to those about to fock…
you are all lunatics perverted by the lack of real control that I might seem capable to sustain
F is for fantastic…
Friday the 13th…
a good day over the seeming halts and craggy orifices of thoughtful mention so far… there is a flair to rainy holidays from hell… with only a fraction of time between me and my love wasting away during the Valentine’s day holiday weekend, and no sign of bad luck this time around… what taints this day so?… I know not… love is not a hapless victim this time around, but solidified thing to enjoy….or so it would seem… the tricks and the trade are one and the same… games of a different name… not to be confused with meddling mask or machete… no camping or crystal clear lakes… yet the haunting trill of bad luck screams ominous… a gentle strumming of the heart strings perhaps… does the hatred for everyone mean a love for something as special?… what living …
figamentia.
the man fights against his ghosts and the world behind his own as his awareness of what lies beneath it are tested to the utmost.
the furnace versus dogma I
the furnace: a place where misfits hang out together, and dogma I: the catalyst for the unusual situation between those misfit youths gathered there.
fiction or fantasy?
art or reality?…is there truly a border within these illusory realms of ideas?…I think not, but many others would tend to disagree…to further define something down to a death’s head edge is greatly inconceivable to me, but it has to be there to reverse my ideas of what is possible in the grander scheme of things as we know them…people enjoy laws as they stem from the human hive mind residing inside us all…no one person is the central source for these umbrellas of unfounded order, and many of their sources border on fascist ideals that became more well-defined as fascism came to control the solid world around us all…the prison is the mind and our thoughts that come from static friction…no need to believe my words for it is there staring you right in the eyes… with innocent …
Fuck art, let’s bore.
There is no solution to boredom if you are not ready… To catch up with the chase is the method to the madness Here… If you don’t understand, then that does not necessarily mean that you have to, but it will help the progress that you wish to achieve… Commercial achievement is based in the economic wasteland of materialistic intent… I guess you can coast pretty far relying upon a major in art history if you know the right people… I, however, know only the few I work with whom would fluctuate wildly between no real knowledge of movement or scene, and the complete opposite seemingly knee-deep in a concentrated substrata of artistic expression… A fearsome ignorance centered into a world of uncompromising gluttony that betrays the kind of persons that would step beyond boundaries further than at a …
the first sane word.
there are total misnomers when it comes to communicating between human beings. the self-awareness seems to get in the way of a perfectly decent conversation. not just egos and feelings, but also versions of self that intrude upon thoughts already occurring for someone. the creative caption is the label which conforms to the sight of the ignorant and the truly innocent in equal measure. to choose this appearance is the supreme glory, and as the ages get younger to seek the detail of earthen matters, there is a certain level of disappointment that the youth need a frame beyond the soul-hatred of a new year’s rise to prominence. the thrill within memory is always rising to the awareness levels of the people around us. we all need a palatable sensation to get through the worst of times. shaking up …
Fates of the Meat.
a psychotic killer with no past finds herself with nowhere to go after the last murder, but inside an old woman’s house, she realizes that some things are revealed that should be left buried.
few things…
please me more than a sense of rhythm, a thing that lends itself over to anything, and still makes depth appear where none might have been visible before… the shallow now does not seem hollow, and rational senses give way to following the music… whether classical or rock-inspired, the muse is never far from the thoughts of all who really appreciate the gift that music can bring… this thing that moves the soul to and beyond the gathered status quotations… a haunting melody is not always the necessary key to the forgiving weight of instant gratification… sometimes it is the momentum of a repetitive rhythm that lends to freedom of mind the most… that freedom of movement we all require in order not to feel as though our actions are controlled by others who don’t even know us… if …
Fiery this tempest.
The stories are everywhere….in the sounds we hear and the air we breathe…The particles that become the waves, the ice that becomes water then to steam and air, and it all seems beyond primordial…It is cosmic that we collide Here, into these forms and shells, but sifting through the ashes and spans of a time and a space…All dimensions at once, but not everything at once, the details separated into each their own realm in the collective continuous…No walls Here except for the real world, aka the material world, but those are superimposed of our own devices…The decision being to further covet space into smaller and smaller places…To define thought as just another room to enter…Daring the social to go beyond the many, and pushing the boundaries of what is Here…The space between shadows, and the space in between …