Kustom Kulture

you don’t play with me anymore

may even be yr greatest creaton, esp the last lines.
.
as for yr icon, it accidentally does do
epitaph of tony abbot, whose thinking’s always
seems just one more page (word?!) of the once used s…

It’s hard not to stare.

…as boots click pavement 4/4 to a whipping ravenous heart.

…alone.

…when neighbor and stranger unite.

If i could anthropomorphise my brain, then it would be wearing a wife-beater, low-slung dirty jeans, carrying a bottle of whiskey, doing lines of coke on the coffee table and playing Motorhead

He had lucky dice cufflinks and gin breath.

The legend of Cunt Dracula

…Which quickly degenerates into Hours of Grinning Vapidity and Giggling at Inappropriate Jokes About Midgets and Small Retarded Dogs.
Wonderful, horrible stuff, Malort.

A love story.

…imagine tangerine sunrays enveloping wheatfields in-waves.

’67 Mustang hips
slung beneath
candy-apple red lips
She’ll drive you
She’ll drive you
She’ll drive you
wild

i chose guitar over ballet
but still the skin tears from my toes
the sneakers and the distance take their toll