Sunday, June 27, 2010

there was never a plan, there was never a proven method that was supposed to fix everything. we all have our vices. las vegas jesus in l.e.d. you were strapped to the
windshield, in the back of a van on mulholland drive
down the block in austin texas there was a front yard full of bottles and mike would wear his hair in a ponytail,
please give me a chance to show you

this is an optical illusion. is it impossible to display pop art in its purest form of nihilistic kitsch war tools which one is the saint and which one is the winner
i clean my house and then put on silk pajamas smoke a million cigarettes and think about war and how much i like your
hands and remembered i could feel some bass if i felt like
phones calls and
later on the only thing i know is how good it is

a study in the obvious, what party ended up inside of this bag. things are predictable honey i know that they change they stay the same how come its sunday again how come its sunday again you're standing next to me at the show where did it
all end up, inside this bag? my metal and cancer representation of what those kids call dinner these days, i'm exhausted by the shape of you