consistency

is my enemy.

w.a is beautiful, so is travel.
im in the process of getting some decent shots for the collection, shall be home next monday so we'll see how that goes.
my pre-desert antics havent seemed to impress the large population of old people that im surrounded by, which enevitably has resulted in me writing endless pages of lyrics and other junk in my new bible, titled 'index'.

at the moment i feel like theres so much i want to say but i can't grasp it you know? i feel so encased at times, like a chest waiting to be opened. This doesnt help when im surrounded by narrow eyed fucks that write me off because im a, 'stupid kid, who has no idea about anything', fuck people make me laugh eh? they cant just accept the fact that im not going to go down that slaveridden road they went down, they cant accept the fact that im going to do what i want to because thats what makes me happy, and they cant accept the fucking fact that they wish they could do that to but they repress it like they repress the way i look and think and wish that one day maybe ill be able to spray something into they're thick, dry heads that might just change they're lives for the good because they need something to set them free.