It’s a call, a necessity. The blind blur of hummingbird wings. We spent the weekend watching the flower head fill with syrup. We got restless, overripe—we tried to play board games but couldn’t concentrate. We were tired from nothing, happen-stance. The subject was the pole we danced around, delicately, on sweet insect feet, the ends of which are sharp—like fire pokers, blowing-up into dust,
--that dried-out wood with just one thrust.

You’ve got to just let your body move to the music, let your body go with the flow.

Everything works like this: an excretion, followed by a yearning until the filling-up.

“I ended up working with red markers a lot, ‘cause hey, if there’s gonna be bleeding…”

“It said it was “bleedproof’; it wasn’t.”

One of the reasons I like Angry White Girl is the links. Like this one, Rate My Kitten.

Kurt Cobain didn’t have David LaChappelle.

Now you’ve got break dancing moves in rock n’ roll videos. The sneakers are retro. It might also feature one or more people wearing ska style bowling/work shirts, the kind with name badges. Others wear T-shirts with ironical phrases spray painted across the chest. “HEAVY METAL GHETTO”, “KILL ELECTROCLASH” AND “NIKE WHORE”. Some have thick hair cut choppily, others shiny crewcuts—still others insist on sporting artistically gelled bangs and spikes. No matter what, however, they are all wearing the same “dirty” denim jeans.

FM Nation, a show on MTV, features real kids as real stars.

8 Mile features a real star as a real kid.

Infinite bandwidth=infinite blog.

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