BOARDCAST DEPTH

AH! spring time when a young mans fancy truns to...

Mon, 14 Apr 2008 20:21:21 GMT

so I just finished reading this:
Leo (July 22-Aug. 22)
Your usual social circle may not be stoked about your reclusive habits this week, but you have a habit of always knowing what you need — or, if not knowing exactly, then plowing on with your gut instinct until it proves to be right. And this week you’re going to need a little more you-time, gearing up for the full moon on the 20th and all of the emotional intensity it’s bound to bring. But, lest you get all bummy about a lack of social interaction, the highlight of your romantic week will come in the form of blind dates, which — I know, I know — have never been your thing. But think of it this way: these set-ups are a good test run for some of the pieces of your fierce personality that haven’t seen the light of day in a while.

and so I'm asking this:
If you know me and if ur reading this you do and you if know of any nice "open minded" girls then make with match making already !!!

~D~

such things you say

Fri, 22 Feb 2008 18:24:44 GMT

“Can I tell you a secret now this stays between me and you well you me and Ace and Jen”

“when I was younger I had the biggest crush on the female Gelfling in dark crystal.”

“That’s ok I use to have a big crush on Raphael form the teenage mutant ninja turtles.”

“Yeah Raphael was the man I always liked him, but I gotta say I really dug Leonard a bit more”

“Yeah I can see that, your kind of a lot like Leo anyways…”

How could I for get

Fri, 22 Feb 2008 17:07:22 GMT

As we dance hip to hip I realize that my eyes have been cast downward lookin not at our feet but at the space in-between us. It’s filled by our similarities, and not complemented by our difference it a strange but wonderful feeling. I place my hand low on you waist as we spin finally, I look up into your eyes; slant and long they smile at me and the rush of blood can be felt from my head to feet. In my arms you feel full and small sharp and soft, in short… amazing. Before I even know it my other hand has betrayed me and is already caressing the sides and back of your smooth bald head your beautiful, I bite my lip to stop them from committing the same crime of passion my hands are guilt of. Even thorough I want to give chase I know I am already caught up in you, and by the end of the dance I beg for ur kiss for boy you are just so…

In so many words that where never said

Fri, 22 Feb 2008 16:33:03 GMT

I wish I could be your voice; The sound in the deep, the bell the ring. The pull slow and low bassed and cracked pushed and pulled over hard times and joy brewed up form someplace small and blue only to turn crimson when cut thru the air.
Harsh and boyish bowel lonely lullaby “baby” she sings soft in my ear I will never love you the way you love me.
~D~

FIRST GALLERY SHOW !!!

Tue, 19 Feb 2008 18:37:05 GMT

Hey ever body! I will be having my first gallery show at gallery 6 this Saturday the 23rd comedown and check it out if you can. It’s a group show with some amazing artists begin showcased, the whole shabang starts at 6pm and goes on to 10. I’ll have many of drawing up for sale and viewing plus I will be drawing LIVE right there, on the spot and off the wall!
So come thru and support your boy by stopping by and saying Hi.

Staten Island stand up!

~D~

Gallery 6
Museum/Gallery
Address:
30 Beach St., 2nd floor
Staten Island, NY 10304
Phone:
718-981-1147

A letter to Bob

Fri, 01 Feb 2008 20:38:39 GMT

I wish I had written this then but when I think about it I know I couldn’t have.

