+H€ b|G €@$y

Born and bred…— …signed/me

tradition…—… *antebellum ghosts wandering the streets looking for a tasty morsel, the swish of ball gowns and the flutter of evangeline eye lashes, the faint echo…’throw me something mister’, a city washed in blood but too late for confession*
smell…—… *jasmine saturated nights, spices on boil, chicory coffee brewing, the smell of a hurricane ready for landfall*
touch…—…*her sticky wetness, that little love/hate thing that pings your heart when you’re away and makes you want to catch the next bus out, the sweat running down your body as that squeeky fan overhead gives its all but never wins, et al ];-)*
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sound…—… *that lazy dialect that sounds so good rollin off the lips of a creole lady but can be so guttural it just wants to make you scream, musical notes creeping around the corner like a crit du chat, a barge horn amplified by the low fog that’s settled during the night, the rain tap dancing on the roof*
tumblr_ml2179ZmHI1r3rrmfo1_1280taste…—…*indescribable*
…—…ph0+0s IrenaS

wH@+ +hE h€(k

4729fee3222a1399b6f5931d5bb2653a7ed4380e_m“Maybe there is no Heaven. Or maybe this is all pure gibberish – a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found a way to live out where the real wind blows – to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whiskey, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested… Res ipsa loquitar. Let the good times roll.”

― Hunter S. Thompson, Generation of Swine: Tales of Shame and Degradation in the ’80’s
I believe…
I believe…
I believe…
+rue re|iG|oN is the color of autumn//the solitude of a sonata//the blink of an eye//the realization that the beginning and end of the universe are a smile and a frown…
0rG@ni|zeD rEliGiOn is an arbitrary time stamp//house arrest//art vandalism //taking candy from a baby//a veil that hides my true love…
I believe…
I believe…
I believe…
                 … I’m wHi$key bEN+ & hE|| bOunD…
susc