get busy living

Or get busy fucking off and dyeing some sideways fabric you misplaced at the bottom of bell-tops-mastersuck 5000. I hope that lollipop tastes as salty and sad as your final ship song, even if it stings on the way down, it will be worth it for the sweet release of death.

🎴 Despite all my rage.

and lets spare a thought to all the sleets that seep where sleeping pigs fuck.

Everything hums like it’s aligned, like the universe signed off on itself sometime a couple of weeks ago. Small leaks, quiet fractures, things slipping through the rust.

🏵️ I am grateful for what passed through my hands.

🏵️ I am grateful for what slipped out of them.

🏵️ I am grateful for the voices that stayed, that didn’t need convincing to see me clearly.

This was never a puzzle. No hidden mechanism, no final boss-fight. Just movement forward, drifting sideways, failing and the rare collision with someone who understands the cosmic joke without transmuting it into poison.

This is only a fragment of the hurt, my flavour of over reacting from something already in motion. It lingers, but it’s not permanent.

There was a moment where I arrived with something simple: goodbye, and whatever softness was left of me.

What I found instead, was noise dressed as a jeweled racist white knight, certain he was in the right, pouring wine into their toxic spew-pipe of gravity pulling in the wrong direction, and a version of things I didn’t recognise but somehow already understood, the little fires way, the way of you, only you.

I just wanted to say goodbye to my fucking friend, THAT IS ALL!

That being said, I am grateful for the friends who have kept me afloat, I will make new connections, I figure seeing as my art is so fantastic I should probably develop that, at some sort of class, where people know what the fuck they are doing.

No hope without despair. The fragility and suffering persists.

Black holes and white knights, have a similar gathering of loved ones when they die.