my apathy.

i'm turning into a floating head, i'm turning into a piece of meat that needs chemicals for temporary mental revival, i'm turning into a virtuoso keyboardist, i'm turning into stoned and stultified brainwaves, absorbed into social networking, clicking via muscle memory, every fantasy and ambitious spark dampened by this infection, white bacterial slab of cyber-apathy, i lost sensation, numb tits and clits, just a dying thought in a frostbitten brain.

It's the beautiful ones...

It's the beautiful ones that get lost, torn and tattered, smudged and battered, eroded between two fingers and snorted up one nostril. The beautiful ones are imprisoned and barricaded, held tight and manipulated, perverted and controlled, deluded and reversed.

Beautiful girl, hold your head up high. Beautiful girl, don't forget the sky. That's all you have. Imagine yourself upside down, walking on the blue. A new world made just for you.

Forget everything you've been told. Taste something that grows off a tree.

first post

this is what a post will look like. with text.

lines of text.

sooo many lines of text.