Sitting on a patio holding the world together.

The same pain the hardens the hearts of some, softens the hearts of others.

And_So_We_Make_Love_To_Rage_

I bought a pony but he literally only knows one trick :(

My teeth were knocked out on the floor smiling back at me I shed my skin just to see it dance in the wind I plucked out my eyes and threw them in the ocean just to see the bottom Organized all my bones on a table to see how they fit My organs in a washing bin, spinning with the blood and the suds I sacrificed everything to understand everything.

No don't open that, that's my can of worms!

A well placed hand grenade can get you out of a lot of sticky situations. Be sure to always keep one on you.

Date idea

Nothing dispels excess aggression and psychic residue quite like combat sport. It is a paradoxical yet elegant way of attaining coherence, for it enables regulation and trains aperture and focal precision amidst hyper-alertness and extreme exertion. It ruthlessly discharges the accumulation of that which is not needed in those with a strong life force while simultaneously enhancing the quality of their creativity thereafter. The ultimate kinetic somatic flush.

Everything's a burning bush.

I'm like what the dictionary is to the alphabet.

Fasting (of the) eyes.

A string of days, time, paired with a stream of thoughts and a set of actions - the variables of life that make up the games we play. I’m just as interested in the games we want to play as the games we’re forced to play. We’re born, cells divided into cells, and into more cells. Consciousness emerges, the phenomenon of being begins. We cry, throw up, giggle and grasp for our first words and steps. Soon we’re talking, playing tag, and making our first friends. Reality feeling as if it’s natural, the world conceptualized and making perfect sense to our little eyes and undeveloped perceptions. And then like magic the games of ring around the roses become an echo in our mind; blurred hazy visions of laughing and falling down wash through our psyches. A memento to a simple time before the bliss of childhood is drowned away in infinite dense unfathomable data. A flurry of knowledge too complicated to grasp by a soul spinning in a place made foreign by the simple realization that it exist. And before we even know what it means to exist we are forced to fight for that very existence.

Cells Within Cells

That's not a tragedy that's a poem.

Fear is food for demons, cowardice is setting the table for you to be feasted upon.