"If my mind was seen as an artist, every brush stroke is like a scrape to the heart"
The clearer the picture formed, the thinner my heart gets. In a way it is an escape, the heart when broken, is an unmended wound. A cancer that breeds and grows. To either let it consume itself or to scrape it away altogether.

"Do you control headGod? u think u do..... but do you?... you are not god. God in you controls you."
how crappy can i get. somehow when you are inside a sphere, you cannot see it for what it is. You are a part of the sphere.
Experience and observation. Two sides of a coin. probably there are things that you can never understand while those who understands can never comprehend your ignorance and mockery.

At a beach, the swimmers can never comeprehend why the suntanners can bake in the sun all day and not want to take a cool dip.
The suntanners can never understand why the swimmers would be willing to get wet and dirty, ruin their hair and make up while they can enjoy the breeze in their hair and watch sand slip through their fingers like sand through and hourglass. On the other hand, people who belongs to both groups will never get to experience and appreciate the complete beauty of either.


Sponk stares into the big open sky in front of him. The song of the birds lifts his spirits. As a child, the clouds always appeared in familiar shapes. mostly faces. expressive faces. faces of agony, faces of pain, faces of joy, faces of death. but now, he can't see them anymore.

He always believed that one day he would jump out of a plane and land on the clouds. soft and bouncy. cool and fresh. this was even though daddy told him that clouds were water and he would fall right through it. Water. Then as he grew and daddy's words grewed onto him, his belief changed. It was disappointing. He now thought that if he jumped from the plane, he would splash through the clouds. Get himself all wet, fall to earth and die. splat. like egg. splattercow. Then there was this bugging question. How wet would he get? He just learnt a new word. "damp" and another " moist". would he be soaking wet or damp and moisty, with pretty tiny gleaming droplets of water caught in his hair? would his pyjamas be stuck to his skin so that they become transparent and his nipples will show or will they just be cooling and airy. Eventually he decided on the latter because however he tried to visualize, he couldn't picture clouds as buckets of water. Then again, there was rain. This really confused sponk. Furthermore, if clouds were buckets of water, how come they don't pour down in one hole swoop like a cascading waterfall, but instead they spray down like the shower head. The child's world was full of mysteries.

Sponk then stares at the empty can of budweiser for an ashtray. budweiser's a cool name for beer. white and blue with a classic feel. Those modern day cowboy saloons would probably be serving these. and loads of whiskey. yeah those saloons with the half-fucked wooden swinging doors that swing away and towards each other but never really collide.

"To smoke or not to smoke. The day is young, I could probably push ahead a few hours without them as long as i don't get the first going so soon."




Moist. moist is a sexy word. Prince's "soft and wet" reminds me of this word. Nirvana has a b-side named "moist vagina"
there's a band named Moist with the hit single "push" from the album "silver"

moist and juicy. A nice pair of words.
like fresh fruits. delicious.