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fucking hell do i goddamned hate having my account hacked when my original email for the account is unusable. bloody recovery took long enough, but hey, the DA help system works! Thanks for the help! 

So a lot's been going on, i assume i'm basically speaking to noone at the moment, and that's totally fine. so i'm just gonna hammer out some bullet points:

and I are engaged
I'm in denmark atm, we may be moving on from here soon though. Barcelona was amazing.
She and I have started an animated music video riff show (sorta beavis & butthead meets gomez & morticia) on youtube!-> www.youtube.com/channel/UCCxU_…
i've been oil painting and holding a few more exhibitions, so much more art to post. if you follow me on FB or insta you've probably seen it all before but whatever

i'd say more but i think ima just gage who the hell is still on here first, lol. 

aite. i'm out. 

~b

flying through all these fleeting sensations and feelings once more. it's like a weird rebirth. all started when i delved right back into the core. must've bin months ago. maybe the start o' 15. maybe a day before. anyway, now it won't stop. they won't stop coming. and the rush is so intense, the flavour so specific, the gut wrenching pangs so succinct that i'm become numb to everything but the few things that can actually outweigh those sensations in terms of emotional impact. the few. the absolute fewest. 

grey. i've lived and i'm happy for it and i plan on continuing in doing so. the goal, however, if there ever was one, has flattened. it exists. it exists in so much as i wish to live. it truly is and has to be the baseline, the 'enough'. there is more. it isn't the only thing that keeps me going. there is her. there are the three. but pretending that much else would be reason would only be tasting a lie. 

there's a series of smiles within me working around the clock to erase this persistent feeling. they are shit at their jobs. i don't even have fists for these hungry grins - i keep wanting to let it out. i keep wanting it! it's not like it's not there! the death EXISTS. I feel it inside my very fucking lungs every second! and i ACHE. it is so specific, and the thing is, the creature won't even respond. i keep calling out. i keep testing other sensors. i send a ping. i request. i send out my feelers, hoping for a response, a reaction, something to suggest that my presence means anything. i don't get it. and if it was there, it wasn't there in a way to suggest i was meant to pick it up at all. i am a floating nothing and my own personal dreams and goals are not considered or remembered or recalled by any other than myself. it is that isolation, that loneliness, that drives this engine. i'll throw my will and my understanding and my empathy into the few. i rarely hear an echo. am i that far gone? 

the noise in the woods when the tree was cut down, was indeed heard by the silence. for the wood had ears. but noone listened to her voice. they never chose to. the mills simply appeared one day. the flesh cut. the heart ground. the grass salted. everyone makes me. so. very. disappointed. i..  

i wake up. there is an air. the engine keeps me going. i complete my tasks. feed the engine. i work to sustain someone elses dead dream. money keeps me the engine under a roof. no true, real resonance is found any more in the breaths between days, save for the moments i converse with her. everything else is noise. repetition. an echo. a death. just words i'll forget anyway. slumbering on, the world turns and the days wax on and i start to fall in love with the black under my eyes. i romance the shadows in the shower. i start conversations with the towel. i scream at the soap as i jaunt through the waves in the bath, sloshing the alcohol out of the bottle i so feverishly clasp. red and deaf to the end, the engine jitters and jolts and aggressively jumbles back over to the core. we rest. 

i will survive this. it will end. everything always does. eyes are forward. they never weren't. my goals are my own. my goals arent and never were the concern of anyone else. and this. this is why i am alone. 

10 years. fuck.

well it seems like over the course of my self-imposed exile the site started to wise up to the concept of phallic imagery being just as appropriate a medium through which one could express something as a set of spread, wet lips is. so that's good.

I may just attempt to return and start posting here again and being a part of things.

Expect a surge of work.


~b

Because I like food, and if you want cheap scribbles to paste onto your walls and have money you're not spending... i'll happily take it off you.

www.etsy.com/shop/artwithhorns

~b

so i heard from some guy that a staff member here is getting a pay cut cos he looks like a terrorist.
true story.

lolly.deviantart.com/journal/A…

i remember when angelo was just a stupid fucking ninja.
i feel really sorry for anyone who thinks this place is fucking amazing.