Strange time of sins the land of time and sand dollars. Neither with pay for 7 11 coffee cups. The art will be running late in 2018…no hearts broken in the ink. Registers of muchness living in the gum to the mind.
I made a discord site….I guess it could be called. So since everyone who comes here is from everywhere… you can now interact and see fun things I’m working on with my processes.
Friends of friends of friends of lovers. The empty is the moment the bag hits the floor and the door closes to the night. Hard pressed to see more than the seconds of running, smiling and the little deaths. Teens on Halloween, the parties, the drugs, the troubles and the makeup on banisters. Midsize red and white finger paint on lips and clothings.
Her smirk is the open books that say everything and then nothing all at once. Her costume is the run on sentence of the mind’s eye.
Mars the phenomenal.
Little of me remembers that years smells but the touch of the cold on the tops of my arms is an unshakeable souls shiver. The parts that make all I run into mentally a cliff edge.
It’s inspired by a tattoo artists I knew back in my surfer days who liked to walk on hot coals at parties. She would drink way too much and teach people to fire walk. It was cool but crazy at the same time. She had like four jobs but was never short on cash or Whiskey.