I was blacker then well at lest blacker then I am now fresh out high school not yet in college but taking my first real course in life. Brooklyn was where I got my first apartment apart from family and friends it was then that I met her. Please let me take this time to evoke her form in detail before time blends the sharpness of her memory into the uncertainty of feelings.
It was closing time in the art store I worked at, we used to work together at one point but she had quit sometime ago to become a bike messenger. I was in the back doing the daily “end of day count” when I heard someone step up to the counter, a loud and rude voice shortly followed “HEY CAN I GET SOME SERVICE”! Now I have been working for sometime in retail, in New York so I have handled my fair share of rude customers, while still in the back I shouted out “if you can please wait I’ll be right with you.” “ NO, YOU DON’T KEEP ME WAITING, DO YOU KNOW WHO IAM”? Appalled by this response I stopped what I was doing loosing my count, I angrily marched up to the front area where the counter was. Ready to fully explain in detail the unbelievably simple fact that I didn’t give a fuck whom this person was. Truing the bend I saw her right away, my anger quickly left me as I exclaimed “KIKIE” her nickname. There she stood in a white fake fur coat censored at the waist buy the low counter, short hair covered under a bob cut black wig. The sides of which defined the round edges of your cheekbones, cut them sharpely creating lines that lead straight to plumb lips, pucked with a kiss of hooker’s green lipstick. Low bangs that draped just over wild amber window’s, mirror eyes flashing the halo’s of halogens reflected in the center of black iris’s. I masked my awe “ you look ridiculous” “you like”? She vogued the question “I LOVE IT”! I did I, truly did she stepped behind the counter and in tight blue pants and sneakers she swirled, showing me the entirety of her outfit. She was built like a boy, not a man, short somewhat stout legs strong hips with a soft slope for an ass “My, my aren’t we all dressed to impress, hot date”? “You tell me”? She asked with a silent accent added at the Conner of her smile, unzipping her coat to reveal, the baby tee power puff girl shirt I had gotten her as a farewell gift on her last day at the art store. I never bought the shirt with the intention of her actual wearing it. More so a gift to riff off the inside joke we shared, for I often called her buttercup the name of one of the three girls that made up the super powered trio of tots. That’s when it all hit me the black bob wig the lipstick, she was pretending to be butter cup “happy birthday mister Felder” she said while punching her fist to the sides of her hip and pushing out her chest. I smiled uncontrollably, that night would turn out to hold many more surprises for me, but I am happy to say she was the first.
~D~

Days go by and still I think of you.

Thu, 31 Jan 2008 19:04:03 GMT

Looking down the stairs is surreal but then very little about this space isn’t. From ceiling to banister hangs hundreds of various types, of handmade decorations mostly made out of paper, the walls of the narrow staircase are all black with crud graffiti painted all over, if the words splashed on the walls where warnings I couldn’t tell. All of it was illegible nothing set it’s self-apart instead the whole mess whirled into a visual cacophony, that give the simple straightforward stair’s abnormal attributes. Then a gust of wind stepped past me and touched all the insane hanging “things” sending them into spasm; swirling, melting, and swaying like tendrils in the mouth of some grand exotic sea creature, it beckoned. Standing at the top one could not see where the bottom of the staircase led to, upon taking the first step down I realize my plain white tee is glowing bright blue. I look at my hands and arms, almost completely black in complexion and cast upon the shadow color of me, a thousand points of little light sticking to the invisible hairs on my arm, “star catcher” I laugh to my self. My nails ten tiny laser lights leaving ghost trails of neon as they moved. “Black light”, the staircase is lit by black lights somehow the audacity of the décor hid that fact. I reach the middle of the staircase, I can hear it low at first the boom, the bass rising from the bottom to meet me. I reach for the door at the end of the landing, the sound pushes the door open at my touch with a blast from two speakers parked on both sides, that seem to announce my arrival like sentry’s blowing their horns. The ceilings are to high to see but deep ocher and red light pour down on the crowd of bodies covered in sweat and convulsing to the beat right before I step into the wet heap into the mass and wave I laugh to myself
“yes, I have arrived”.

Notes for a post:

Mon, 28 Jan 2008 20:06:49 GMT

You can't judge a man that's already been judged:

I look at him there in his white tank top he looks just like my father exactly like him, more then I can every hope to. His cup held high full of henny and life he singings at the top of his lungs, words that mean nothing to me, and everything to him. Rap turned up to ten, I guess to help aid the henny in its job and drown out everything. Thug anthems fill the background, foreground and in the middleground there is me, His brother in, law and name only. For the present he is free and I want to say his future is a mystery but his past would strongly disagrees.
You know what’s worse then being bored at a party?
Being contemplative.
The End.

6:00 am

In the car ride back I look over, he’s a strange mix of cute, and awkward; a “hippster”. Taller then me lighter then me, he takes off the wool hat I have not until this point seen him without; dark spiky hair pops out. I take off my wool hat the one I can seldom be seen out of, my dark curly hair matted with sweat. As he drives me home from Brooklyn I talk to him about physic and why I need to be “emptied” from time to time, How I long for the feeling that comes after complete abandonment. My whole body numb as it slumps in the set nothing left in my muscle nor will to support it. The odd thing tho’ about begin numb is the fact that its not a lost of feeling but is actually the prevalence of feeling, one feeling. One long deep feeling that makes everything else distance that “buzz” you get when your leg falls asleep when your whole body feels like that it’s amazing numb, buzzing, electric.
I talk about zero frame states how in space there is no point to start from no north or south to use to plot a course so you have to start with ur self.
I doubt he realized I was talkin’ about him.
The End.

