ooznozz - Hello Poetry

The rawness, the element of risk at the entrance to my anger… malleable as soft clay... Black curtains... never ending; mental state fractures and the pièce de résistance: unable to find a sense of comfort through the stillness - Step over its threshold, into my space where i have frayed angel hair (a tangled mess) from rebellious fingers of tumultuous running through it Yes, i get into the same bed each night trying to go to sleep, engaging in a thorough, exhaustive rethinking night after night. Thinking that if i look away, it might be gone by the time i look back Ambling onto this stage of even bigger drama, My soul is a battleground, DARKNESS, the chosen color of my odyssey... AND dialed up t’fail There’s a nagging sense that actions have no consequences and rules are being made up; a slumping trail mixes among unsettled footing on a ledge of well-stocked missed directions – There’s a flickering neon sign with its defective tubes, smelling funny and humming noise… Reminding me of the fact that there is no stirring narrative word – FUMFUH’d again / pulling the rug from under my feet, a flapping numb – brain think, as it is with most who write and then fall off the page by "ooznozz"

0

Sep 3, 2017

Sep 3, 2017 at 3:29 PM UTC

ooznozz

poem: The obscene, garish landscapes and conquering from the margins

The rawness, the element of risk at the entrance to my anger… malleable as soft clay... Black curtains... never ending; mental state fractures and the pièce de résistance: unable to find a sense of comfort through the stillness - Step over its threshold, into my space where i have frayed angel hair (a tangled mess) from rebellious fingers of tumultuous running through it Yes, i get into the same bed each night trying to go to sleep, engaging in a thorough, exhaustive rethinking night after night. Thinking that if i look away, it might be gone by the time i look back Ambling onto this stage of even bigger drama, My soul is a battleground, DARKNESS, the chosen color of my odyssey... AND dialed up t’fail There’s a nagging sense that actions have no consequences and rules are being made up; a slumping trail mixes among unsettled footing on a ledge of well-stocked missed directions – There’s a flickering neon sign with its defective tubes, smelling funny and humming noise… Reminding me of the fact that there is no stirring narrative word – FUMFUH’d again / pulling the rug from under my feet, a flapping numb – brain think, as it is with most who write and then fall off the page by "ooznozz"

11

Yellow streak right up the spine I am reviled by your architecture of aggression I can't laugh, can't turn 'round, and run from it, man Goddamit, something must've gone wrong How these whirlwinds of pressure whip and blister They are oh so terribly cruel. Yes; you blacken! And bully! Why bellow? I'm yellow This build up Is making me Blue... And I don't know whether or not I can weather or knot this storm anymore 'cause The forecast says, I'M BLOWIN' MY COOL! Where's the helping hand? Roaring through my head, “Survival such a silly whim…” Forgotten things remembered, these cobwebs make me squint Black curtains... never ending "looking down the cross", my skull beneath the skin rub it, now offer your death kiss to me Like a genie in a bottle make a wish - May the past "rest in peace"… Next thing you know, you'll take my thoughts away Unable to beg salvation from the empty skies… and what sanity is left has become my hideout Forgotten things remembered I go up into my hideout One last look at visions in my brain as I tiptoe through its darkness I've burned from a mental overload Live and die within my heart is always the quickest way out by "ooznozz"

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Aug 29, 2017

Aug 29, 2017 at 6:35 PM UTC

ooznozz

poem: DARKNESS, THE CHOSEN COLOR OF MY ODYSSEY...

Yellow streak right up the spine I am reviled by your architecture of aggression I can't laugh, can't turn 'round, and run from it, man Goddamit, something must've gone wrong How these whirlwinds of pressure whip and blister They are oh so terribly cruel. Yes; you blacken! And bully! Why bellow? I'm yellow This build up Is making me Blue... And I don't know whether or not I can weather or knot this storm anymore 'cause The forecast says, I'M BLOWIN' MY COOL! Where's the helping hand? Roaring through my head, “Survival such a silly whim…” Forgotten things remembered, these cobwebs make me squint Black curtains... never ending "looking down the cross", my skull beneath the skin rub it, now offer your death kiss to me Like a genie in a bottle make a wish - May the past "rest in peace"… Next thing you know, you'll take my thoughts away Unable to beg salvation from the empty skies… and what sanity is left has become my hideout Forgotten things remembered I go up into my hideout One last look at visions in my brain as I tiptoe through its darkness I've burned from a mental overload Live and die within my heart is always the quickest way out by "ooznozz"

