They say in life we need to take risks; Everyday I pour water next to my computer—what do you want from me.
You know the statistic views which everybody gets to see in their accounts; yeah, nobody gets to be natural anymore.
I do not think of me as better; I am better—SCRUBS.
In the hypothesis that you become well-off; “Would you rather be selective or buy anything real.”
So I checked on my brushes and they’re doing real fine. And so I thought; “Now, I too can do fine art.”
J’te jure qu’elle est malade; la maladie. J’te jure, elle est malade.
They say in life we need to take the little steps; I’ve subscribed to a writer’s weekly magazine specialized in publishing—what do you want from me.
So I am flirting with the idea of reaching out to publishers once I get my shit together; meaning, once I get my shit together.
When all the truth comes out, will it mean that the world is going to die. Because a man’s last words are almost always honest.
Adam was a hermaphrodite—look it up.
G-d is a woman—shocking.
G-d is a Jew—whether whatever.
When art is more important; “Let me see how my brushes are doing.”
When people in my dreams think they can bring a gun in my home, show it to me, and refuse to lend it; scared that I might get angry. And there I got angry. SEE.
“That’s life,” for what to justify being a loser. We don’t need people like you—there’s enough in life alone to have all of our shares met to deal with.
When people do/say stuff which aim to get you all paranoid and shit for doing something right. A bunch of losers I swear.
Throughout life I got hit by many people in the hope to witness me deep buried in the ground; “but behold,” life said. And life loved me so hard that with all its warmth before my eyes the world vanished—and so close to home vanished was I—knocked out cold on the ground. I stood up and fine was I embraced by life. I stepped out and fine I was I walked with my life back home.
As if it wasn’t clear enough in your little heads; I AM NOT INTERESTED. Pass the fucking word—SCRAM.
“Let me throw some random advices around so once somebody fails the whole town will know me good; I told you so.”
Even though it does not look like it; in my mind, I’ve already murdered you with bare hands.
Even though it does not look like it; in my mind, I’ve already painted it with bare hands.
“Nudity as a form of art,” bullshit you perverts.
Eventually, your brain gets to move on and stops spoiling certain names, songs, or words by association.
Do you have pattern/printed tights in this store; “We don’t sell those in here.”
“Let me climb up a stupid mountain that will prove to make me feel douche worthy enough in compensation for a dissapointing, failed, and miserable life; in any case, I won’t die in vain—dead.”