(no subject)
with a camera i will be forced to have more magic in my life.
my life cant stop changing. hey hey stop already, its all perfect now, kind of. its all free at least. freeee. art. art. art. design. graphic. words perhaps. in time to come. i need speed. i need bike rides and hot sex. that is the pick of the month. next month who knows. maybe a blonde streaked sun bleached manboy who skates. maybe another fast riding skipper. maybe an inky haired inky eyed tattooed lad. maybe a straight cut no frills perfect cheekbones eyes hair one. who the fuck knows. i just want them to pour in. i need my fair share of lovers being this bored. beautiful creatures are my inspiration. i want to sketch them naked damn it. so i can remember, that this was the shade, light, arrangement of his hair. placement of his hand. mood of his face. its very important, these memories. they're my little collections of beauty. my peter pockets.
tomorrow i will design for seven hours with the awesome and necessary company of a fresh pack of pall malls, three cups of burning mochachino and marvin fucking gaye / doors. when im done ill take a walk to the lake, smoke some more, star spy and dare myself to not feel depressed at that moment. god damn i know when i will feel like shit, and thats when the days aim has been accomplished, when i think 'now..what?' pick up my phone flip through my list and empty chat to one of them. then stare away some more time. my permenant cement fixture behind my second story window. no more rapunzel. just a broken joan of arc.
my life cant stop changing. hey hey stop already, its all perfect now, kind of. its all free at least. freeee. art. art. art. design. graphic. words perhaps. in time to come. i need speed. i need bike rides and hot sex. that is the pick of the month. next month who knows. maybe a blonde streaked sun bleached manboy who skates. maybe another fast riding skipper. maybe an inky haired inky eyed tattooed lad. maybe a straight cut no frills perfect cheekbones eyes hair one. who the fuck knows. i just want them to pour in. i need my fair share of lovers being this bored. beautiful creatures are my inspiration. i want to sketch them naked damn it. so i can remember, that this was the shade, light, arrangement of his hair. placement of his hand. mood of his face. its very important, these memories. they're my little collections of beauty. my peter pockets.
tomorrow i will design for seven hours with the awesome and necessary company of a fresh pack of pall malls, three cups of burning mochachino and marvin fucking gaye / doors. when im done ill take a walk to the lake, smoke some more, star spy and dare myself to not feel depressed at that moment. god damn i know when i will feel like shit, and thats when the days aim has been accomplished, when i think 'now..what?' pick up my phone flip through my list and empty chat to one of them. then stare away some more time. my permenant cement fixture behind my second story window. no more rapunzel. just a broken joan of arc.