Can a full grown woman truly love a midget?

Living your life through a haze, spending days lay strewn naked across your hot bed listening to the same song on repeat. The hate pickling inside you, turning your blood to vinegar. Your long hair newly washed, draw back across your forehead still dripping, dampening you pillow. You can't help but pick at the scab on your knee until it bleeds dark thick tricklets of blood. Motionless with only a small wry smile licked across your face, the atompshere jabbing and stinging at your skin. You feel like a wasp trapped under a cup, gasping for your last breath, scrutinizing the world through a magnifine glass. John Hughes died, you just watched The Breakfast Club and now you're ripe in your own social denial and rebellion, you piece of filth. You are not in a good place, but its too much effort to move. "GOOBBLE GOBBLE" This is my Hymn, my mantra, the thing I lay awake at 4 in the morning for, chanting to the beating of silent drums, drinking from the loving cup. While Prince Randian lights his cigarette. I am a false prophet. The living Antichrist but you won't ever notice.

Vibes - Night Court
The XX - FACT mix
Neon Indian - Deadbeat Summer



Picture taken from the 1932 film "Freaks" by Tod Browning. No Copyright infringement intended

Troubled Boys Bounce Like An Ape...

Most rejected shadows, especially him, didn’t really traverse the globe in search of temptations and riches. That was all a fabrication, a justification to himself that he was doing something worthwhile. He had much more fun grumbling to a start, shrugging off scum that, on his skin, appeared to be levitating, at some early afternoon hour In an African brothel. He would wipe his dark, colourless eyes clean and breathe in the stale air that tapped his harem of emotional minor’s depression directly into his veins. The worst they felt the better he felt. Self pity is selfish and productivity falters due to invisible distractions. He could move alongside them without having to give anything away, no ‘good vibes’ or positivity. He could keep those for himself. He thought he was immune but their bitterness wore off on him and the spectresque figure could no longer stand it. He left on his own to spend the rest of his years alone. Maybe he could find himself or someone would come and show him the way. Sit tight. Nothing changed and he just got frustrated. So he went back to the brothel, drank himself stupid and it was the best time of his little translucent life.

The Arcade Fire - Rebellion (Lies)
Mobb Deep - Up North Trip
Neon Indian - Mind, Drips

Loaded Like A Pregnant Whore

While stumbling through a star streamed realm of cyber-infinity I came across "Miss K", a rather alluring Japanese lady-boy. Bleak.

Neon Indian - I Should Have Taken Acid With You
GDFX - Choose Your Emanation
Toro Y Moi - Talamak