How tripped out is it that it can be a day like any other when suddenly, out of the blue, tragedy strikes and nothing is ever the same again? It sends you reeling, grasping at the details of an ordinary life... I know what it’s like to be finally and firmly on the outside of everything.
“Beamed or banned, banned or beamed? Boiled and swollen or foiled and creamed?”, the Babies chanted.
“Same difference,” I whispered
faith and fear
Heir Max 98: A part of you was already with me. The part of you that is unlimited and infinite. Like when you stared out the window in class and felt something waiting to happen. That was me. Or when you filled your notebooks with poems—those were about me back then and they are about me now.
I could almost be lulled into believing nothing had changed, but the formidable reality of Heir Max 98 hung between us, a dark shape that was blurred around the edges like a smudge or a distortion in the fabric of space and time.
present tense (synopsis)
The parts of our being that are pre and post language—they’ve been activated and lit-up, even if the rest of our so-called conscious minds can’t grasp it. It’s like an opening in your body that lets in extra air, getting you a little high and freaked out from the oxygen.
I told Jesse James I wanted to live within the cathedral of the sunset, beneath which all people are free.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said in his soft, feminine voice. The evening light made the ancient teardrop tattoo under the corner of his left eye look like smeared eyeliner.
Heir Max 98: Hi Swim. Let me start by saying that I agree with you.
Swim Palmer: Hi
Swim Palmer: Agree with what?
Heir Max 98: That the mixtape is the highest form of art.
Nosferatu in Venice
I saved the file and went for a walk, as this often helps stave off the anxious feels whenever they start bubbling up. This time, however, going out only made it worse, edging me towards straight up panic attack territory for the first time in a while.
Rip Van Winkle
It was an ambivalent energy that was fucking with me—a darkness that didn’t fit into language. It’s that which was there before and that which will be there after we're finished with words.
Was the jar’s contents the work of a demon--the same demon of the night who infected our sleep with terror filled visions?