[Mantodea]'s photostream

Indecisive life convulsions wither and rot any hope of becoming translucent to the open minded fool of perception. Much like endless, meaningless words grant large sums of comfort in eras of confusion. I am life. This is it...there goes another ten years of liquid thunder and shaking pupils. What am I looking for. What are these tremors of visions and this burried sense of past encounters, linear thinking, splattering orgasms and fading colors, the gift of the artist's mind...or curse. Why do these last years of 'normality' in this prison have to be lived by those who seek no more than this. Define me, judge me, love me, fuck me, justify me, bore me, lift me, hold me, breath me, believe me, I clench this life because it is all I am supposed to know, yet I feel my finger's hold slipping, and my toes dipping into the frantic, bubbling, cold, twisting mass we as a people with similar tongue call Insanity...