-The hobo doll face standing on the street corner painting rainbow on the curb, waiting for her shiny prince armored with silly promises of eternal bonds that transcends mortality to fist her down down down into a dark place where her shine is blocked by his ego and motive. Lost in the moment of fulfilling a primitive self inflicted expectation, her light dims and dims dims dims.
- Within the hallow void inside our being there is an echoing resonance of vibrating waves. These wave produce something audible…the voices in our heads have reached a point of maximum capacity. Yet…there is no real form of communication. We haven’t learned to talk yet. We are but murmurs. If you collect enough murmurs, a mere hum can evolve to a puncturing piercing pitch.
If we collect our voices we can make ourselves heard.