38

In that moment, easily manipulated; yanked I am spinning It doesn't matter As I wedge myself between barely visible and “God, I’m cursed!” No restoration... when forces tear loose from their axis And then I was reminded, "But did they inject and inspect every single part of you?" Whirling up and swirling blackness Stepping over a threshold Tumbling me over My heart maneuvers through a block of ice, Some kind of arctic daydream Strangling, a wearied me Choking whatever warmth I had left within awakening the nightmare And far into my space I go My flickering space Jostled by pulsing fingers of tumultuous And then I was reminded, "But did they inject and inspect every single part of you?" Thus I am dark The end note Now Pouring out all things without destination And I barely stir… Then Snap, crackle n pop Out at its end Where there is nothing else I was nuthin’ more The coup de grâce A slave of this - S W I R L I N G Lunacy – A prisoner of this cartoon that’s me, Shackled too... To dark cloud Demons - No doubt! And then I remembered that they injected and inspected every single part of me...

0

Aug 25, 2017

Aug 25, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC

ooznozz

Jus’ **** wrong stuff/ And my deathblow to end any possibility

In that moment, easily manipulated; yanked I am spinning It doesn't matter As I wedge myself between barely visible and “God, I’m cursed!” No restoration... when forces tear loose from their axis And then I was reminded, "But did they inject and inspect every single part of you?" Whirling up and swirling blackness Stepping over a threshold Tumbling me over My heart maneuvers through a block of ice, Some kind of arctic daydream Strangling, a wearied me Choking whatever warmth I had left within awakening the nightmare And far into my space I go My flickering space Jostled by pulsing fingers of tumultuous And then I was reminded, "But did they inject and inspect every single part of you?" Thus I am dark The end note Now Pouring out all things without destination And I barely stir… Then Snap, crackle n pop Out at its end Where there is nothing else I was nuthin’ more The coup de grâce A slave of this - S W I R L I N G Lunacy – A prisoner of this cartoon that’s me, Shackled too... To dark cloud Demons - No doubt! And then I remembered that they injected and inspected every single part of me...

40

Newspapers cloak only to wrap Th' Truth Propaganda-acid is droppin’ our youth It’s easy to see; like pullin’ a tooth No one's in line at the ballot booth Give ill wind time to blow, the rooster to crow There’s a numbing down with the control on slow Plug my ears jus’ don’t say it isn’t so America’s asleep… and America’s snoring If I was Th' Lone Ranger hidin' behind a mask There wouldn't be any danger to the questions I ask Howza ‘bout genocide, dispossession and warfare… a hearty Godspeed? Whatcha say Pocahontas; trade in your feathers n beads, All for an electric blanket and a packet of reservation misdeeds “You bet”, that's what she said while she-smoke-um-peace-pipe O paraquat laced stems n seeds And her chronic cough resembles America snoring If I were a world leader, I would not mislead Th' World I would not miss anything. Miss Amerika knows that it's only a pageant, and that it's only a show isn’t any film in the camera - Then why are we posing this ** No, no, no, Miss Amerika knows… She’s a man infests destiny *** slave with competition ribbons & bows Physical restraint, our lady Liberty reaps all that she sows And her breathy voice resembles America snoring You remember Houdini, not a shackle could hold Cut a trapdoor into heaven t’escape growin' old Guess he just couldn't hack it, bundled up fo' the cold Double-breasted straight-jacket, French handcuffs of gold Freedoms breath got magically cup’d with an airtight stranglehold With much sleight o hand plus reckless feats o daring He conjured up Camelot snoring like Merlin did, before disappearing If I had me a needle for every bubble I popped Bind 'em all like one; you would hear those pins drop… Like a gunshot, like a shot – An explosion of societal erosion Freedoms and privileges dissolve in the roaring circuitry that flows Far within the bald eagle’s skull there’s a thing of Grand Guignol excess, ‘round n ‘round it goes Hey pilgrim, what ‘bout that promise of angel wings & a new shiny halo? It sounds an awful like America blew it ‘cause of the snoring Gol **** and with a revisionist history twist It all (AMERICA th' beooteeffool) can be told (over n over) Until we’re unwittingly sold, And certainly nobody will be particularly ****** A fire side chat ‘bout our lunacy embraces the mantra “Oh, say, can you see…” While I pledge allegiance to everything but thee Gotta lay in the bed made for the brave and the so-called free America is (fill in your favorite expletive) snoring I hear, yes I hear America snoring, snoring - America’s asleep… by "ooznozz"

