sp3ktr

channel surfing the book of revelations. Still dream sick I am lead by a dark robbed figure redolent of frankincense and pine, through a library of uncertain age. At the center of the bibliophilic wet dream, Adidas glad B-girls unfurl a scroll like double dutch and deep state secrets surprise like superfly, the secret future laid out M bison style. Dual moons and black star superman will steer our consensual reality like a 90s hiphop mixtape, a slab of superfunk splits and we truly become one nation under a groove

the sweetest treat in the world tastes like buttermilk and bleach, kundalini shot gun blast to the face of the god//ess, the serpent rope short circuits and strikes twice, the sea slashes across the milky white sands leaving deep gashes filled with salty former waves. Ride the lighting and try not to drown in the tears of the dying dragon

stuck in an escapist fantasy where we're at the sickest party, 808s and 909s pounding out primordial rhythms, rumps are shaking and were slide and rise like protozoa making a new life form, so much lust and surrender to dark passions and we suck at the madness in each strangers eye. Laser beams and strobe lights take snap shots of the bodies squirming and writhing against each other like a bucket of night-crawlers, each moment a picture of ecstatic lust and insanity, this is how Rome burns

thank you @miiel

I've covered the well worn path of luciferian nonsense about the unagi and strangers from planet Nibiru so I won't go over that again but... the devil was once an angel and we all have the capacity of being super sweetheart or a total asshole.

There is no accounting for taste. Who am i to judge what gets your motor running? I will be the first to admit that my fetish for clavicles and long necks is strange. My taste for old horror comics would certainly get me locked up south of the mason dixon line. The most important thing to remember is to live and let live. Unless you own a MAGA hat. That shit is as deranged as corpse fucking. What is your weird kink?

"chemical warfare" in the rubble of forgotten dreams, apocalyptic dream fiends suck the forgotten desires through rubber prewar techmology. Sweet dreams are made of these plastic fumes and asphalt vapors, the devils beat box blasts the forbidden scripture "there ain't no forties, and there ain't no blunts, I ain't had no ass in five years and eight months", thanks to my model for todays drawing, you are a rockstar❤❤❤

"Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather, Whiplash girl child in the dark Comes in bells, your servant, don't forsake him Strike, dear mistress, and cure his heart... " crackles out of the bakelite encased radio surrounded by damp concrete walls, he is on his knees on the sodden floor, mashing wet pallmall butts into his knees. The terrified grin erupts into a masque of pure pleasure when he tastes the whip