Sex doom death music.
Sex doom death music.
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Go fuck yourself.
The lack of evolution in yr personal journey bores me.
It’s my three year blog anniversary. Three years ago, if you asked me what I expected to happen, I would have said that maybe a few people would find it and read it, and maybe it would last six months if I was lucky. I’ve never been so happy to be wrong.
How did I even start blogging? I call this…
My birthday twinsie is amazing!
Maybe there are some people we’re never really meant to get over–whose scent plagues the skin like traces of glitter passed from the arms of strippers to soiled undershirts, only to be found months later in an old suitcase or on a pillow in a Baltimore motel room. And maybe I’ll always be…
Anonymous asked: I've noticed you love quotes. Why, because words are spoken by people and people lie? (love you btw!) (was that a lie? no!)
This is probably the most random message I have ever received. Why did you write me? Surely you must something better to say to me than people are liars and that you love me.
And for the record, I don’t love quotes. I have no physical affection for quotes, nor words. Clearly I seem to identify with the quotes I choose to reblog, or they contain a theme similar to my whole shtick, you know, death, pain, heartache, noir, tramps, etc.
I challenge you to reveal yrself, lurky mclurkster. (Sorry, I don’t have a quote for that.)
We may not be friends anymore but oh boy, I saw that motherfucker who owes you money for you-know-what and I kicked that motherfucker in the nuts in front of everyone. Just for what he did to you.
the city, the shore was on fire. the evening mist and lights playing tricks on us. the sea as usual, oblivious. going about its business of tides. the sky a black nothing. tonight has no stars, no moon, nothing. the pier was on fire, the cars, the people— we are nothing to the horizon.
Really bothers me when I read anything that states a writer should write everyday.
That’s not how genius works, asshole.
Full pink moon ritual magic music.
If I get one more email about Mother’s Day specials from Groupon, I’m sending them a copy of my mom’s death certificate.
— (via blogsnblogsnblogs)
Sometimes you find the past in the breakdown lane with its hood up and the blinkers on. Sometimes you pull over and lend a hand. Change a tire. Drive for gas. Sometimes the past broad sides you. One second you’ve got the green light – the next, it’s all jarring impact, screaming metal and broken glass. Pain, blood, the swirling cherries of an ambulance. One second, you have the green light – the next, you’re in an emergency room, heavily medicated, thinking – did I just kill some one?
Saturday night (4/27), I’ll be showing an INTENSE collection of work from 2012. I’m showing one 24x36, five 16x20 and two 11x16 photographs I shot between late 2011 throughout 2012. This is my first and possibly ONLY art show I’ll be participating in 2013.
ART! THE MAGAZINE is hosting this event in the INFAMOUS VEX PUNK CLUB in East Los. There will be lots of art, booze and live music! And me! You should come. I’ll be there lookin’ pretty.
Here’s a link to the FB event.