motor oil and flowers

What do you do if, after so long, she's done?
We created something which feeds on itself, we feed it, and so it consumes us.
I've been through Dark Days before.
It's the kids that pay.
Maybe we can starve this thing. We're gonna try.

I've been through some weird shit in my life. This is just another in the pile... but probably the weirdest and the shittiest.

It's like a Dali, done in motor oil.

I am life's prison raped bunghole.

This is one of those times when I really don't have any good ideas about how to navigate the waters... which is unsual. I have ideas, but none are sticking out as more desirable. Some old familar forces, some new ones - some minor, some major. We prioritize them, but differently.

Motor oil and rose petals.

There's so many beauties in the world. Some things make my eyes glass, my mind bzzzzzz... I reach and am usually denied.

Other things do that... music does a lot. Some poetry. Beautiful women. Being in the zone. Basking in the radiance of a woman after her orgasm. Holding a sleeping child. A&W root beer over Blue Bell Vanilla Bean ice cream.

I heard this song fat black cock on the radio the other day - I wanted to pull over in my car (it was 11:00 at night) and just close my eyes and float away in a musicgasm forever. I didn't... I just drove, smiling, dancing in my seat, moving my head. That's one of those moments of almost pure beauty I will remember for a long long time.

Rose petals.

Fuck you, motor oil.