Time makes the moment lightweight. My father weighs less than nothingness.
Why love? Why let a woman lay on you all her doubt and fear? What fear? The fear that the fantasy of love won’t persist, or that the fantasy of love will come at all? Is the man the man, or does he only exist in your head? The face doesn’t match the promise, and the promise doesn’t have a face.
We watch each other kill and we laugh. The revolution is inconvenient for the pigs. We learn to ignore our past, because we’ve spent our whole lives being ignored. The lies we speak are the murders exploited on the news. Abuse your rouse.
Never love the idea: Love the woman.
To feel is to make a spectacle of oneself. To make a spectacle is to embarrass a nation. Humanity is ashamed of itself.
The voice changes with the face. The white light variates along with the cleanest people. An ultimate race is an ultimate state of mind. The ultimate state of mind has been erased from mine.
Music Passion Magazine →
Lisa Kacsmarek of Music Passion Magazine was kind enough to devote all her attention to us on her “Unsigned band of the week” campaign. You can certainly tell the title of her magazine is not unjust when you watch her in the video: Pure fan support right here! Check out her Facebook basking in band reviews and showcases. She’s working hard to bring the spotlight to the...
No songs To sing. No songs to write. An unable body riding along the coat tails of a waning fantasy.
"Fear To Face Beauty" tour
announcing our routing and a few confirmed dates for our upcoming “Fear To Face Beauty” tour in March. March 9th-Jersey/Philadelphia March 10th/11th-Cleveland/Akron/Columbus March 12th- Lansing/ Grand Rapids/ Detroit March 13th- Chicago- Pending March 14th- Madison- Pending March 15th- Minneapolis- The Beat Coffee House March 16th-Off March 17th-Iowa City March 18th- Kansas...
When my eyes birth and bathe in light, I think of an essence: the absence of a woman. I gave nothing back because I had nothing to give. I laid back and let the world suck my dick. When my eyes birth and bathe in light, it’s absence in any woman I’ve ever known birthed a notion: the essence within me has ceased to be.
I want all your money. I want your home. I want your wife and your kids. I want your pension. I want your fear. I want your moles. I want your illnesses and your obligations. I want your taxes and your hopelessness. I want your last will and your losses.
You fuck your doubt. You fuck your desperation. Love is an idea transfixed by the minds incapability to see past it’s fantasies. Fabricated pussies and fabricates cocks fuck infinitely into the dark of a blunt nights callousness. I have no spirit to slave to the unspirited. The surrogate self is the only self surrogate love could know.
Every morning my eyes open, and every morning I fear why.
Inspiration is conditioned. It is not pure; like love.
It was always me and only me. The rest of the world is a haunting ghost.
Art is provincial, like an umbilical cord. I am the baby portending on the fate of the day, of time, of the universe. My blood is my paint I want to drip down the clock of mortality. I intend to make time timeless. Become reborn, every stroke.
Why do we believe we have the right to speak for all? Art is selfish. Art is beautiful. Art is everything but me: it is all. How selfish to be endearing in everything but we. How selfless to spotlight the beauty in everything but me; through me, so willfully.
Do we feel? Or do we feel like feeling?
We are exclusive to ourselves: the matter of the subject is matterless.
How does it feel to be a waste disposal to the pigs of the penitentiary? I have my mind made up of generations of revolutionary artifacts utilized by the youth of the times that they were created in. I have my mind made: Die by the hand of my art and serve my purpose as a human being.
I spoke to you in your sleep. You spent your dreams granting realism. You spent your life chasing death, until finally, you melted in water. I hope you spend death soaking in a sea of red wine, and speak to me in my sleep.
Too many doctors telling us we’re sick. Too many relationships that won’t ever happen. There are some that are not meant to be, and there are none that are meant to be. The disorder of vision. The disorder of the system. God isn’t a machine: he’s a resolution to our failures.
The greatest guitarist that ever lived.
When you dream of relationships that never happened, it makes dreaming your only gauge of what’s real. My dreams remind me of need and want; and take those faces and feelings that project that and mash and skew them: to a point of complete unfamiliarity. When reality returns, all that remains is an idea: love never really existed in a realistic form. In realistic form, my heart is a...
Family is familiar. Voice is familiar. Hitler waited to destroy a void; a void that would decimate millions. The prize you want had will be a boy you want dead. Love wants you as little as you want love.
Do all fates depend on income? Do all palates immediate the detail of economic production? Are all relations reliant on current standard? We are waiting for the whale to surface without a harpoon equipped. Our cause is inhumane and off kilter. We’ve turned our future into a bastard son.
I am sicker than my neighbor. My neighbor talks about his sickness, and I don’t. My neighbor asked me if I was sick, I said I wasn’t, and I am not. I am sicker than my neighbor because I believe I am. I believe I am sick because I believe I am sicker than I really am.
I would dive and die into my art to be untouchable: By history, for history; for the progression of the cause of humanity.
Wrapped In Sap
Reality betroths another form when you let it. You won’t let reality reform because you were created in a way that reforms reality; Unsweetened sweetness.
Suit Suited For
You can be a bigot and a polygamist. Force the forces to move only when you move. Force hate on you.
In sex, quirks kink themselves out. In love, kinks get us kicked out.
I find pride in ideals, because they are all I have. I have a vision of feeling, a vision of touch. If the feeling and touch do not agree with the vision, the feeling and touch must stop.