Byline: Abstract Depressionism
Inserting and extracting notes from a notebook, I get baked and dip my pen in whipped cream and whipped lies.
Smooth semi-neon arabesque shadows highlight the frustration of misinterpretation.
When dislocating oneself, one's meaning merges into media and medium is made mystified.
With the law on your heels, let's slip into a spiritual state of exile. Pieces of moon loom as smoke hangs.
Disregard all sponsored links and try not to scratch the 8 ball in the side pocket or any pocket for that matter.
Ugly as homemade sin, the best art critics know Abstract Depressionism is recession proof.
Today the same old fractured and re-fractured windows keep showing up. Immaculate though their magnifiers be, they are not always signifiers.
I don't know if you're good or not until I hear you try to copy somebody else. Let me listen while you attempt to honor the work of your influences with the appropriate dishonorable marks.
Specific interpretation creates mass hysteria in the disaster area. Spray paint and music may be my mirrors but sometimes all that detached agony and tortured declaration can leave a guy beat down.
We're just beginning to hit that great 10 seconds of music mark when this cat is caught adding nothing to the conversation. We've all been there.
My talents afford me no such liberty, no such escape. No bad way can get in the way and I wake up to Betty Butterface and her brutal blow torch.
Keeping your will in harmony with truth and concerning yourself with what is beyond your control are mutually exclusive exploits. While you are absorbed in one, you will neglect the other.
I lick the knife and put a lid on the notebook.
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