u r celebrated u r revered by him
Throwing babies out with the bathwater is so MMXXI. This is the future present tense, bloated with tension. The MMXXII for you and me.
there could b an encyclopedia written about u and I would still not assume anything
close ur eyes untie ur thoughts separate ur current anxieties from the stillness u know u r capable of inhale deeply breathe in the stink of fall warmth kicking summer heat from the champ’s chair this should not feel like a pushed button but it does it’s a floorboard rusted nail in ur pincushion face it is ur way 2 violence a singular passage in2 the relentless flash-floods of violations u survived dwelling as cuts penetrating each layer of ur composure all paths lead 2 this u think the straightest line makes it all b over faster there r not these r the ways big thumbs dig in2 ur head peel back holes making wells free of obstructions 4 those hands 2 pull damage 4ward burying fingers past the thumbs 1st impression in ur calm a calm that was urs b4 being forced 2 surface a u that fully rediscovers u a self-constructed u with designs 2 force u out the real u the victim 1 in search of just retaliation that stays in its home within the socially tangible u u need 2 nourish this self feed it the requirements 2 actualize all of ur destructively manic facets 2 let all of u come out
our integrity bled out on the battlefield
then it was drowned in ejaculate
stay away from me
sure this is a dialogue a conversation as robust as residual trace semen slapped on a wall by an elated cumpony fuckboi with shoddy aim after rhythmically pulling out upon ejaculation less human but wholely human but i guess all of our standards lower after we make such crass domestic leaps depreciating the shared values all mutual contributions
they load up their weapons & assertion 2 march in ur bedroom @ nite & will kill u because they can do it without consequence or accountability
1 beat 4 each movement 4 each moment 4 each fallacy 4 each grace
This is a meal carefully prepared for your ears, so sit at our table & feast, feast, feast.
Collect yourself, it’s 2021, you’ve been indoors for most of the year, humping pillows and hand fucking yourself into an enraged coma. You’re thirsty, you’re tired and you’re wondering how to vanquish the ignorant who deny science and think a vaccine is a bad thing. Well, here’s a mixtape for you.
updates blog posts and mixtapes
iv. survived by BRDy — 2022
Okay, close your eyes, now imagine your hot little pubis, thrusting forward, back and now gyrate, rotate. Good, picture your pelvis lubricated in the sweat awe of its motions synchronous to a downbeat that recalls those puberty visions you had when you were first discovering your genitals. Go back to the moment you first ejaculated and put the nostalgia of orgasm into each step of every beat that moves you. That is precisely why this mix exists, to remind you of the cum-confused little you in awe of yourself and your body, how it can move and respond to new pleasures.
Have you ever wanted a playlist that included a bunch of weird songs about rolling on the ground like a potato, songs about fisting and songs about overcoming your own fragmented environments and predilections towards pain? Well holy heck, here’s your mix you Impervious Candy-Ass Heathen you.
Cover songs by various artists over the years. I like covers that re-interpret the original within the aesthetic cannon of the artists covering the songs, not just a karaoke cover version.
We’re living in difficult extremely times. Some of us like music that mirrors the climate. We reject the apathy of pop, because our escapism is in not escaping, but living within the mood.
These are songs about love that are intended to be soulful ballads, pledging undying fealty or are about loss. However, they’re either pervy, creepy or they’re about troubling obsessions.
More 90’s Alternative, because, to paraphrase Billy Corgan, “we’re all wallowing in the same mud.”
EVERYTHING IS FINE.
THIS IS FINE.
It’s the Apocalypso! Apocal-disco, we’re all doing it.
This is Fine
Think of this mix entitled, “Vapid & Drug-Addled Hair Metal” like it’s a montage in a documentary about the excess of the 80’s Hard Rock and Metal music scene. Or, like a portrait of a tupperware full of cocaine.
i want 2 b a flower blooming & bleeding rainbows
after i live as thoroughly as the avatar of a cultural veto