanding you know something un-known is happening inside of you, filling and rising as if some balloon, full to the tits..
[and the only way you can share or let it out in any material sense happens to make that farting noise out of the end of said balloon, also spewing rather uncomfortably, your own saliva back at your face]
needless to say, it's unspoken. hahah woah. k. lets try that again.
The sensation, stimulation; sacrifice to sanity by stepping into awareness of immaterial capacities, as they are not included within the marginal rules of socially acceptable cognitions. It's is a mutual validation that cannot be cut down to mere phonetics, let alone consistently shared appropriately via materialistims. A whole 'nother Level. it's exactly the same as looking at a girl on a bus lost in the leftover endorphin high from having her pussy pounded, yet the only reason you KNOW what she's going through [besides the look leaking from her face] is the way she bit her lip with a grin. and it hits you. instantly. all at once. connecting the dots hyperfocused like neuro transmitting brain cells. anyways enough about last weekend haha.
this shit needs to be posted. it actually is from last weekend. you fucking asshole how dear you not put it in here. im gonna banish you. trampasaurus skankface vex. man. raaat royalty skankface <3 i love and miss you robyn elizabeth taylor. my fucking hoebag skankface. rest well sugar.
Swingin twizzler at the inner sanctum of knowledge; sublime sunshine through that peak of the prime. Yet always to wander back for the sunsets of our gypsy skies. The Happy Spot. The time, the place, where unstoppable waves of kinetic magnetism steps through the door. The sunshine filled our cups smiling upon our smilesome selves. We coloured the night’s darkness with the most vivid moments. Leaving the wet paint of liquid sound to meander back to memory, in good time. Smeared black ink, old bluey, and the face doing a line in the coke bottle; the last of it’s kind didn’t have a chance. The only thing it couldn’t get was some ketamine and a bic pen. He just couldn’t get high man, not like Dusty. The variety of sandwich bags Dusty kept in her purse that summer held true to the code : I just wanna play checkers. We were ninja’s waging a righteous path against ketchup aenema’s and angry vagina hotdogs. The night Dusty came with the shirt, we had garden level star gazing seats. Our eyes glistened of the infinite colours in the universe. Keeem fermer la porte! Novembre mais soufflee into the picture window viewing of the BEST DINOSAUR EVER. A predator of a Summer; killer night warriors. We were alcool. Untouchable. Hacking to the freestyles within. It's Beautiful Shit, swimming through the veins of a youthful heart. Raw energy: live feed. The breach; sweet victory is ours, and the bullshit reality of social standards evaporate. That shit is Banished. The Happy Spot belongs with us, always.
ACTUAL QUOTE! -- It's like your brain squigeed out of your earhole and onto this page at 3am!!!
courtesy of my second wife's awesome artwork!
spewed particles of absurd thought; free radicals latching to the sentiments blooming in the shadows of the subconcious. the quality of light changes, shifting these sentiments to the conciousness; into the light. i never cared to keep track of this shit quite liek this before. it works out rather well for me; outlets i decide to take for a ride...see if it calms the temper..subdues the violent urges; leaves that dark passenger on the edge of the road. apparently so, plus the fact my style of expressing reaches right inside of those who Understand. its the perfectionism, i have to do it right, exactly to the caliber i feel it deserves, and precisely the choice of phonetics to trigger a subconcious collective. harmonizing the delivery to a comfortable medium and leaving enough of a nummie to distinct that line of madness to the other side of the plate losers vicariously permeate their lousy existance upon. I am just finding my bearings with this evermore climaxing of connections, of all and every variety; not the validation of what's writen nor the variables that a/effect the state this shit gets expressed out of count for anything. it's the manifestation inside of You that counts. the stimulation of magick; understanding you know something un-known is happening inside of you, filling and rising as if some balloon, full to the tits..
[and the only way you can share or let it out in any material sense happens to make that farting noise out of the end of said balloon, also spewing rather uncomfortably, your own saliva back at your face]
needless to say, it's unspoken. hahah woah. k. lets try that again.
The sensation, stimulation; sacrifice to sanity by stepping into awareness of immaterial capacities, as they are not included within the marginal rules of socially acceptable cognitions. It's is a mutual validation that cannot be cut down to mere phonetics, let alone consistently shared appropriately via materialistims. A whole 'nother Level. it's exactly the same as looking at a girl on a bus lost in the leftover endorphin high from having her pussy pounded, yet the only reason you KNOW what she's going through [besides the look leaking from her face] is the way she bit her lip with a grin. and it hits you. instantly. all at once. connecting the dots hyperfocused like neuro transmitting brain cells. anyways enough about last weekend haha.
this shit needs to be posted. it actually is from last weekend. you fucking asshole how dear you not put it in here. im gonna banish you. trampasaurus skankface vex. man. raaat royalty skankface <3 i love and miss you robyn elizabeth taylor. my fucking hoebag skankface. rest well sugar.
Swingin twizzler at the inner sanctum of knowledge; sublime sunshine through that peak of the prime. Yet always to wander back for the sunsets of our gypsy skies. The Happy Spot. The time, the place, where unstoppable waves of kinetic magnetism steps through the door. The sunshine filled our cups smiling upon our smilesome selves. We coloured the night’s darkness with the most vivid moments. Leaving the wet paint of liquid sound to meander back to memory, in good time. Smeared black ink, old bluey, and the face doing a line in the coke bottle; the last of it’s kind didn’t have a chance. The only thing it couldn’t get was some ketamine and a bic pen. He just couldn’t get high man, not like Dusty. The variety of sandwich bags Dusty kept in her purse that summer held true to the code : I just wanna play checkers. We were ninja’s waging a righteous path against ketchup aenema’s and angry vagina hotdogs. The night Dusty came with the shirt, we had garden level star gazing seats. Our eyes glistened of the infinite colours in the universe. Keeem fermer la porte! Novembre mais soufflee into the picture window viewing of the BEST DINOSAUR EVER. A predator of a Summer; killer night warriors. We were alcool. Untouchable. Hacking to the freestyles within. It's Beautiful Shit, swimming through the veins of a youthful heart. Raw energy: live feed. The breach; sweet victory is ours, and the bullshit reality of social standards evaporate. That shit is Banished. The Happy Spot belongs with us, always.