to the beat of my own drum...

it may be rhythmic blues to the fragmented soul, a craft unlike no other where the chase for sound imperfections rein truth of a melody so bitterly sweet it can never be repeated...

and pause!!!

led for thrills...

a door which leads to a space where dreams do manifest into the guiding warmth of a truth so real. The eyes they do steal a fixated desire to be kept close and whisper the truth with a warmth so real x x x

the mist of space...

To float and linger in a haze of anticipation...just waiting for that curl to swirl a wiff of a left desire, to sharpen the right side of the led.

a spectacular space to dream like dreamers do...

aspiring to rise to the soft glow. Soaring amongst the curls of breeze with eyes wide shut, such freedom felt so distant a dream...until now the spell has lifted x x x

light...on my path to being.

consumed by the lyrical rhythm of type from word to sentence. The sun no longer aids such fascination, yet the generosity of a passer by encourages the continual curiosity of the text.

And the concrete never feels cold...

entangled under the sea of curls...

this entanglement has never been such a glorious outrage of the curl effect... do try, it could b the tentacle luv you have been sliming for x x x

dance the way i feel...

flipper can bounce, prance and shimmy on til the clock strikes midnite where the oddly paired silhouettes of a rowdy rooster and salty dolphin can be seen tickling each other with a new year's kiss x x x happy 2011 peoples