POETRY DON'T WORK ON WHORES.
---hissy kitten from the east, ark-la-tex, heavy on the tex. western sequential media, pitbulls, satan, and the oxford comma (RIP).


→ Jul 2011

103 degrees and grey grey grey outside

→ Jul 2011
→ Jul 2011 nocturnalstillife:

monsieur-antichrist:

next on my “just-finish-those-damn-movies-already” Sunday marathon

I tried watching this while my friend was being tattooed and every time I looked up at the movie there was a rape scene.. need to re-watch it.

lots of ankle-cutting and bone-snapping-back in place too. choi min-sik is INTENSE in this role. he gained a lot of weight and looks perfectly cray-cray. the plot has a lot of holes, but with all the nonstop violence i don’t think it’s much of an issue.

nocturnalstillife:

monsieur-antichrist:

next on my “just-finish-those-damn-movies-already” Sunday marathon

I tried watching this while my friend was being tattooed and every time I looked up at the movie there was a rape scene.. need to re-watch it.

lots of ankle-cutting and bone-snapping-back in place too. choi min-sik is INTENSE in this role. he gained a lot of weight and looks perfectly cray-cray. the plot has a lot of holes, but with all the nonstop violence i don’t think it’s much of an issue.

(via nocturnaldeath)

→ Jul 2011

blasted galactic melt my entire drive down to ruston, whippin’ past minivans carefully stickered w/ my kids in karate school bumperfucks, gold and white hearses, clucker’s chicken barns, junkyards piled so high old bathtubs were leaning OVER the road, a cluster of ugly stray labradors sniffing at a dead skunk right outside of belcher.

my love for all the pimple-wart-ingrown hair of a town(s) that lay lowly and sad across the gravel-scraping gut of the americas knows no bounds.

→ Jul 2011 "

Good Thing We’re at War

In the roominghouse by the RR tracks the old men drink and the flies buzz and there she is, the softest girl in the world. If you had 20 bucks you could have her. The blinds are falling apart, the wallpaper sags, and that flash of naked leg like a memory from childhood, sunlit backyard and the smell of water,

And according to the radio there’s a storm coming. Electricity above the plains, filling up all that pointless sky, and three grain silos

About a block from the ice plant and the canning factory and the creaking bare-board floors of the hardware store you’d gladly rob,

If you had a gun and a car and she’d come with you, in her sundress and blue suitcase

But instead you’ll enlist in the Navy, like planned, and somewhere off the island of Okinawa, bright and young and shiny with sweat in the tropical sunshine, you’ll drown.

" — can’t remember