The Black Forest

Random blaghness...

Smoke Through A Keyhole...

In the mystery
In the secret
In the tale
Entering your mouth and leaving
Traveling deep
Filling the space... Filling the space...
Receiving from the sky, love letters signed
Nothing forever lasts

Death is a sunny day

Gone

Stillness and quiet like smoke through a keyhole

Gone...consider yourself gone

Death is a sunny day, when everything you love falls away
Death is a woman's smile, erasing everything you'll ever know...and she knows...yes, she knows
Death is a blooming flower, that reminds you of what you've missed in your wasted hour
Death is losing control, letting go the reason, and the hold...and she knows...yes, she knows.

 

 

So Much Space Between The Concrete, Presence Shouldn't Be A Battlefield...

It's time to pull back. My music has become an unwilling whore, walking the streets of streaming services looking for Johns in back-alley digital landscapes for long enough.

Let us name my music "Harold" for the purpose of this blahg.

Harold, never intended to sell himself. He likes who he is, not overly confident, but assured. Selling himself, he has found, is required to live other days, to grow, to get his own lap dances from others like himself, to have a lil' happiness laying in the grass. Some others have to sell more... some having to do worse things, some even having fun doing it. Harold has fun. He likes doing it very chance he can get.

Harold is still the same hopeful, dreamy, skip-in-his-step lad he always has been. Lately though, it has become rough out there on the streets. Everyone is out there hookin', even his Grandma can start hookin' for a $50 fee. All the pimps share the entire meat supply, making sure they all get their cut first. A cup of coffee is more valued than he is. People are willing to pay for $5 beverages they don't need and that will be pissing out on the street two hours later, but to pay for a little time with Harold, they would rather spit.

Hey, if Harold isn't your type, or you simply aren't horny for him, that's cool. He understands. He also understands he is worth something. Something more than .003 cents. In fact, he doesn't even want to be broken up in parts. When you get him, you get all of him, not just his mouth, hands, and other bits...the whole damn thing.

So from now on he is taking himself off the classified ads... Spotify, Pandora, iTunes, all of them. If you want Harold, you have to go to his place. He will do you right, treat you with the same respect you give him. He ain't bad in bed either...

He just would rather starve than feed on your spit.

For a good time : www.atomorr.com

Unite! Content Creators Coalition!

Post Script: Harold says thank you to all his patrons..you know who you are!

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Listening To The Sun...

We can never hear what we've always heard. Only with absence and return can we possibly determine its sound. I feel our lives are like this. Much of the world/universe that we are born into is invisible to us in many ways because it has always been here with us. We only notice the changes and not the constant. We are held so long that we can't feel it anymore and think we are alone. We are not alone.

I cannot hear the sun, but I know she is singing.

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