Dedicated to the Tram’s of Melbourne
Bottles of Gatorade Blue Bolt floating in a bath of Powerade Mountain Blast, 2013
I can’t tell if this is seriously art or if it’s just tongue in cheek sarcastic art or if it’s post-ironic ironic art, or ironic art, or literally just a joke and that is so not okay.
don’t say you’re a writer if you just write fanfiction for your entertainment. you’re only a writer if you kill a bear with a typewriter to appease the spirit of hemingway and slather yourself in ink in tribute to shakespeare, the one true over-penis of literature.
She had curves in all the wrong places. She had a boob sticking out of her kneecap and I’d never seen an ass on the back of someone’s head before
She had legs that went on forever. And ever, and ever. Legs going on into the endless primordial void from which we all came from and to which we shall all return. Her toes touched infinity, her hips perched on the cessation of existence.