if any sense can be made?

Well, I don't know, guess we'll just have to wait and see if any sense can be made indeed. two months and back to miami, don't forget it... haunted pubs.. how profound..

tree paintings in the English pub..

haunted mansion party..

one pound ninety nine for these lovely ginja vision glasses, broke the same day i got 'em.
gangsta..

thanx to lektroluv, i am feeling the love

i'd say eden is quite centered today, wouldn't you, eden?

poetry...

in the trajectory of existence
replenished as i become exhausted,
altitude rush thought bridge bewilder crushing
nowhere nothing everywhere everything all around
surrounding streaming breathing like cathedral ceiling
ONE ONE tempo time signature breathing, no choice
but a freedom prisoner everywhere i go.

Locked into the dormant phase where no one cares nor do they know
I do not show extravagant signs of being a member of the dead alive.
No need to discuss this phenomena at all times, but to be at
peace in solitude, silence. Memoirs of a soul unknown, becoming
discovered by being alone. On the side, forgotten corner, taking too long,
they are rushing me. This is official, that i finally have gotten somewhere
where i'm supposed to be?

Just let me have my own energy, to battle the windchill from
friends and foes. My karma is good, I KNOW he'll listen
and shine down on my absent world. Endeavors can
be composed and sang next to other worldly melodies,
ominous and foreboding. I have become detached in
a specific sense of this word, subject to being the victimized
wise, feeling the glare of my brother's eyes.

Machine knitted weirdos, bottled spirit ciders and scythes
seething a seminar redundant, same is close to being same.
I don't know where I am today.

-Chelsea Bruno
January, 2008