july 23

paralysis is the excuse or rather something entirely different. consider that rogue wave being ridden, where will I take myself, will I coast or will I drown underneath this highway? play until fingers bleed building up scattered cardio. stomach in knots, painful recognition. alone in the world, heartless and cold. treated like a child in flirtatious manner, calling the shots and the beautiful models that wander and disappear, popping like roman candles in the night, or fire balloons in the moonlight. Win over their hearts. Is there a way to be considered? Listen to me now? Consuming a salad in the desert heat will I ever visit those ancient places again. Am I trapped in this box. Working out rudiments from percussive instruments to a stringed, low-end, music box. Reading about martians and drinking coffee despite my pitted stomach. Where did that love go? Am I happy or am I just aware of progress... no painting no photography. let's edit some shit and throw it together.