XXX

Wed, 25 Apr 2007 15:32:04 GMT

I am officially quitting all drugs as of right now until the end of the summer
more on this to come…

April 20, 2007, 10:47

Fri, 20 Apr 2007 14:57:25 GMT

Plentiful of sunshine, with Highs in the upper 60's.

Happy 4/20

JUST DO IT !

Thu, 19 Apr 2007 15:43:40 GMT

DRAWN just posted this PHAT ass short I LOVE IT

and I hope u do to
~D~

YELLOW

Mon, 16 Apr 2007 17:06:45 GMT

The lattice of Newton’s theory of gravity and motion, when laid over ones life takes on a whole new meaning. Simply stated an object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion unless acted upon by an outside force, the beauty in Newton’s theory lie’s in its implied simplicity, but when applied to the human heart and soul the true complexity of the theory becomes unbearably clear.

For fundamentally it talks about change, we are all hurtling through space at our own speeds and pace seemingly, and randomly colliding into one another. Sometimes these collusion, let’s call them “meetings” push us indirection we could have never dreamed of going our selves, and sometimes they stop us dead in our tracks. Now While Newton’s law seems absolute it is incomplete when applied to the human heart and soul. Four one reason alone, that begin this; when a rock per say is at rest on the ground it cares not about it’s current state of inertia nor dose it care if it is suddenly picked up and thrown far away, and as far as I know the change in states has little to no effect on the rock’s emotional and mental state. People on the other hand are not rocks (even if we like to think of ourselves as such) each time on person “meets” another both have the potential to effect the state of the other dramatically. Most people are not rigid and unchangeable and it is in this fact that one might see the rock as has having the advantage, for you see a rock (one could only guess) knows unquestionably what it is, while on the other hand that level of certainty is rarely given to the individual. We all need one another to define us either by contrast; “I may not fully know who I am but I know I am not a raciest” or through compliment; “We complete one another for he’s strengths fill my weakness and vise a versa”.

We are all connected in one way or another, some much closer then others, so my question is this I suppose; “What happens when one person meets another and that meeting changes not the person but everything else around them?”

”Most of us are about as eager to be changed as we were to be born, and go through our changes in a similar state of shock.”
James A. Balwind

Etiquette

Wed, 11 Apr 2007 20:14:08 GMT

How many times have I said and done things that I did not mean, not out of anger nor love but out of situational appropriateness.

How many times have I pretended to be some one or something I am not, only to gain favor but also to escape from being criticized and ostracized? Strange are the rules used to dictate and separate emotional states from reaction, “social” laws and rules of etiquette, split and reduce the person into a persona governed by, not logic but antiquated logistic and traditions and put in place to do what exactly?

Divorce us from or emotions, suppress human expression and passion, or are these laws in place for security, to give us direction, a code grown very naturally from human empathy, universal law and the want for harmony.

I never really thought of it but it has recently dawned on me that the rules of etiquette can allow one to do and act in complete opposition to ones true nature. I can go into any place or situation, observe the rules of etiquette for said place and time and act and react totally appropriate but opposite to my actual state, is this falsehood to self? At one time I believed that social laws hampered the soul and gagged the inner voice so I starved to remove them, only to find that I felt lost and out of control with out them, with out the temperament of etiquette my emotions

Flowed freely and I spiraled. Still I felt an odd freedom, no longer caring give me a since of empowerment; “fuck the system! How fail our society, how easy it would be for so few to cause so much pain in the world.”

I became myself my true self the ID in other words a selfish bastrad!

After very nearly losing all of my friends and life (to a suicide attempt) I have changed my view to some extant, for you see I still fight and challenge social law but when I sought to rid myself of it completely I also became morally deprived. Morality hosed in the superego just above the ID, I feel can not only allow us access to our hidden desires but simultaneously convict us to do the “right thing”. More importantly I feel that unlike social law and etiquette morality preserves individuality. The irony is that I myself actually subscribe fairly strictly to social law in most cases it gives me a since of control of self that I desperately need but then that’s another story
~D~

NOW IN COLOR!!!

