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

numb dumb

unravel

oh the mysteries i myself struggle to comprehend

everything's missing

little lazy fatass, growing off seeds from your work

this is how to break all the rules

admit it

you've grown weary of me


scroll scroll scroll

no insight of mine ever last longer than a fragmented second

i'll try not to try

bark as if you're stuck

some of the images that didn't turn out all white, pink or pixelated.

somebody on the wall

t rex ass
texas

when jaga jazzist makes you cry
you finally know what beauty is

my camera started playing tricks on me in murica. some of the recorded files were just plain white. some were covered in pink with a banner of noise on top. and some were 'fine', yet overexposed as hell. i tried editing the pink one to make it look ok, and this was the best result i got:

it really didn't matter on this pics behalf, since my memory-card was obedient enough to record an original file as well. for comparison:

how does this happen. i could take a lot of other pictures after a pink one turned up and all i got was a copy of that one.

i therefore took a lot less images than i would have originally. that's is kind of sad. had to use my little lumix instead, which does not make up for the loss of my brilliant 5D. at least not in such noisy conditions as the previous image. iso 3200, f/2.0 at 1/60.

dusty toothpaste

no pressure no diamonds

tonight i dreamt i was attacked by small, evil and insane birds that wanted to kill me. when i woke, i realised those birds are after me all the livelong day.

which is why everything smell of vomit.

gnarly

was there need for creation

 the Just do it is actually a good slogan

slowly but surely turning into an alcoholic

when i should be out running in the forest instead

no i'm about to end up dead

my fair share of doing decent stuff, being structural and obedient is by far over

i'm in a new age now. as it has been for almost three years. with a lot of drinking and not much else on the agenda. i'm empty. i've always had an old soul and it has managed to catch up on me.

there is nothing left.

twisting this rag wont result in much.