Lyon, France (by Jonne)

Oh hey look, my musik .. thats kind of cool I guess 21/1/25

Apple of my eye, rotten as can be

Love is near no thing for the kind like me, unkind, I'd reckon. Something else from some far off planetary system.

Zetsubou Sensei graffiti in Spijkenisse, the Netherlands

Wake up fuckin' sweating like a pig, GOD DAMN IT can't I just get some good cold / warm sleep without cookin.....

Religion is often this tool, this weapon, of control and crusade, they hold it over you and jab you with it.

I'd never believe in anything if it was not my self, and only if it made sure me, and only me, would hold that control

It wouldn't be a religion at that point, it wouldn't be some theistic faith by some stretch of natural meaning, because it would be an evolution of every rancid and cruel cult classic cults, transformed into a school of thought , of soul

Detached from the proto-colonialisms, invasive human species,

An army of self

10/2/24)Combative reflection,reflective off glass,tip the flask n tip the head,none left to give a 2 to th apron or smock, move like a speck in evry slept slavin eye,sharp pinprick in unshaded space, the light is shattering n brightened,flick off the lid of pen and trip on th very same thing,under spell followsuit th grime wearin' shitsmear chipwhite cuntry bumpkin.Dont be a pig,hounddog,man,or bigwig, rather drop dead or wakeup clutching my headless corpse,walkin to the cab to pocket someodd pill,to take a walk into storm of grim rambunctious disfunction at some folkriddled park,random bastion of slippinlife in the spillover of a neon prison,Cold nippin at the gums,caress the fine flower nip,tidbit & siphon nectar like it's honeyed silk,too absorbed in the beauty to realize your eyes savor it with a jealous craven carnation,triple lip quiver and tri-edged poison tip arrows,rip memories from the stem,spine spun lies rooted deep in the conscious,try as you may to avoid the waking monster within, fear the shadows and fear half-moon faces,when lookin in the mirror deeper than the glass skin would show somethin ya shld better fear,all of your own voices whisperin in ur ear,graspin memory shards like soft caress of some once-lovers touch,cut ya deep cut ya bad,like th sum of your vices,like the she-beast I envision watches from my open closet,like I remember once seein her, turnin myself in fear of her,where my mirror sits,peer through my flesh by hidden meatslits,free the pureself,try as ignore,taken 2 her breast,she hold me deep within wide driven breadth of all corners of her flesh,claw against th egoista n' barbed wirehung bitch swinging sabers like barred teeth,4 show unless shown 2have gone pro,fall in2 a dream,fall in2 th shadows,obscured by own inhibitors,like any other useless untapped potential,like puttin a perfectly good bomb rite back in th box,how'd ya even get it out 2 begin,our second place,like a cure 2 dysfunction & losing it not so many months after,riddled w/ shit that just aint holes, and thats the issue, no spongebob or enemy of the amerikan gov,not worth a spatula or a handful of brass,sittin on a flask of poision & ash,waste not yet meant to b

Peel off

Clatter of the chips, pop a prayer like a pill, it's an imagined insurance for the shit with which you cannot deal in every lacking moment of assurance forms.

Turn to splatter on the wall no matter which way the coin flips, win or lose, the ball is gonna roll through the brain and bone.

Take a drink or two n' raise the bar, then hit the deck when all's said and done. Home is where i lay the dead at night, dome a couple tin piece men and lay still with them as they rot.

May as well make a show of the hole or straddle a pole, honey luscious skin shining for the money, or at this point for the fun out pokin' through to the tightly clad cloth, beckons to pull the trigger under trench, pocketed in coat. Cash, brass, bass and matter, nothin' else matters after crossin' lotus tree, got me needin' take axe and lighter, tell the boys to zip it up and get back to ship.

Leave the saloon and mount your saddle, watching the sun drizzle out while counting what's still in the gun. Spit and shine, visit like an off meal in some hole in the wall, sit down in and fall on through, get caught up in the scene rent an inn and rent to the passin', whoever may be comin'.

Stall or steer, let it take you or send it flailin' to the goal, life is a gamble, and I'm playin' to lose. Any end shall have been part of my life, any slip up my bust or loss, breathin' every moment I place a wager, meager vice versa play unto my vices and violence. I'm a dirty weasel painting the path of life on a finagled easle, make it easy and bear your arms to let us lay down ours, take in cuff and lock, skip and cheer.

Shatter a tooth then wreck the groin, rinse and repeat till the river runs red, I'll be playin till i end up dead, hair already grayin, what time do i got left? Green, black, red, glance at the number and glance at the shade, every movement a bluff, every moment a poke at the chip and the burning stove.

If life is a highway, every second is a toll booth, and I'm the held down fool convicted by the man, coursing with conviction und red as blood within vein, speeding past as many stops as possible.

Saturday, January 11, 2025. 17:03

Pottery has been kicking my ASS so here’s another quick thang cause I’m so tired

I'm so cold, I'm shaking. I'm so hot I'm sweating. Blow my head right off my shoulders.

wonders of the russian street

im done having a regular job can i become a lolcow now