Sat, 07 Apr 2007 16:03:03 GMT

Here is the long over due colored version of my power girl redesign
Actual I had did this about a week ago but I got real busy and couldn't post it
until
right
NOW

The Process (part 4)

Wed, 04 Apr 2007 16:12:15 GMT

In the face of uncertainty
I pace around in my room my music blaring, trying to get into the mood; Rage, and Tool Fight music, it egg’s me on. I feel it build up in my chest the pressure, I want to scream I want to shout but I am in my room, in a house that has thin walls with people living in the apartment above me and my two daughters’ are in the bathroom taking a bath (boxed in). Still I say my words just under the music;
“Welcome to the year 2030 where life technically is bloated with every form of… no wait, should I say it is the year 2030?”
I am frustrated it’s not coming together at all I can’t even get the first poem right I start to feel hopeless;
”How I am going pull this off ?”
”I need to get out of here”
I pack my bag and throw on my coat and headphones, I catch Ace chillin’ in the living room;
“Yo Deme you out?”
”Yeah Ace I need to bounce I need to get out of here”
“why what’s up?”
”It’s not coming together at ALL I need to be in an empty space, so hopefully I can fill it.”
I give Ace a pound and bounce, the night sky is dark purple and cool. The street lights color the block in warm yellows and browns. I head up to silver lake park; a lager windy park that sits atop a very steep hill. Built around an old reservoir the park is all but empty after dark. I find a spot just under a night lamb with some benches. The park is built up into two levels; I am on the “top” level. Over looking the old reservoir, the whole park and on out into the bay and Manhattan Sky line. I am scared to even open my mouth, I scan the landscape no bodies around. But it’s not a fear of begin over heard that’s stopping me but a fear of sucking. I try hard to shallow my apprehensions I take a big breath and I start all over again
”welcome to the year 2030 where life technically is bloated with every form of technology...”
I stumble but I force myself to go one I studier my way through the first poem, it’s horrible. I started the second it starts to flow a little bit better I can feel it by the time I am finished reciting all five poems it’s 15 mins’ later. I can’t help but feel my confidence sore it’s still Rough around the edges and I really haven’t come up with something solid to connect them all together but I feel much more ready for whatever my come now.

The Process (part 3)

Tue, 27 Mar 2007 20:00:30 GMT

The Future past.
I have about a week and some change left to prepare for my feature at the muddy cup with the “come vibe with us” crew, and let me tell yay I am more then a bit stressed. How do I make this night something to remember, something that will really touch people, what the hell do I even say? This has been on my mind for sometime and I feel I have come up with answers to at lest some of these questions. See for a while now I have been increasingly concerned with “images” in the media and all around us. Begin an artist my self I see a very disturbing trend in the way we are reflect back to our selves through the fun house mirror of the media. Not to go all moral and shit let me simple state my fears in this question; “What if one day man came up with a way to reshape reality it’s self? What if it was as simple as projecting hyper “real” images onto it, false as the maybe, still they where much brighter and more beautiful then the real that lay underneath, so much so that the people forgot about the real word and only tried to live in that fantasy. What would happen then to the real things? Would they be forgotten or left to decay? More so the question arise who are creating these images and why?”
I have decided to try and deal /talk about this trend in human social evolution through a series of five poems that take place in the year 2030. By setting this some 23 year in the future (the subjective), I feel it will allow me to freely talk about the present (the objective), by juxtaposing it with an exaggerated social political landscape, in hopes of bring to the for front some questions that we should all be asking ourselves about the world we live in now.

”That’s when it dawn on me the state we live in is a state of emergence
TV’s talks to toddlers while parents run and play no wonder teens listen to Viacom over what their dads have to say
Telling kids what to wear and where to walk, how to talk, what to fear, when to feel, and whom to kill.
long for and love all that flashy imagery flashing in 30 seconded intervals shaping their Identities
planted in front of 40 inch LCDS 5.1 surround sound rear projected plasma screen HD’s making real life the mockery “

An excerpt from “It rain’s without start”
By Just words.
Deme.

My version of power girl

Sat, 24 Mar 2007 14:17:01 GMT

Hey everbody here is the line art for my version of the power girl meme goning around. It was started by </a></b></a>mooncalfe) so pop on by and check it out. I also plan on doing a colored version real soon.

