counting hours is boring

i really did grow up in the woods

and no, i haven't changed much

recently realising this is my only legacy, the blog actually kind of died.

i guess going through hell will take a certain amount of painful hours anyways.
best get crackin'... no fucking way.

everything sounds like everything and everybody else. repeat....... deep frustration, please, in need of inspiration. cut your catface open, cry blood, alive in the void.

dope. nod your head slowly. vibes. flies. fuckers and suckers. soak it all in your infections.

rebuild the dust into pretty shapes, exhibit some order and win awards.

don't listen to yourself. monitor reactions. keep track of that great pulsating collective mind.

pay in flat metals that has a worth greater than its real weight. build planes out of papers and use the wind out of your own struggling lungs

light is all you need.

buy cheap castles and bomb your neighbors with acid.

hang a horse by the tail until it turns into a desert.

restless, tired, in need of apples

sick sick siccccccck

who cares
nothing pretty here

lost
lost lost lost

alone, restless, bothered and bored

beer, music, nicotine
just to feel remotely alive

haunt yourself with the dead ghosts within.

sensationally hollow

some odd moments out

images i don't use because something:

snus

higher resolution? getting there?

spoiled useless brat

tin me, please

i want to be ww3 supplies

hand me that beer something needs to die

all i ever do
desperate attempts at escaping

it really doesn't matter
we're doomed

struggle all you want,
feed your frustration

good luck in life,
shallow bonding over something mediocre

nobody likes the same as you
loneliness everywhere

swallow the pride
nothing to hide
give me that nail gun

yes i am a child

no metamorphosis
larvas everywhere
scum scum scum