And it's one more day up in the canyon, and it's one more night in Hollywood...

((META: In case you've not got it yet. Find the song, play, read =D))
((http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PNF1a-ZG1uc))

In no particular order the snow begins to fall...








In swear it's a clover. Shutup.


Who are these hippies and what are they doing in my apartment?


The heartbreak just before leaving a loved one.


Hippie infested apartments.


Young and grungy, old and dusty. Things don't change.


Part of the beginning of not being so relaxed.


Get it? GET IT?!


Grace in form.


Endless voids, further than the eye can estimate.




Deprivation.


'Murica! Fuck yeah!


STOMP YO FACE FROM OUTA SPACE!


Engarde!




No heat leads to cuddlebugs. Even with heat, cuddlebugs run rampant.


Eye of the beholder.


Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!


This is my gat. There are many like it but this one is mine. Without my gat I am nothing, without me, my gat is nothing.


=D


~sigh~ Women...


Right in the goodies. Damnit Sam.


Moving right along.


VIKINGS?! I FUCKING LOVE RENN!


What the shit?


For shame...


To the winters cold we turn our faces to smell the fear of the oncoming masses. To arms!


Stomp.


Crazy fucker.




Spit take.




So sharp they even cut the eyes.




Thanks for looking in the trashcan dad. Jerk =p.






Poised, they raise their heads to their masters call. Or the crinkling of wrappers.




What the shit Arkansas?


They see me rollin...they hatin...


PULL!


Flop =p


Merry Flopmass.


Food?


Hella-Gay.




Holy crap! Roll up the windows! Ewww!






The epitome of silence. The embrace of my trip.


Food?




Stress Relief


Oh sweet merciful Jesus.


Spend your nights cruising.


Someday, once again, I'll be able to pull over and stare at the snow and know that it means change is coming. That everything will be softened, dampened, and our words will be allowed to stand out against the landscapes.




And that's just part of it. Also, partly responsible for the bitchin Mohawk above.


Snark.





Climb.


I saw God by the river...


The Imperial March...with bells.


The days we wake up early, and the snow is trickling down, smothering the ground with the softness of a down pillow. The crisp breath. The weight slipping from your shoulders as you realize that maybe the coming winter will hold warmth, alcohol, and friends and family to spend it with.

But you still don't like to leave...

Fidelity and frugality combined together in insanity. Rhyming words of no meaning thrown together with the fluttering of fingers slowly forming across the screen. Alcohol flowing through the veins and thoughts flowing through the brains of those who know which way to flow. Funky co-medina.

We reach the peak amidst the weak and flicker through the images pressed against our eyes. Some things go and some things blow with an icy flow running against our tonsils in the late hours.

We chat and speak of things we don't truly know and ...

Fuckit. Flow.

The money is what it is.

The money controls. There are some who simply use the money. Agh, White Russians are my downfall in the intellectual conversations I try to control as they surge through. Intellectual. Perhaps I'm thinking a little too highly of myself.

There are a few people in the world. Screams. AGHHH! Those who let the money do the work for them. Not the professional shit. Simple shit. Clean up after yourself, after the storm. Drama. Hahahahahaha. Wash your own vehicle. Plant your own garden. Do your own thing. Those who do seem to live the fruitful life.

We can dine in Paris.

Watch them run from the bulls in Madrid. Terribly wrong ultraviolence.

Spectate as the world's finest break the records set by old men with false hips.

We use the money to sit back and watch others achieve.

And then there are those who take it upon themselves. Don't hire a nanny. A maid. They climb the walls of the mesa, arms flexing, death one wrong handhold below. We, no, they travel the earth, stepping over stones others would drive around. They make something worth speaking about. Compromise.

But I've already passed the point where I can do anything that will imprint my name upon anyone's mind.

All to be forgotten.

As ages long lost have become.

Translations lost as the sand weathers away the faces of stone which once may have held the meaning to what we do.

To have a talent.

To be...something.

Past.

Always the lesson that there is a way for us to be more than what we are.

Equivalent exchange. You must have something equivalent to what it will become.

You cannot simply make energy. You must sacrifice equal proportions of something.

Shit. Step inside and see what's happening.FUCK YOSUHUTUP!

No body listens anymore. The buzzkill of the day. Speak from the heart and everything gets shrugged off by ....





everyone. Goodnight my dears and sleep well, sometime we'll catch the end.