Photo: TRASH RIOT (TUMBLR)
There’s a beacon for every fight, the light stands in the site. Similar to a, “Fuck you.”
If you notice you’ll soon be tell.
I promise the meat is tender, but juicy as hell.
Writes crazy as hell. Soon the beacon will tell.
Be still, the beacon is real. Some die before seeing its real.
But don’t drown my ocean, it once killed my motion.
The man whom he claim is at heart.
Learnt to be still, the beacon rises to let them know his mom is real.
#Amwriting to get to know you, stop made men I kneel.
My sax buzz’s the soundtrack to Budd.
His skills like guitar hero, get your shit together I write to Doug.
Here it could be: (Bourgeoisie I chapter preview)
The beacon lights to render attention at the least, and yet the light from a distance looks faint, but it’s there for beast. He points out of respect, because he knows its there for his story. Oh good glory, not a word to worry. Have you ever wandered if your story is not good enough? Well, just write it. And tell the world later you wrote it. They’ll never guess.
They often wondered when they would show the muse, in the land of the eyes it was unpredictable. Those who saw it last night likely witnessed a rarity, but like most stars we all have at least seen one in our lifetime.
They don’t come out often, and assuming you’ve seen one, looking into it’s eye you know it’s an evident phony. That’s what they get you to believe.
They themselves don’t know the preview to the muse, but when it flourishes they see the light. In the land of eyes, they loose time of course, but that’s all on the fun of intergalactic travel. They only lose time for those in the know. This is what the ego tells. Like I said, they themselves don’t see it coming. They see a beacon to let their light shine back. Often mimicking the essence of, “come on, the light says we’ll be together.” And in a place like Port Avanti, what bullshit words of petty, right? Sounding like someone coming home from a long walk of shame? I knew next she would ask about the dinner party last night…
Born and raised in Portland, Oregon, Budd writes to encourage readers to explore the depths of their inner ocean, an unexplored self, because it's fun once you get through the emotional part... “The world around us is our vehicle, what you'll read is how I digest it.” -Budd