orange juice (some pulp)
mechanics believe that there was a founding father by the name of Roger J. Olsen. it is believed that he created what we know now as ‘toilet paper.’ thank you Roger!!!
what does it mean to actually build a house? does it mean that you wrap it around your finger and say “wah la! das ist complete!” or does it simply mean that when the moon is cut in half, the seeds of a house start to come to life, springing magical fairy tales throughout our world? i think it’s the latter, to be quite honest. the heart is a pure thing. it’s closest ancestor is of course 2% milk, but what we forget to remember is… we are one with the people of Turkey. sure, maybe it doesn’t seem real to you, or maybe it seems TOO real to you, but either way, it is what it is and it will always be what it will be. the moral of this story is not to curse your family emblem, but to remind you that age comes with the dust in which you shed. never forget. never forgive. never forge. never foam.
in the name of thy son who i haven’t had yet,
Superheroes Art Print - by Danny Haas
i can see you crying from the helicopter. you are too high for me to reach. come back down, down to the ground. i will take you away.
the storm’s gone, but i’m still cold. the sink’s clogged, and so am i. what does it take to relax now? a drink, a pill, broken glass in our eyes?
if the smell of tomatoes didn’t make your heart sting, then your smile would be broken into tiny pillars of sadness. one night more and the days would be golden like the moon’s limelight. purple apples don’t exist, but i imagine that if they did, there would be 16 children who’d call for them to play songs on their violins. slow. fast. mid-tempo. all of that. and more. because once the festivities end, only you will know where to go from there. only you will know when the time is right to pull the shades over your blindfold coverers, and you will see that now is the time to eat your words. the words which come from your mouth. if tears filled the nile river, the egyptians may have not died in flames, along with the pilgrims. these days, miracles happen day by day and makers of the sun will bring salad to the homeless babies, but that is why the sun is actually solid and not full of gas like the mother fuckers in iceland might tell you. what do they know? nothing. that’s right. so fuck the midnight moon and welcome to a whole new day of violent raviolis. i spit on the man that tells me no….
Does it exist? No.
Will it exist? Maybe.
Do I exist? No.
Will I exist? Aww hell yeah!
All night long, the blisters burst.
Am I wrong, believing in thirst?
Classic Blink hijinx