The Process (part 2)

Tue, 20 Mar 2007 19:32:37 GMT

Reading a poem live
to say that I ”read” a poems live is a bit misleading for I don’t read from anything I usually spend sometime memorizing a poem and then I recite it live. Why? Well even tho’ it’s harder to memorize for me it works I try my best to evoke when I recite a poem, evoke the spirit of the words and bring forth from me what they mean and to go back to the place I was when I wrote the poem. This is very hard for me, because I feel complied to stay true to the emotional core of a “peace” that usually means I have to spend most of the day putting myself in that place be it depressed, happy, quizitive, or anger. Harder still for the fact is I have kids which I see ever night so I can’t let my emotionally state over take me. Normally it takes me about a week to memorize and feel confident enough to recite a single poem in front of a bunch of strangers, and that time is outside of any time it takes to actual write the damn thing. On the day of an open Mic I spend it, going over the poem in my head, over and over again I’ll say it out loud where ever I am, Like waiting for a bus I’ll just be mumbling to my self like a crazy person it’s quit the sight actual. I hate fucking up on stage because it takes me out of the moment so the idea is to get the words down packed so I don’t even have to think about them, so I can instead put all of my energy into the emotional context of the poem. Sometime after I recite I can’t remember what I just did some have told me that is when “the sprit” has overcome me maybe, maybe not but I do know this and I’ll tell it to anyone who wants to know how or why I go thru’ so much just recite a poem “these are my words I made them I put them together so let me speak them like they are my words!”

The Process (part 1)

Tue, 20 Mar 2007 19:26:01 GMT

So I was asked by the coolest Christen I know to be a feature at their next and upcoming event, "Come vibe with us” is a open forum open Mic night at The Cup around the first of every month it’s a cool spot and even tho’ it’s hosted by Christens (and yes there are a lot of poems about God) it is also open to whomever and thus my heathen ass reading there. The event is on April 5^th which gives me a lil’ more then two weeks to get ready. After setting down and talking to the show’s creator “Sal” we came up with a rough time for me to aim for (around ten minutes) I am very (very) nervous about this event so I thought it would be cool if I posted about the process that I go thru when I get ready to read a poem live and how I plan to take it up notch for this show

come check it out if your in town!

Tue, 20 Mar 2007 18:22:08 GMT

Hello is anybody out there?

Fri, 23 Feb 2007 18:28:42 GMT

The jail cell of our bodies the prison of the mind confined in self, doomed to scratch at the walls of our loneness. Is there a way to transcend the gates of self to trespasses into the land of another’s mind, heart, soul?

I have, a few times or felt like I have in any case mostly with people I’m already close too emotionally (but not always).
I remember when I was a small child I lived with my grandmother in the Bronx while my mom went to school to get her degree. Ever night she would call me whenever she could never the same time twice but I always knew when the phone rung if it was my mom or not on the other end.

As I got older hurt and fear caused me to close a lot of my self off, my first love unreturned, my first date going wrong, the first time I got dumped, all these things caused a calluses to grow over me. Still there have been times when I have escaped me and fled into the fields of others, one time that stands out among others is the first time I ever made love to Jen (or anyone for that matter). We where just kids back then she lived in Staten Island I lived up in Mount Vernon and after making a three hour trip (because I need to see her) I showed up at her door with out a call only to find her waiting for me at the top of her stairs. In my heart and soul I had been crying out to her the whole trip and when I saw her there perched atop those stairs smiling I said to my self you got my message.

The complexities of simplicity

Wed, 21 Feb 2007 16:17:28 GMT

I remember waking up sometime early and looking over, most of her face was obscured by a pillow but the left side laid free of obstacle looking at her sleep. Sunshine lit I studied ever aspect of her face ever line mole and freckle what was I looking for; round lips plump and soft mirrored my own, long neck that grows from the deep of her collar bone, hair roped into locks and tangled, I pull them back behind her ears and head. What am I looking for,am I looking for that girl I knew in high school, here where this woman lies?

Looking down I see my hand ahead of me, slowly feeling up and down the high and lows of her bodyscape she is wearing boxers and a light tee, I run my hand along the side of her body from thigh to waist to… now I am nervous my hand is shaken I don’t wanna fuck this up. I don’t want to ruin our friendship but damn it all if she’s not fit and me a man I know I will go as far as I can unless I am stop, but I am not she turns slightly places a hand on my face and kisses me, my nervousness is transmogrified into excitement. she push the hill Of her ass into hollow of my hips I pull her up to me tight pressed so hard it’s as if tho I am trying to push myself straight thru her. I pull her shirt up over the plums of her breast; goose skinned nipples lil dark brown Islands a float on the top of small half round pillows. She slides up the broad side of my chest “you look beautiful” I say “even first thing in the morning?” she asks “yes” I answer.

