Blasting Through Darkness With A Sprout Growing Out Of My Belly Button Like A Buhda

the Book of Looks, a diary of a sorcerer who's only benefit is looking and staying younger than all his friends and family. With snappy little diatribes on nihilism and it's beneficiary, along with terrible life choices and rolling through it. Like Pariarchy and it's smoldering guts of disease, designed to kill itself with religion or the study of marijuana and how females are actually preferred espicially when they show pistols, take that as a metaphor for this scene written by the preferred writer of the century, along with the comic book Tarot or Kubuki. Contol of the earth by space aliens dressed as sexy woman with big guns or even better the last prodigy of Zeus's little lovely ladys(daughters) pissed off going through teen angst as superb creatures that or more wild than you compared to a big cat that trounces dogs on a midnight evening unless your a tough son-of-a-bitch like Me. Does what ever the fuck they want like driving innocents peiople off the road going up a canyon pass and flying off a mountain into a lake tranforming into lightening. Just for kicks thats the real kicker !!!!!!!!!!!!! See the lemons exhaust into nothing ????? What? A little confused.

kiss the blade 

Wild Psyche

I write for the wild pysche just itching to get out! I write for wildlife that is truly free and far more godlike than We, I write for the witch that burned at the Stakes, I write for the unique woman, I write for the plant who's leaf looks like a star, I write for marijuana and its cure, I write for the solo peyote pollenaters in the phenomenal desert wonder, I write for the spore that travled through outer space to open Us, I write for LSD; lucifer, satan and the devil, I write for all-star futrist big shots, I started where Rimbaud left off, there hasn't been an original such as Me, not since Joseph Beuys, I write exclusively for Myself and none other than, to enter the widest scope imaginable, little earth gods.

Brat

So this dude nose's in on my business you see and I tell him my stroy and his response, 'you should thank your mother every day'. That! just fucking says it all and then that terrible voice, you know that awful sounding voice thats been drinking, smoking, carousing with you all night, 'Scott!! Scoott!!! Scoootttt!!!! What do you want? What doooooo You Waaaant!? The voice is sometimes tiresome but my mind reads, just to be a famous artist and do absolutely Nothing, along with smoking Ganga all day and tripping in the desert like a Navaho. My book still goes unnoticed, in fact "its" hated cause it has absolutely no value to the mainstream world view and topics. Todays politics and religion is boredom with your head burried in the sand with your ass hanging out. Jobs are no diffirent than watching everything just fall into corrupt taxes, leaders that think they know everything and whats good for You. I would just as soon see it all go up in a dying heap and see who is the last ones to stand and live like Gods.

end to nowhere or somewhere 

Blurrrrrrrrrr

Really?, $ without my ! collective know-how, Thanks! For the spores of Avalon I'm sure that consciousness of nature will appreciate their full throttle fury. And Amsterdamn for trying to get Me knighted with hemp strewn crown and the merry-go-round sommersault spell that made me fall, all dizzy. Waking up by the fire my tongue was purified. And I had to turn her down cause the moon is chaste. And thank you for acknowledgement for whatever I did that was cool, I liked the breeze too. I still think Magick is going to reign in the end, along with all the techno, fuzzy shaman, purple clouds and alien love making, my belief is you(me) and always has been. The weather is going backwards for the broom, and all the defiance that made up this Man, is righteous for the score unsettled yet. And the Rest will have to adapt, to the change from the edge or work for no reason than seeing the future wipe you away, sunny cloud of purpose.