Fuckin Paul Baribeau
I love you Paul!
(Source: spicecat, via ourchangingskyy)
Disjointed, here, Queer and loathing.
Heavy boots.
Interchanging Trans* GQ and everything.
Filled with Estrogen and Testosterone in inconsistent, varying amounts.
This blog is basically just me documenting my adventures. I have recently acquired a fond love for the passenger seat.
I enjoy, want, do:
Deconstruction. People checking in on their privilege regularly. Accessibility and fighting for it. Beyonce. Ads for DVD on VHS. Redwine&sunsets&cigars&myfriends. Secrets beneath the covers. Histrionic cynicism. Radiohead. Long drives accompanied by loud voices. The smell of the dentist. Meaningless and meaningful sighing. Sharing the places that make me feel alive. Tina Turner. Cold mouths & cold mornings. Established gardens. Cats. Doing washing between 1&3am. Comics. The Smith Street Band. Artistic endeavours. Sweet cover songs. Narcosis and the subconscious. Anatomy. Road tripping weekly. Running into the ocean or just swimming anywhere. All of the vegetables. Knees & bruises. Beer. Stick n Pokes. Painting my nails. Bean bags. Reading aloud on buses. I, Claudius. Dancing on the train. Absurdist theatre. Beatniks. Heads & hearts & spades. Buckley. Basquiat. Will Sheff. Watching chests rise and fall. Charles Bukowski. Crafting haikus. Sexual deviance. Lemony Snickett. Pretending. Stumbling and encountering. Satirical undertones. Political engagement. • Internet critiqueHeavy boots.
A ticket to The Weekender is making me skip every few steps when I feel I can’t. I have good friends.
I’ll spend it aaalllllllllll on the jukebox
“Me and all my friends are poets of the deed. We’re exactly what this country needs. We scratch until we’re drunk, we drink until we bleed. And here’s what we believe; before we get bored, let’s be inspired. Let’s ignore the applause and set the theatre on fire. Fight every war like the drunks in the choir. Put our art where our mouths are, poetry of the deed”
— Poetry Of The Deed - Frank Turner (via welcometothepartypal)
It’s cold out, work was irritating, feel totally mediocre so to improve this afternoon I locked myself away, got high and listened to Frank Turner with the heater on.
The lights are bright.
“Ever feel like an awkward understudy
Thrown into a cast where you just don’t get along
The crowd and the crew all standing silent staring
And you can’t shake the feeling that somehow you’re doing it wrong”
Wesley.
page 2 (waking up and thinking, “ugh!”) on Flickr.
This story is part of “Monday morning, Going to work: subjective observations on dreams, reality and love”.
Mixed media on paper, but mostly ink on paper. Good Lord!
The story is of a young man who cannot hold in — anymore — all the death around. he lets it all out, and thus a Noah like flood takes over the “world”.
much love and thanks to Lorac and her young’n who brought the scanner / printer that allowed me to put these up here. thanks to you both.
In a private collection
(via boundunbound)
Phone works for 10 minutes to advise me my Dream Brother is on his way.
Perfect Monday, really.
I don’t have a phone for the meantime, feels good.
I want to build some shelving but build-a-bridge et al is later this weekend so not today.
Work is awesome and I’m great at what I do/it fits in with forever underlying mental health issues/my life perfectly.
Saw Wil Wagner play last night, absolutely love being able to see my favourite people play sick music regularly.
Genuinely going doofing.
Mates and more mates keep moving down from Brispain.
Lou this week, fuck yes.
La Dispute and solitaire/solitary.
Reading and growing, $11.90, incredible love, in love, love it.
Always tired.
“I want to be alone and I want people to notice me - both at the same time”
— Thom Yorke (via perfect)
(Source: black-wolves, via adorably-eccentric)
