if I was watching this in a basement of 215 I'd be fascinated where this is going

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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 of Oz 2 meets Wonder Showzen: I live in another version of reality you never wish to meet. Fuck kissing the ass of this TV show, I'm going to mock the shit out of it and the half assed world I live in until I return to NYC
I pray death by M83 machine guns burning the soundwaves of creativity and humanity through the soul of the internal monologues of the cunt fired fagot hearing aid of these right winged Nazi censors that claim names and titles both irrelevent in my life and figure in time. Voices, bricks in the wall, characters placed amongst the least important people I'd ever known. I will live like this from now on. This is my show, my moment and every motherfucker outside in this fucking Truman show with a retarded 1950s intellect attempting to promote itself as NYC I will shit on.

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