....

shittt. life. iono how to explain myself. im not about to try and write some deep ass shit and try to be like terence. well just cuz. i can write like him iono how the fuck he does that shiittt. but i just got shit on my mind. For some reason i saw all this coming from the start. exactly what i was scared of. it was that cycle i saw from the start. but now i kinda got kicked out the cycle. kinda a big reality check. What is my life? and What do i need? Who can u trust? i can only kinda answer part of that. i think is slowly coming apparent to me of what i need. seems like i have most of it. but something dont fell right. sometimes i kinda wish i was cold hearted and that i do play dirty in life and that i could really just not give fuck about shit, just cuz things wouldnt hurt as much. lately its kinda seems like ignorance is bliss but thats the easy way out. i guess the only thing i should concentrate on is just art. its always on my side. well see iono wtf im writing right now. prolly doesnt make anysense but hopefully time will just sort shit out. late

if it makes sense to you..

I can see it rise before it's even aware of itself, rearing a small ugly head out of the depths and signing up, up to the nothingness of heaven. It's all there, right where we can't see it, just past the strength of our muscle to be able to pull it back out, stuck and sputtering sloppily like a mewling cat. I watch it pass me by, thoughtlessly, more in essence than any of us could ever be. What is it? A feeling, or an escape? Designations and definitions and distinctions, all of them are blurred.

Remember us, sitting indian style in a smoky room, passing hopes and dreams round and round in a circle until some freudian slip or cautious motion of the arm and hand disrupted the rotation, and we were never the same.

I feel the melodies slipping away through my fingertips, and try to catch and capture them in some sort of frugal manner on paper with ink. Its futile, nonfunctional, but not pointless. I wonder, I wish, but I don't honestly think it will work out. Any of it. I guess thats why we live. Just to prove ourselves wrong, even if everyone else is right and you do turn out to be a failure or a doctor or a lawyer or a prostitute. If it weren't for everybody's expectations of us, what would we expect out of ourselves? We tend to miss the important things while chasing after shadows in the dark.

Its a funny life we live, I'm just wary of being the butt of some vengeful demi-god's practical joke.

Played with a 50mm 1.8 nikoner today lol.

lol this school wants me haha.

Wats be up yoo.

Lately has been... indescribable. just tryin to finish school now. just got enrolled at the Academy of Art. so bout to double time in school. photography and graphic design. i can alway count on art to be there for me. Tryin build a rep for college and the future. got big goals. hoping for a show during the winter. A 2 man show. CIRO TAO Movement. just wait well being coming.

haha huf book cover! Shaun ur the shit for that. iono y there is a blue line under this sentence haha this guy!!!

so she speaks

A fire does not burn forever. Those engulfed with its waves of enchanted warmth will eventually wake to the cold bogg of the harsh morning air. Have we fallen asleep, moreso, have I? Perhaps I should continue to veil my irises, my pupils. My black, empty pupils. Empty of light, heavy with perception. Still, they provide me with the vision to see my dreams, so I cherish them. Dreams are of my own creation something no one can ever take. Yet, no one wants to take your dreams, they only seek to shatter them. I should say I would love to reside in the paradise of my unconscious mind, yet it is never that simple. One easily awakened is not easily soothed again to slumber. Like an infant, awakened in the middle of a night, crying. Crying forever until the mother awakens to the sounds of distress, to the sounds of want. She turns to her left and places a kiss on his brow to reassure herself that the other is still sleeping. She rises from the bed, legs weary, fingers soft and numb, breasts heavy, stomach flattened from the night of digestion, lips smoothed, eyes drooping with seduction, how sleep makes the woman beautiful! Walking slowly she approaches the child, lifts it from its wailing, and holds it to her bosom. Their internal metronome ticks away.

I feel myself slipping into the thorned grasp. Stab me. Cut me. Bleed me. Yet as your grasp tightens, nails digging, penetrating the fragile barrier, the mind becomes intoxicated with your delicious aroma. Placid and vicious. You are both the same to me. But tell me. Tell me, will you be there Sunday morning?