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Aug 25, 2017

Aug 25, 2017 at 9:03 AM UTC

ooznozz

poem: AMERICA TH' BEOOTEEFFOOL

Newspapers cloak only to wrap Th' Truth Propaganda-acid is droppin’ our youth It’s easy to see; like pullin’ a tooth No one's in line at the ballot booth Give ill wind time to blow, the rooster to crow There’s a numbing down with the control on slow Plug my ears jus’ don’t say it isn’t so America’s asleep… and America’s snoring If I was Th' Lone Ranger hidin' behind a mask There wouldn't be any danger to the questions I ask Howza ‘bout genocide, dispossession and warfare… a hearty Godspeed? Whatcha say Pocahontas; trade in your feathers n beads, All for an electric blanket and a packet of reservation misdeeds “You bet”, that's what she said while she-smoke-um-peace-pipe O paraquat laced stems n seeds And her chronic cough resembles America snoring If I were a world leader, I would not mislead Th' World I would not miss anything. Miss Amerika knows that it's only a pageant, and that it's only a show isn’t any film in the camera - Then why are we posing this ** No, no, no, Miss Amerika knows… She’s a man infests destiny *** slave with competition ribbons & bows Physical restraint, our lady Liberty reaps all that she sows And her breathy voice resembles America snoring You remember Houdini, not a shackle could hold Cut a trapdoor into heaven t’escape growin' old Guess he just couldn't hack it, bundled up fo' the cold Double-breasted straight-jacket, French handcuffs of gold Freedoms breath got magically cup’d with an airtight stranglehold With much sleight o hand plus reckless feats o daring He conjured up Camelot snoring like Merlin did, before disappearing If I had me a needle for every bubble I popped Bind 'em all like one; you would hear those pins drop… Like a gunshot, like a shot – An explosion of societal erosion Freedoms and privileges dissolve in the roaring circuitry that flows Far within the bald eagle’s skull there’s a thing of Grand Guignol excess, ‘round n ‘round it goes Hey pilgrim, what ‘bout that promise of angel wings & a new shiny halo? It sounds an awful like America blew it ‘cause of the snoring Gol **** and with a revisionist history twist It all (AMERICA th' beooteeffool) can be told (over n over) Until we’re unwittingly sold, And certainly nobody will be particularly ****** A fire side chat ‘bout our lunacy embraces the mantra “Oh, say, can you see…” While I pledge allegiance to everything but thee Gotta lay in the bed made for the brave and the so-called free America is (fill in your favorite expletive) snoring I hear, yes I hear America snoring, snoring - America’s asleep… by "ooznozz"

49

Overall verbal smack down view of the philosophy - Do not refer to the shade of a person to describe someone. That’s just plain mean. No, no, no… You identify a person by the color of their core which should not be a patina; a surface sheen. It’s a beautiful glistening of all the prism colors within “the light” at ones core that rules – if you don’t project this amazing color wheel aura then the bleak and dark center reveals you to be the fool. by "ooznozz"

0

Aug 24, 2017

Aug 24, 2017 at 8:35 AM UTC

ooznozz

JEEBUS H. XRISTAN, OHGAWD!

Overall verbal smack down view of the philosophy - Do not refer to the shade of a person to describe someone. That’s just plain mean. No, no, no… You identify a person by the color of their core which should not be a patina; a surface sheen. It’s a beautiful glistening of all the prism colors within “the light” at ones core that rules – if you don’t project this amazing color wheel aura then the bleak and dark center reveals you to be the fool. by "ooznozz"

3

Is being alone antisocial? When I start to feel uncomfortable, I take a deep breath and I try to take the pressure off myself, and let my heart and thoughts control these difficult moments. I’ve learned more about myself than I ever did when surrounded by others - Insincere smiles and its relationship to the world around it creates erosion of civil life and private dignity... No one plans to be alone. I certainly didn’t. There are some days when I’m lonely and I cry, but with each day that passes, I’m learning I can do things by myself. But when I do venture outside to see the world, I know that I can do it on my own and NOT worry ‘bout anyone sharking into my waters. by "ooznozz"

