lately i have become such a misfit. i love it.

this is the generation making mistakes, while longing trying to find an identity. or rather, giving off a phoney one is cover up of its desperation.



i have been direly yearning for some things lately-

surrealism
surreal art
surreal life
is what i want.

i need to know everything about the evolution of speechbaloons. i have this funny feeling its gonna lead somewhere. where, i do not know. but somewhere, defs.

i also would like a paper dress, with bob dylan printed on it.

mummy my iron table is down, where are my tablets?

sia is good, her videos, they're good. i am mildly impressed.

these days, one things seems to stem to another, culture overpower. at times, i need to press home.
have been discovering possessions of my grandfathers' under the stairs of a time, of a place, that has been lost.

am wanting to get white-blonde bob cut.
thinking i should
probs wont
but defs want

which i will team with winged eyeliner, and my bob dylan paper dress.
EDIE I LOVE YOU
ASH I J'ADORE FOR REBOOTING THIS LOVE AFFAIR
man we belong at studio 54
so pull up a groove and gehht farbulass dazz.

i stood there, the pressure of the hot water pouring thick and fast over me, just as the most pristine wonderings pounded on me ever so densely. surges of comtemporary, unknown thought fell right upon me, and as i rushed here after hastily drying the hair, limbs, and an odd bodily section here and there, i completely forget everything that i was so eager to jot down. now i am le angry. you should feel some regret too. there were some pretty marvellous ponderings happenings there that you will have most likely stolen and put on your myspace. its fine, im used to it.

oh well.
i talked to jesus..
he says im ok.



art project of long gone

Paris
no London
no Tokyo
no Paris

Anywhere please
Anywhere but here

Every arugement
Every kiss
Is about love.

And im scared

Im too restless for my own good
aim for the next two hours:
create some nifty artworks
on the pages of a worn book

today = choice

i saw an orginal wig that the one and only Warhol wore back in his hey-day. thought it was super rad, not many other people did.

good rye.

EAT MY FUCK BITCH!

im almost eighteen. hard for someone to fathom how much regret and guilt im riddled with. there are countless people who have changed and morphed the world even before they turned said dreaded age. but why does that bother me? i dont want to change the world. fuck that, no way. all i want to do, all i feel compelled to do, is remind the inhabitants of this planet what we had, what we created. the world is ending so soon, i believe this, and it will eventually be the notion that will lead to my phychological downfall, who knows, years or even months away. yet im still sitting here, having moved nothing but a mere few souls. ah, in a few months i will be out of this crippling town and poppin and lockin. for real.
nothings new. i want to be a modern genius, compared to the minds of anyone who ever swept through Warhols shadow.. maybe, maybe even Warhol himself. but, nothings new. im nothing new. i want to find it. actually, pretty motherfucking sure i will find it.
over and out.

Saggy is no longer daggy....
This isn't for the kids who wear their trousers baggy.....
Battle rap is dead...

faggy!

How come no one told me
All throughout history
The loneliest people
Were the ones who always spoke the truth?