Do It Again...

Still crazy talk. Take it in. Enjoy the little shit. Pretty soon, there will be nothing left to enjoy. I sound like a crazy. So...I gotta keep it player. And sometimes...that is a task. But, I maintain. I surround myself with beautiful people to fight my demons. She's right. I do have a habit of quoting myself. No progress yet. I promise. Something by this weekend. I have the time to make it work. Evolving Ignorance....always. I just ate some bomb ass macaroni. I just realized I need to change my name. Once something is evolved it is finished. I'm not finished. Again, this is mine. So. Fuck it.

Go green.

Don't Believe The Hype

It's amazing what a few words can do. The pen IS mightier than the sword [My Lord]. To be totally honest, I can't be totally honest. Honestly :)
I think the universe heard me. Decided to give me a taste of lust. Now I'm starved and wondering what the next move is. Nevermind, I know. Ha. This blog is my state of mind. So. No pardon needed. Eat it.
Black and white photographs.
Wudup, Soul Sistas. Lust is in the air. I can cut oxygen with my tongue.
Try me.
Bite me.
Sweets are delicious. Dimples Cupcakes have inspired me to be fuckin' ATOMIC. So, Hey!....ha.
I wish your perspective of me looked like a Renoir painting. Smeared only after I break your heart. There's still beauty.
Every day....work becomes more and more dull. So. I lose myself in instrumentals and m-boxes. Box up, chump.

Dude's loco.

Oh so.

A Stroke of Genius

So. I need to write. As of right now, the new body of music will be called: Lonely Season. Javier Loredo will be doing the art. This is the picture I have in my head. I'm in search of a muse. A woman to lie in bed and count freckles with. I've decided to let go. So. If the music is overly emotional. So be it. Women. Always there. Excuse the short sentences. Vague, I know. But, this is meant for venting, is it not? My job is to leave enough work behind to be remembered by. Lie with me...you'll acquire immortality. I promise. Deadly sins. I'm cool with it if you are. I want to make love to an artist while a symphony plays to our movement. Movement...singular. We'll move as one.

This should suffice today. Good and Evil are always at war. I'll fuck Ayn Rand 'till she loves me. I'm a dreamer. Accept it. Ideal death scenario? Lungs filled with ink. So that you can breath me....permanently.

love.

1-2

Given the circumstances, I'm a victim of bad circumstance
Never diluted. Purely recluse.
Allow me this time....to....exclude...but induce
Abuse logic you may have so selfishly abandoned.
Single handed...no thinking. Drinking from waters polluted with bad ideas.
I'm a bad idea questioning the right methods. Never expected but always selective.

I have things to do. People to see. Excuse me.

I'm a victim of bad circumstance.

Fly Gal

Evolution of music, at last
Lightning, thunder...our souls clash
Soul searching through depression has truly become an obsession.
Obsessed with women who are obsessive.
Granted, I'm magic at first sight. Scuffles always end in fights. Right?
Wrong. I long for happy days and happy nights. 5 minute drives aren't what they used to be. Got too used to we. Usually, I'm used to these. Mishaps at midnight.
Midflight, I'm a fly by. A fly guy with a fly gal. Tuck tail, guess I ended up like pops. I gotta stop. I love too many. Who, any. Count every penny, cause too much change will make you feel this way. Feel my way. I'm still here today.
I could write for days. No guarantees it will all be potent, but accept my purity as I dose you. No one knows you, you only know what I told you. Soak you....in tears of old flames, old games we used to play when I was still sane. Drained by those you've tamed. Come rain. Wash away the stains of past lives and sad eyes. Sad lies that tend to reprise when my disguise runs dry. A boy to a man, no lent hands. Always sinking deeper and deeper. White sands. I love it. No composition. A transition from spittin'. I'm siftin' and sequencing. This me sentencing my sentences. Life, no parole. No where to go. Just let it flow. Optimos lines with pure cocaine, dead brain....rather, brain dead. Under fed, star lit diet of dreams and expectations. That's right, fore play relations. Four play temptations. 2 factors define the equation of inflation and greatness.
Memories are nice.
A grain of rice is our only device.
Suffice.
Add spice and deduct lives.

Be that easy.

No teasing.

I'm....grieving

you and I.

Seems Like

Bitching

With power, comes the need to protect yourself from any weaknesses you may have. Ultimately, you become dull....lose yourself...lose your personality. You are merely...normal. You second guess expression and wonder what others will think. In essence, you are exiled from Neverland. And by you I mean me....
I don't enjoy writing...
I don't relax...
I worry
I stress the next day.

We keep chasin' dollars...and honestly....I don't know.
My girl...stresses me out. And I think it's more myself...because my imagination gets the best of me.
My son usually clears my head....but I even find myself worrying about every little thing he does.
I can't relax.

I'm not a kid anymore and I hate it.