0

Aug 22, 2017

Aug 22, 2017 at 12:13 PM UTC

ooznozz

prose: ~~~~^~~~(Marooned)~~~~no man is an island

Is being alone antisocial? When I start to feel uncomfortable, I take a deep breath and I try to take the pressure off myself, and let my heart and thoughts control these difficult moments. I’ve learned more about myself than I ever did when surrounded by others - Insincere smiles and its relationship to the world around it creates erosion of civil life and private dignity... No one plans to be alone. I certainly didn’t. There are some days when I’m lonely and I cry, but with each day that passes, I’m learning I can do things by myself. But when I do venture outside to see the world, I know that I can do it on my own and NOT worry ‘bout anyone sharking into my waters. by "ooznozz"

11

Snow on the mountain top nose no course of action An inhale with nuance assures such satisfaction While blowback will cancel one an’ alls reaction by "ooznozz"

0

Aug 21, 2017

Aug 21, 2017 at 7:21 AM UTC

ooznozz

poem: Meth’d up Confusion

Snow on the mountain top nose no course of action An inhale with nuance assures such satisfaction While blowback will cancel one an’ alls reaction by "ooznozz"

4

Ghostly scars searching; murky and lively waters provide a forceful and ill advised navigable pull of a wave. The seas play tug-of-war with me and this rueful rolling mix of waves, as ill-tempered breezes under a sailor’s dead moon illuminates in silence the cold ships that are still afloat on bludgeoning white caps of yesteryear. This old pirate moon hangs freely while singing ‘bout our lord, and death –shapeless now and not conforming, it sails in the black beauty of space-time reaching out with its waspishly fingers attempting to eat a foray of phantom ships in the blackish night. Churning old waves, it stirs the gulls in flight, which are quietly viewed from the mast of those ghost ships that once plied the seas, searching still, and seeking those turbulent clouds that resemble an old sailor in the dizzying stillness among liquid moonbeams and their razor-like glow; “Oh, the shark, Babe, she has such teeth, dear / and it shows Those pearly whites”… Your whispered messages are a potent voice. And every splash sounds like applause among the jagged rocks along my imagination’s coastline... How deathly afraid was i now of your hurtful waves? Flowing outward with an undulating motion, a forceful agitation- Revealing my reflection, now anchored to this mournful nightlight, Illuminating the "uh-oh's" swimming across my cold sailor’s trembling mouth- by "ooznozz"

0

Aug 17, 2017

Aug 17, 2017 at 8:04 PM UTC

ooznozz

poem: THE SHIP OF STATE a HAND-PICKED METAPHOR

Ghostly scars searching; murky and lively waters provide a forceful and ill advised navigable pull of a wave. The seas play tug-of-war with me and this rueful rolling mix of waves, as ill-tempered breezes under a sailor’s dead moon illuminates in silence the cold ships that are still afloat on bludgeoning white caps of yesteryear. This old pirate moon hangs freely while singing ‘bout our lord, and death –shapeless now and not conforming, it sails in the black beauty of space-time reaching out with its waspishly fingers attempting to eat a foray of phantom ships in the blackish night. Churning old waves, it stirs the gulls in flight, which are quietly viewed from the mast of those ghost ships that once plied the seas, searching still, and seeking those turbulent clouds that resemble an old sailor in the dizzying stillness among liquid moonbeams and their razor-like glow; “Oh, the shark, Babe, she has such teeth, dear / and it shows Those pearly whites”… Your whispered messages are a potent voice. And every splash sounds like applause among the jagged rocks along my imagination’s coastline... How deathly afraid was i now of your hurtful waves? Flowing outward with an undulating motion, a forceful agitation- Revealing my reflection, now anchored to this mournful nightlight, Illuminating the "uh-oh's" swimming across my cold sailor’s trembling mouth- by "ooznozz"

