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| Because sometimes it takes the dead to remind you that for all the intensity of life, it's only a phase. 
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| Haircuts FTWJonntag´s hair always reflected his last relationship. If she had worn it long, he wore it long. If she was blonde, he wore it blonde. If she was bald (and there had been that one time), well, he went bald. It took me a year to realize exactly what was going on. For a man as... relationally versatile as Jonny, it´s a wonder I didn´t figure it out after two months. In the end it was his mate Sammy that clued me in. We were passing the mall on our way to catch the number 19 bus when Sam stopped us up short. "Look at that," he said. There in the local SuperCuts sat Jonny. Some tight-lipped, ponytailed lass was taking a pair of scissors to his long locks. He had only sported the dreads for a couple of weeks and the wax hadn´t quite set yet. TBContinued | | |
| This is my art. "Be clean. Be clean," I tell myself. Am I not clean already? "Be free from manipulation, those little influences that steal into your mind and plant themselves in the form of your own thoughts and ideas." Like claws. "These little claws parading as your own life matter. No, your blood must not be corrupted by the ease of pre-existing patterns. You do not need to be different, but you need to be clear, be seperate, be honest." No, hope will not dwell in a temporary shelter. Blood does not abide impurities, it cannot, it must not be recycled. ---- Sometimes you are tired. Just too tired to close your eyes. The world blurrs past you, the wind sweeps your dreams along and life is lived without you. Maybe all it would take is a little kindness, a helpful hand to lower your eyelids and you could save that time which otherwise would have been lost. Too much time lost is too much heart lost. And who can live without heart? You would be a fool to try. | | |
| Looks like you´re safe, but at what price? Living with your fathers shadows on your back. Always in tune with the blood shed by your blood. Keeping your brother´s blood from being spilled offering yours in turn. Feel a millenium on your shoulders, a world raped by the same greed that brought you to life. That guilt isn´t yours. It´s not yours to pay. But it´s yours to change the path, switch lanes, plant a life tree in the puddles our fathers made. | | |
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