The idea behind price is that we’re all worth something
The bitter truth behind that further is, not all of us are equal — if only George Orwell were here

I have me notes here and the one recurring thought in my dump of a mind simply spells Arucohol (Mike’s idea)

Perhaps now I could finally taste me that walker blue.. or something alike.. I’m thinking nonsense here.. I bet thats your business still … cause me and the world are just stories happening around you.. who could blame you? The mere fact that you care enough to have me in your kind blistered heart rather loudly spells “reality” to me and to whoever is listening

Who wouldn’t want that?


About days


I can name you three hundred things I bet no one notices about this photo at first glance. It’s not the art, I swear. Perhaps the geometry to it — the calming and yet humbled face of the child in the bottom right quadrant whom I assure you is much a pain than hungry hungry Allan Baldwings off whatever movie commercial I just made.

Take a moment to reflect if like me you’ve wasted a greater part of your life in the joyously enchanting phase we’ve grown to name teenage-hood — toying about with decommissioned trucks and firearms.

And again if you’re keen enough you’ll notice the bullet hole just above and right of the child’s head in the photograph.

I don’t suppose I’m allowed to pen more of this.


Life is merely a suggestion. Like thoughts, take a deep breath and call it luck.. it doesn’t necessarily have to be true but as long as you’re alive.. no such thing as crappy odds, you hear? We all have our parts to play. Yes admittedly, others’ rather much important than the rest but only because they try a bit harder at life than their loner counterparts.

Here.. it’s a thought — take a focused shot at anything.. see if it breeds that much good reaping as of when you do it jokingly. Unless you do all things mockingly in which case, hello? Nice to meet you.




Carry your crosses

And then I said
Forget what you think I think you know. Learn a thing or two from this engagement, brethren

I want to know what it is it is that’s wrong with me
People say I’m cruel
Some with words.. I mean, look at me. I can hardly wrestle a bull — I’m not that kind of warrior. I’ve no time to settle. In fact, all my ex-girlfriend should testify to that. And yes, without an s. [[Sounds better in my mind) I never lay hands on anybody not that I’m proud but rather scared for I took the bible rather literally. Ahem. I shake my head quite literally and I’ll have me apples falling

___ –_ _– ___

I’m an angel by myself
I fight battles yet to happen, and what best way than with barrels instead, huh?
Shooting blanks for a year now and kinda kissed but she’s forms new to me, pregnant
Point to note here
Learning is the best gift anyone can offer
People change over minions and silver and that’s life in my opinion.

So you see, brethren, life’s shit!
There will always be voices in your head, cunts stabbing your back and a smattering of what we call real friends walking beside you, holding your own.. but even a much lesser grouping of those will be assholes posing as friends out to shank you and stuff, that’s why you gotta eat your sweat

Owe nobody!

Life is..


Well.. obviously not a twin chair, that’s just a random pic off zimaaaam’s many others I thought would be comforting to look at after what I’m yet to pen.

Nothing else matters when after that tunnel and light.. a rather sizeable nurse whom you almost took for your mum only seconds ago now hands you over to yet another depressed.. how do I put it.. overly exhausted, and excited (nonetheless) other woman, whom you can tell is both relieved and terrified at the thought of anything ever bringing you hurt ..and of how pretty the life she just hailed, appears. Not in that specific order, this.

Your first absolution however then, is to reciprocate this affection, fear & confusion the only way you best can and that’s with a loud cry, often mistaken for thirst, while others a humble howl.. we can’t all be were-babies, JJ Abraams you understand — followed by… wait.. that brings me to the point I had. Perhaps if mothers went to labour laughing and gaging about, kids wouldn’t have to be born normal.. screaming.. tossed up and about around the room only to grow up feeling unwanted and in constant need of approval which kinda does explain what’s wrong with the world tomorrow, don’t you think?