He realized then and there that America was stuck in a surf shop.  And they were just waking up from a long soujourn through Morphine, while the waves crashed on their sea to shining seas. He knew that everyone was  just a bunch of beach bums waiting that next tube.  Maybe it's all just an illusion. Maybe there isn't a tube for you, a touch of destiny, or a book of just faces. Just Another place to store memories. He knew the truth. We weren't just living in the past. We were watching it.

Everything on the digital plane had already happened. Yet, we made sure history repeated itself. What was so important that moments we are living aren't as important as what had already happened? Did we miss something? Does everyone need to go on your journey? 

Man is not content anymore to journey alone, without the watchful eyes of his peers. He is a voyeur without wanting and a vigilante without willing. He has no time for his own pictures in his mind. He needs to watch the other’s movies as they play out. He watches repeats of his former life through costars he never met. A collection of made up lives. Photocopies of theater. Man used to have friends, now he has followings. 

excerpt from 1:08,

M. Saviñon

"Writers need room. Trumpets need space. A naked woman needs a canvas. The rest of them need dollars to spend on that umbrella strip pole that kills the vaginal rain from pouring water in to that river. Walden. Whitman, and now just fucking Waldo. Fuck Waldo. Fuck waiting. Fuck water. Whiskey. If I could fuck whiskey, then make mine well. so the taste stays with me the next week. The sweat out out of my pan pipe can be smelt in the next train car. A man once never said to me, "suicide if there's no whiskey." Well then, just enough to get through this night. To whisk me away to that place, where the dead chase you through empty rooms in empty mansions and never speak.

from 2:23 am carnival, 

M, Saviñon

Sugar and salt were secretly the worlds biggest commodity. The way through everyone's heart. The password through any firewall. Fuck grains of sand. If you understood the power of the dark side of these grains, you would understand how to control 10 billion people. People don't eat sand on purpose. Children, adults and even dogs eat sugar and salt. Except you never hear anyone talk about it. Common as cold air, if blinking was the bread,  then breathing would be the butter. They even had chemical versions of both, but nothing beats the real thing, baby. At one point sugar was made from then corn, but it simply wasn't strong enough so they had to process it even further. Who knew what the world was like before these discoveries. The cocaine of coffeehouses. Then came the synths. First aspartame, which actual is found in asparagus, naturally, the tame part, well that's still unknown. Then came the cousins, the pink dose, the blue dose, in cute packets. What happens when you combine Domino with Dominoes? 

From 12:18am

M, Saviñon

Goddessey

Dr. Monarchy, or how I learned to love the AMerican way

Diary of an Artist

Shop at Storenvy

Decomposition of Orpheus