tomjulio:

a choir of curbside preachers echo in the space between my brain and the forbidden. a vacancy of decency, backlit by a steel flashlight on dim.

I see the thought before the syllable is molded. twists and turns of inked vocabulary, letting the expressive express…or at least he thinks so.

here.

hear.

A proverbial distillation process of what I can only wish upon what I want upon.

sing my pastor. sing in french accents and bantering hierarchies until the day ending trumpet signals a new indecent thought for me to dwell on. 

true life: sports are really just excuses to do drugs. (i.e. boxing, football, raving and hell we’ve even got kids on adderol in spelling bee’s.)

at six am you mess with me and this is what i’ll serve you for breakfast. fuck you very much, and have a nice day! #lifeontheedge

with that many arms? bitchin’ as shit, more like bitches ain’t shit…

pussy cat in action

a peck of pickled peppers peter piper picked (Taken with instagram)

Rupert Grint smoking weed

that nigga was probably like INCENDIO!!!

WAT RON WAT THE FUCK IS THIS/

ben harper, “burn one down”