15

When reading Wm. Burroughs i fall virtually invisible while moonbeams and razor blades take a fresh scalp, mine. Tearing loose from his torn pages and the cracked book spine of this person, i still hear words echoing, "Ahh, the dice cannot read their own spots" ---------------- “Erosion”, forget-me-not…“Erosion”, When i **** UP, It’s a true 10 on a 10 scale. Maybe even a…Last gasp?!? My inner voice spoke softly ‘bout loud issues "Stay an inch or two outta kicking distance”… And “take note of the sanity lost.” Gah, yes, i know. It’s time to go down in the basement of my mind. It is damp and musty, poorly lit, a very low ceiling and in places very dark. It is an underground space and what you see is very much like what you’d see when a large rock is lifted up off a damp floor – ugly basement-like Things that are scurrying ‘bout. Hey jus’ maybe this is my Naked Luncheonette imagination working overtime and thinking, “Hmm, whatever” – Bottom-line; this is the place i wanna be at... Said the ugly basement-like Thing… ”THE CRAP YOU ARE ABOUT TO STEP INTO AT THE NAKED LUNCHEONETTE IS DEDICATED TO ALL THOSE POETS WHO…UNDERSTAND ME AND MISUNDERSTAND ME AS WELL AS, TO ALL THE ‘HEELS’, WHO WOULD JUST LOVE TO STAND ON ME” STEP HERE ——> AND THEN THERE.. With skin in the game @ THE NAKED LUNCHEONETTE i’m poking ‘round in the archaeological digs of a used and improbably mind. Reaching out, grabbing small handfuls of "what was once"... Fumbling among the skipped parts & then finding that my tongue is the enemy, of my well executed smarts…? ---------------- i throw the dice, built from the bones (i cling onto ‘em like a life raft) of my once-upon-a-time friends. All are gone, all but one. The one on each die that tumbles away from me i keep on lookin' away when i stare down at ‘em… screaming SNAKE EYES in frustration i know not to mess with the snake eyes when flesh circulates as payment. ---------------- “Echo, tears, embodiment” says the angel as i fall upon my knees by 'ooznozz"

0

Aug 17, 2017

Aug 17, 2017 at 10:44 AM UTC

ooznozz

poem: Jus’ maybe my brain will be turned to tapioca

When reading Wm. Burroughs i fall virtually invisible while moonbeams and razor blades take a fresh scalp, mine. Tearing loose from his torn pages and the cracked book spine of this person, i still hear words echoing, "Ahh, the dice cannot read their own spots" ---------------- “Erosion”, forget-me-not…“Erosion”, When i **** UP, It’s a true 10 on a 10 scale. Maybe even a…Last gasp?!? My inner voice spoke softly ‘bout loud issues "Stay an inch or two outta kicking distance”… And “take note of the sanity lost.” Gah, yes, i know. It’s time to go down in the basement of my mind. It is damp and musty, poorly lit, a very low ceiling and in places very dark. It is an underground space and what you see is very much like what you’d see when a large rock is lifted up off a damp floor – ugly basement-like Things that are scurrying ‘bout. Hey jus’ maybe this is my Naked Luncheonette imagination working overtime and thinking, “Hmm, whatever” – Bottom-line; this is the place i wanna be at... Said the ugly basement-like Thing… ”THE CRAP YOU ARE ABOUT TO STEP INTO AT THE NAKED LUNCHEONETTE IS DEDICATED TO ALL THOSE POETS WHO…UNDERSTAND ME AND MISUNDERSTAND ME AS WELL AS, TO ALL THE ‘HEELS’, WHO WOULD JUST LOVE TO STAND ON ME” STEP HERE ——> AND THEN THERE.. With skin in the game @ THE NAKED LUNCHEONETTE i’m poking ‘round in the archaeological digs of a used and improbably mind. Reaching out, grabbing small handfuls of "what was once"... Fumbling among the skipped parts & then finding that my tongue is the enemy, of my well executed smarts…? ---------------- i throw the dice, built from the bones (i cling onto ‘em like a life raft) of my once-upon-a-time friends. All are gone, all but one. The one on each die that tumbles away from me i keep on lookin' away when i stare down at ‘em… screaming SNAKE EYES in frustration i know not to mess with the snake eyes when flesh circulates as payment. ---------------- “Echo, tears, embodiment” says the angel as i fall upon my knees by 'ooznozz"