"All that you will be you are to today "

Thu, 15 Feb 2007 15:45:30 GMT

Affirmation in the face of insanity is a powerful and scary thing, do we hold our selves in place because our fears or apathy?

If time is only a divergent property of the limits of human perception and In fact dose not exist then can one also not argue that life or rather the time in which it takes one to live out that life is but a illusion, that the limits in our perception is like a tiny lil’ light projected on the infinite surface of our possibilities?

If so then what is affirmation, is it the pinhole aperture of fear thrown wide open? Is it the realization that all of ones life is but an instant and that instant is NOW infinite but stagnate like eternity viewed from a distance?

“The true artist, the saint, the philosopher,

is rarely achieved.

Why so few?

Why is world history and evolution not stories of progress...

but rather this endless and futile addition of zeroes?

No greater values have developed.

Hell, the Greeks years ago were just as advanced as we are.

So what are these barriers that keep people...

from reaching anywhere near their real potential?

The answer to that can be found in another question, and that's this:

Which is the most universal human characteristic--

fear or laziness?”

“The quest is to be liberated from the negative,

        which is really our own will to nothingness.

        And once having said yes to the instant,

        the affirmation is contagious.

        It bursts into a chain of affirmations that knows no limit.

        To say yes to one instant...

        is to say yes to all of existence.”

Quotes from waking life.

The Foucault point

Tue, 13 Feb 2007 19:01:36 GMT

A Foucault pendulum is a clock used to measure the rotation of the earth like it’s name the device is simply a heavy weight (heavy so that it’s swung is not easily effected by wind) suspended by a long string and hung from a fixed point high above the ground the first ever made was by French physicist Léon Foucault. When set on the planets axis at either the south or North Pole the pendulum swings back and forth like say any other would but then something cool starts to happen, it also starts to spiral out ever so slowly over the course of the day. It completes a full 360 rotation in 24 hours the length of a day, so if the pendulum is set to only swing back and forth and starts to rotate then that rotation must be caused by what ever object the pendulum is attached to and ultimately that is the planet.

I view my art in the same way more so then anything else as a measure of my own revolutions. For a long time the heavy weight that held down the pendulum of my art was me defining my self as a comic book artist. Although to tell truth about the matter when affixed to the axis of my soul that classification never rotated in synch, so I have been doing some artistic soul searching as of late.

When I first entered my high school I was a painter more so then anything else ( penciler or inker etc.) and some where in between cutting class and smoking pot with my friends I managed to be part of three student gallery shows. (My high school was an art school and it had a full gallery space on the seconded floor). but I was heavily in love at the time with mainstream comics u know the big three marvel, D.C and Image and my heroes were Jim lee, Todd McFarlane and Katsuhiro Otomo none of which were painters. Add to that my struggle with making the move from oils to acrylics I stopped painting and worked on my skills as a penciler (someone who just draws in pencil) and some what of an inker. Now while I have indeed improved my skill with pencil and ink greatly I have never felt it was “full”, my drawings always felt flat, only able to capture a very small part of what I was really trying to give birth to on the page. I was never happy with my art so in the past two weeks I have been painting as MUCH as I possibly can. It has been a real test but I have been using mostly water color now for many practical reasons. In a very short time I found my self (artistically) and now I feel empowered and excited about my art and where it could go from here. I well state now happily that I AM A PAINTER first and from most, which is super huge for me. for a very long time I have been scared to define what kind of artist I was outside of just saying a comic book artist which isn’t all together true I love comics still (mostly indie stuff now) but I am not just some penciler or inker I am a painter! Now with ever complete painting comes on full revolutions, and ever time I tap my brush off on the edge of my palate the sound reminds me of a metronome ticking and swaying in time to my soul.

Gwad it fells good

HOLY SHIT FUCK YEAH BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Wed, 17 Jan 2007 16:38:52 GMT

IMMORTAL IS THE BEST DAMN THING YOU WILL EVER READ IN UR LIFE EVER !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!