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Cardboard Sand Castles

two hundred fifty ketchup packets is what surrounded the lonely mustard from his home in the blank mountain tops to question his reaction of fear without loathing the love of his mayonnaise friend.

the east coast of canada can’t be easy.
like new york city… nor california or holland.
and they say… london/france…
“will you let the purchase play until the end?”

“This side “B” thing really isn’t working out," rang from side “A”. But in reality, side “B” had a completely different meaning from what side “A” had initially thought. The growth of thought, the expansion of creativity, and the overall time spent is well worth the effort.

no matter the weather, i can see my breath.
it resembles ink, and smells like hot-glued gingerbread christmas ornaments.
years later and she’s long gone back to her home in tennessee or new york,
advancing day-by-day, forgetting my changed face.
my voice, now not the same, nor my state of mind.
(in her hollywood movie)
grown from her parents,
into her place in show business and new lovers.
gone before dusk, breakfast, a lonely morning bed,
breath, and especially death.

a dull match? or a greater will power to tell you to fuck off.
the stingy match made its emotions extremely apparent..
“Strike gently asshole”

the wood was discolored, wise guy
something wasn’t right about that damn match.
and plus, i drank all your cherry coke.
we just couldn’t leave the smoke alone
or let the smoke leave us alone.

this musician teaches us such elementary, but crucial, simple, and somewhat bizarre literacy that is truly a blessing to us all to take us back to the cliché more simpleton time.

the boy walked through the crowded public
with his white paper prose kept open.
the surrounding pedestrians dressed in nearly all black or navy blue,
most of them either female or on cell phones, and they almost all wear coats.
the boy wears caution tape duct taped around his head
so as to display the warning across his kept-closed mouth.
and still, he prepares.
and even still… he writes.

But the writing doesn’t come from his thoughts. the writing comes from an indescribable place which he often visits through the help of an item that most would place as “inappropriate”. But when mixed with the emotions of this character, he finds himself in a childhood state of mind.

Cardboard Sand Castles


Joined April 2012

  • Artist
  • Artwork Comments 2

Artist's Description

Side B
(written in a collaborative effort, originally by electric typewriter.)

Artwork Comments

  • Ina Mar
  • bogusmaterial
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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