29

Th’ blackassboo smile comes easily off this way-out hardened jazznik, and with it a color palette collage of a cool cat stretching out when percolating his musician’s lips. There’s nimbleness with a dash of a braggarts swagger… Something that artists of the beat generation popularized. Craving for some wall breaking, door busting, And genre shaping daddy-o jazz poems of jocularity, Titillation with wistful windblown musical notes for an ear massage. Sounds come in colors between the chants of encore in the flickering space between these fantastical moments with me, Exhilaration urges adventure from the magic that follows. Bop-soul imagery and a romantic assemblage of what is hip... An impassioned audacity distinguishes itself in the rousing unapologetic antiestablishment zeal of me; reciting off - Some cool verse. Finger snapping with both crackle n pop madness for the new hot. (I need to) go, Go, GO, and explore this incarnation and birth of boplcity -The jazz man's skills aren’t influenced by vagaries of faith… Dear JAZZ ANGELS on uploaded clouds of notes floating and changing shape. PERFECT. Unbelievable Resonate the heavily infused bop MUSIC n POETRY molecule with a Lend Me Your Ear skin in the game, Arise relaxed tempos and lighter tones, a total higher consciousness where countless hours of the best jazz music 'round derives a perceived feeling from this **** mindfuck content. A blessing fer sure. I’m not religious but this is god speaking through music. There’s a thumbs up, with multiple stars flying out the tips. Smiling, playing, simply slammin' an intensity of full attention… And with it comes a common pulse with a common purpose what we have is a peeling off of flawlessness, carefree yet with a deep reverence for the musicality’s soul. I communicate with the laid-back higher forces in this universe; I like the snap on it. Dazzling intelligence and a force that transcends – To deliver such a great sound full of love, emotion, and beyond. Sounds crest into jammin’ hard driving improv, which shapes th’ musical poetic on intertwined waves of the highest fidelity... O bloated jazz blues and decibels dance t'ballyhoo'd be-bop flung, While lighting up a music note, on th’ purest candle, & 'morrow's serendipity will help us see that heavenly ladders rung. This quenches the thirsty, cleaning my atmosphere; (A) Beautiful losers timelessness, coupled with an “I hear ya” manifesto sound trip o' crazy kewl elegance! Music is the best! by "ooznozz"

0

Aug 16, 2017

Aug 16, 2017 at 5:07 PM UTC

ooznozz

poem: A (Powerful Spiritual) FLASHBACK of lyrical flowers

Th’ blackassboo smile comes easily off this way-out hardened jazznik, and with it a color palette collage of a cool cat stretching out when percolating his musician’s lips. There’s nimbleness with a dash of a braggarts swagger… Something that artists of the beat generation popularized. Craving for some wall breaking, door busting, And genre shaping daddy-o jazz poems of jocularity, Titillation with wistful windblown musical notes for an ear massage. Sounds come in colors between the chants of encore in the flickering space between these fantastical moments with me, Exhilaration urges adventure from the magic that follows. Bop-soul imagery and a romantic assemblage of what is hip... An impassioned audacity distinguishes itself in the rousing unapologetic antiestablishment zeal of me; reciting off - Some cool verse. Finger snapping with both crackle n pop madness for the new hot. (I need to) go, Go, GO, and explore this incarnation and birth of boplcity -The jazz man's skills aren’t influenced by vagaries of faith… Dear JAZZ ANGELS on uploaded clouds of notes floating and changing shape. PERFECT. Unbelievable Resonate the heavily infused bop MUSIC n POETRY molecule with a Lend Me Your Ear skin in the game, Arise relaxed tempos and lighter tones, a total higher consciousness where countless hours of the best jazz music 'round derives a perceived feeling from this **** mindfuck content. A blessing fer sure. I’m not religious but this is god speaking through music. There’s a thumbs up, with multiple stars flying out the tips. Smiling, playing, simply slammin' an intensity of full attention… And with it comes a common pulse with a common purpose what we have is a peeling off of flawlessness, carefree yet with a deep reverence for the musicality’s soul. I communicate with the laid-back higher forces in this universe; I like the snap on it. Dazzling intelligence and a force that transcends – To deliver such a great sound full of love, emotion, and beyond. Sounds crest into jammin’ hard driving improv, which shapes th’ musical poetic on intertwined waves of the highest fidelity... O bloated jazz blues and decibels dance t'ballyhoo'd be-bop flung, While lighting up a music note, on th’ purest candle, & 'morrow's serendipity will help us see that heavenly ladders rung. This quenches the thirsty, cleaning my atmosphere; (A) Beautiful losers timelessness, coupled with an “I hear ya” manifesto sound trip o' crazy kewl elegance! Music is the best! by "ooznozz"

30