….——….

Behold all the subtle monsters..ones who don’t respond, those who want. Mannequins to desire and lame to sincerity, it is the way to the grave. All are….. but to whom or what do you scare?

How do you bury a mountain?

Forced responsibility like when motherfuckers put advertisements on your car or in your door and now you’re the asshole if you don’t throw it away.

Just by having been around longer its obvious that parents would find greater meanings than family before their children.

I can see that there is no one in my life of which to count as consistent and pure, no true measure to even a friend. In light of this I have to remember not to expect them to validate my memories or feelings.

I find it extremely funny how artists say that NFT has inspired them, it is the money.

Consistent even in torment, that is no accolade but a tiresome life.



Records..self fulfilling. Check the medium used

nothing like sorting through various hazy trauma to find that specific one

There was a strength that ran in her, something he’d known in Night City and held there, been held by it, held for a while away from time and death, from the relentless Street that hunted them all. It was a place he’d known before; not everyone could take him there, and somehow he always managed to forget it. Something he’d found and lost so many times. It belonged, he knew—he remembered—as she pulled him down, to the meat, the flesh the cowboys mocked. It was a vast thing, beyond knowing, a sea of information coded in spiral and pheromone, infinite intricacy that only the body, in its strong blind way, could ever read.

I like the awkward ambience like angles decorated in anxiousness..I get too beside myself trying to find myself……always in a rush by andy mineo