MySpace a place for friends

The night is set to seed and all the grounds water is turning to zombie. Dirt sucked dry of its decay and mineral churn, and that smell has proven to be the top soil popping all around. Turf tossed graves, layered, peeled back now animated flesh. Hanging mist and pitch black cat both arch and point upward. Fierce forced and labored groaning breaths now climb to retched deathlike moans. On now bursting grave sight I must work fast. What truly surprises me are the number of unmarked graves that are now rendering equal and abrupt springs of terror. And this is only my back yard. What kind of army must be coming from the ancient cemetery across the road?

I love art. I like to tell myself music is art, which it is, but I like to subcategorize it with other art, which you can, on paper. A painting can subject you to such a spectrum of thought and conjecture that you fall back in time. Music is that with a pulse. Music is so fundamentally ubiquitous that it can be seen in my eye as a subsidiary of no other thing. There is almost art and music but my mind must fold all acts of life, art and music into one. Otherwise where do you put life? Life is art and music, and all the other wonderful art that we don’t seem to refer to as art is easily called, and all the music we hear every day, while not knowing it is music, is music. The sound of a machine, the call of an unseen bird, the voice of a lover, these are the future songs we hear. The rhythm found in a perfect photograph, the abstract performance that leaves you vexed for days, and the nape of a neck that mysteriously presents itself in many an artist’s render. These are all art…It’s all a redeemed equation at the end of a very unscientific and convoluted balancing act between souls and their hopes and dreams. Life and death render while we are here. We all produce everyday these things even when thinking of not. thank you for your friendship.

You are not a treasure, you are the treasure. In azure mix with elixir fix, you bring the blue sky and physician’s witchlike tone that grounds my soul. From deepest pit to last atmosphere, you hold gold in all that tears. Happiest smile that reflects your response is mine to now fire your way in an appreciative way that brings such crack to my face, I can’t hold back, only to spread my love for your consistent friendship and lack of fear to face life and all its gear. You are my privilege.

Charlie Sheen's Video Message to President Obama





Read Charlie Sheen's "Twenty Minutes with the President":


www.infowars.com/twenty-minutes-with-the-president/

I promise, a page that will always show welcome. I promise you words and an ear with open eye and a soul that is blind. As my friend, you create the images shared through your reply.