Silver Tiles

And now I only jerk off on Thursdays. What the fuck. I'm pondering the levels of my psyche and damage that's been done throughout this show. I'm taking into consideration now creating this blog in terms of art of the general overall project in reflection to humanity instead of hiding what's happening. I'm taking into consideration what's happened over the period of time this projects happened. I'm thinking about it further like 2 years. I'm thinking back to series zero because I really miss being a person. Being a person was great, being a human, being a something, having a religion; the safety of my mind, the place inside myself and the safety of my room. They get me to pause when this happens, they get to yell something and I pause, when the fuck did I start to reflect on this T.V. show in terms of responding to such popular catch phrases as "don't stall" and "please don't stall" amongst "bold move" and other popul

would I reach more characters in this show if I jump onto the homeless bandwagon? Will this be more fun than the current level of the TV show with lasers they hit cock and self. It's a Thursday evening and that's sacred for the night I'd hookup w/SVA hipster girls and alike @ Boogaloo. It's a friend pallet but now I'm just promoting Brock as DJ to get my club, it's reflective action trying to get something physical from the memories of my humanity when I reach that place again. Barack is supposedly running for president but I can't believe shit in this show they could have stolen that from my dreams. These people have magnets on my penis, let me share quite openly it hurts. My sanity if it existed is something of a version between madness and bitter quips. I look at everything and wonder WHY am I to ever again pretend this isn't a TV show? Why do freelance or anything the real wold requires? I could always street it. It's ubsurd. I want to return to

okay that title is ultimately a lack of effort. But it's representational of my new stance generally on everything. It's a reflection and I'd be most interested as an art school kid specifically living ithin my sacred building to see what I do when I stop playing the patsy pansy to a world I no longer have interest in sucking the dick of. What the fuck kind of crack did I smoke (and not get laid through) to live through this shit on auto-pilot? How dear they, anyone, create this cunt of a show without buying me a mario gun first. And that's a reference back to Decadent Diploma in a Hartford Empty room, that's a reference back to my own work available through amazon.com under k.maz. I'm being fucked up night and day by shit fucking lights and machines in the sequel to mannahatta. Fucking literally. Live and broadcasted through and around my mind. Fuck that shit and the voices of nothingness they attempt to consume; imagine The Neverending Story 2 meets the Wizard