

Janie JonesI watch the wind sweep up the foliage with a suggestion of a gust, persuading leaves to waltz in the autumn twilight. Orange, purple, brown are tossed asunder and wisped up unendingly by the persistent wind under the ginger streetlight. At intervals, the dancers challenge to rest as they float back down to the cold cement when, at the right time, the facetious wind launches them back into another dance. I remove my cigarette and a plum of smoke bellows into the air. I snuff it and spit onto a patch of grass. I put my singular earphone back on my other one was torn off inexplicably. Play. String Bean Jean.Janie Jones
I sh


GraftHis body is a ghost, plastered with the eggshell bandages from head to toe. Six-degree burns consume the black bones under the cast. He refuses to look in mirrors. He knows he has transformed into something monstrous. A freak. Machines breathe and all that he can move are his bold eyes that roll in constant boredom. Nurses walk in; transient visits throughout an endless day. They ask questions that his wired-jaw cannot possibly answer. How are we feeling today? Grunt. Gargle. Is that right, Mr. Stevens? Grunt. Gargle. We can take care of that for you, swGraft


Thunder Road This young man howls, filling the barren war zone with pain and humanity, in a desperate need for comfort in the wake of his own mortality. He clenches his teeth, biting the vicious pain of an enemy bullet. He bites down so hard that cracks run along the surface of his reddened teeth, exploding them out of his mouth with twangs and snaps like bending boards. He topples to the ground like a forgotten statue, clutching his spewing wound. He lies on the black bed looking straight up at the serene skylight. He watches the stars shine as his fellow soldiers step over him, unforgiving and audaciThunder Road
Mickey Rourke

plastic hillsI was born to plastic hills, and false emotions, hungry magazine covers, and a reality so fake it was like praying for God in the streets of hell. Everyone I had ever known was created for the purpose of simulating life and the lessons attached to it. From the very beginning it was never intended to thrive, or teach, or blossom, it was just supposed to be. People were developed fragments of one larger puzzle, and minds were not part of the experiment. A life that is out lined in make up and perfection was all that this place promised, and the beautiful people of this hell hole, were much like the place itself, more fake than not.plastic hills
 


Stream of ConsciousnessWe're all shown Jesus as an average white dude. White bread. Vanilla ice cream. Who would have thought our "savior" would be so...boring?Stream of Consciousness
I bet he wasn't. Double (maybe triple)-necked guitars, lasers, explosions, that's what he was all about.
Ever hear American Jesus by Bad Religion? No. The real American Jesus would be riding in a Ferrari. And you know what his back-up ride would be? A T-rex. That's right. A bloody T-rex. He'd be riding around the city and shooting lasers out of his eyes. &n
Blocks
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Everything is ruined forever.
<3
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"Reality has a liberal bias."
- Stephen T. Colbert
LA VIE BOHEME.
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Do cats eat bats?
Do cats eat bats?
Do bats eat cats?
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Not all that glitters is gold and not all who wander are lost.
Please visit my gallery
:[link]
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En la ciudad salvaje, la coartada de un tipo legal.
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( . .)
c('' )" Bunny Doom
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