the art of kEith ::: 'E' on everything

what can i do
to unbuckle your heart?
to hear your joy!

how can i temper my pace?
love so critical
so brutal

the thorn is not worthy of worship
neither the cloud

who but the holiest can
see the garden?

burn fire
as glory to the source
there’s nothing to defend, here
nothing to stand for

love me
love you
love us
love this

I’m obsessed with the i dea t.
Facemum
Limp
Bizkit

a vulture ru

Heroin will kill u
The heart is only meant for so much
Blue

biograph's (i love my dog)

… as good enough. But there’s always the tendency to get ahead of one’s self.

Of course, after the creative purge, I crash, to some extent, or come into a place of triumphant fear. Firstly because my mind thinks way too much about meaning and symbols and gambles and what is God this telling me now.

And I engage in some sort of Guilt ritual in which I proceed to debunk all I’ve done by conjuring all sorts of paranoid thoughts about the work I’ve just created. As a result I fall flat on my back, assume the position, and call nobody.

desolate
Letters
“L” and so on
Analyze
Attach to

Coward among us?
I’m not civil anymore