pedophile bate and then some…

I’ll keep it so real with you, a singing kid annoys me. And after some short personal analysis, I think it’s because I forever pulped any epiphany suggesting that I in fact couldn’t sing. See my ears started getting these crazy ideas back in the early 2000s that my vocal chords had somehow become the strongest part of my body. I blame this all on Britney Spears, whose lucky saccharine harmonies had me thinking i could belt out national anthems on malnutritioned lungs. Bitch. So mini Whitneys, pint sized Aguileras…yeah they don’t do it for me. I envy children who can outgame adults, especially when it comes to their lifelong dreams.
Now dancing. That’s my sport. Shorty up top can have all of Sesame Street hollering her name, but I’m not phased…Oh god, I just realized I’m talking smack about a fifth grader in a pink skirt. Sigh. Britney, this is all your fault.

like we always do at this time…

Good lord it’s been a minute. I guess to keep things real, yet under-detailed – I needed a timeout. Why? To learn how to be selfish. I went through some things, cried through some things, screamed through some things, and ultimately learned how to get over some things. But I’ll leave that all with her, Alluress. Sometimes a blog, sometimes a journal entry, more so a frustrated piece of paper left crumbled in the corner. What can I say, she needed her privacy. And more so needed to come back to Earth instead of just buzzing around in space. I know this sounds like a nostalgic Sasha Fierce speaking, but nonetheless it’s the truth. However, the aphorism says: “distance makes the heart grow fonder” and shit am I ready to blog on TinS again. Ready to dump hot sauce all over normal social commentary and mush it right into your face. Yum. Don’t test me.

So I’m back my beauties and ready to prove it. Still charmingly weird. Still oddly nubile. And still…trace. So get with it or get lost.

oh!! and what do you think of the new layout?? i paid fucking $15 just to adjust the html on this bitch. so strain the negatives out yo mouth!

ahh, it’s good to be home.

psssssssst.

im coming back. i promise. there’s reason as to why ive been nonexistent, but 3:01 am is not the time to do it. but i can’t treat you the way britney, the clipse, and michael have done me in the past…those bitches took my fanmanship (a word?) for granted. but we’re not gonna play that here at TinS. NOPE.

09 revamp coming pronto.

09 meaning third week of january.

pronto meaning !

revamp meaning stunna status.

i love you. i do.

see you soon!!!!!

THE SPACE BETWEEN

I say this is some pretty efficient artwork, considering the fact that no one purchases singles from record stores. Did anyone ever do that after Napster?

3 MORE DAYS…

till I burst.

SURE DON’T TASTE LIKE GUMBO

Have you seen Gummo? No, not just this scene from Belly.

 

There’s way too much sanity in that clip. Yeah, sanity. So I’ve realized this past week that so many blacks and browns know OF this movie, but have yet to experience it. By the way, view would have been beyond inappropriate to use. My white boys will feel me on this.

I could end this post now with just one sentence. Gummo is birthed from the same creator as Kids, Harmony Korine. But what can I say, I like to write.

The film opens with a sullen introduction of Xenia, Ohio, a small town that was tackled by a tornado during the early 70s. The next 90 minutes follow several main characters, youngns fenced in monotony, who thrive off of nihilism and butchery. Glazed over are also vignettes of random townsfolk infected with amoral past times due to uniformed boredom. A plot is barely existent, but that’s the magic in Gummo. Ultimately, there’s no one to root for. No hero. No villain. Just lives lost in a barren reality. This was the first film where I ever felt as if I were intruding on the characters. I purposely distracted myself at times to detach myself from the insanity. It was that serious. I’m not even sure what to think of someone who can watch experience this twice. But at the same time, I have to own this film. And you do too.

FYI: Gummo was one of the Marx Brothers. You already know…

WE ARE NOT THE SAME I AM A MARTIAN

[!] title via cajus

lmfao

TEXTUAL INTERCOURSE

 

I love safe sex, but text sex just gets on my nerves. Especially when a man is bold enough to undress you with his keypad, but too demure to unbutton your cardigan. The twins don’t know how to text!! Live demos ONLY!

KEEP IT FUNKY

Lost in the river.

I watch my tears slide down his chest. Picking up speed as they meet his sweat. I can’t fight them, but as my toes curl, I dry my eyes.

It’s been years.

We promised to end this, to tie the laces tighter, to keep the grip stronger… but we both love breaking our word. He’s fucking me now. Hoping to kill every emotion left inside of me…us. I mouth out ‘I love you’ and he tells me to stop. Stop? That would be like fighting the flow of a river. Wrestling waves as they crash. We can admit we never saw this coming, but can we admit we never see this leaving? It’s beyond the worlds of wrong and right. It’s beyond him and shamefully it’s beyond me as well.

I ask when he plans to stop. His lips stay sealed, but the answer still slips. Never. We stare at each other, wondering how the lust melted into love, the love into obsession. How the hell we lost control of something that started off so simple. So damn simple. And now it’s too late. I kiss him goodbye…goodbyes. Only to end up here again. Flat on my back, gripping his arms. Lost in the river.