vacant lot

when i'm older, this will be me.

vicious

this is my best friend, Sid.
people think his best friend is really Johnny, but no, it's really me.
we believe in anarchy, we support anarchy, we're definitely aren't materialistic, we can be pessimistic, for sure.
we like our coffees extra strong, our leather jackets extra heavy, our pants extra tight.
i make soup for him when he's sick, he buys me records when I'm PMSing

do you believe in time travel?

space age love song

needle in the hay

to some it may seem as just a simple, i love you. But this is more surreal than that, this kind of shit doesn't just happen overnight, it'll linger around, and then when it finally happens, it seriously happens, you're brain will ignite, explode & glitter might even fall from the sky, you'll never see anything as beautiful, it's even much more beautiful than world peace. This isn't something you'll see in Neighbours or even in Skins, you won't even hear anyone talk about it, unless they've really, truly, entirely experienced this phenomenal sensation. And when you have experienced it, there's nothing else really like it. Your heart explodes with the heavy amount of fluttering inside your stomach, which vibrates your entire ribcage. Your knees feel so weak, they're probably thinking that you've taken heroin, or something. Expressing your emotions, feelings, and whats going on in your twisted bitter mind will seem like Greek to you, it'll be impossible to describe what's happening.

But this isn't World War III or nuthin', this my friends is something you may only experience, possibly one or twice in your lifetime, this is: love. And I am more than 100% certain I have found my forever. Maybe even my eternity.

Darcy R, to infinity & beyond.

Anarchy, you fag

I'd find any excuse just to make a post,
anything will do.
But when it comes to writing it, I'm speechless.
I cannot express the words that were rambling & throwing themselves around in my head just a second ago.
if only i could get a grasp on my undivided consciousness, & put it into literature.

the only thing i really want right now is to get my license, so i can get into my shit ass of a car, drive with the windows down, & have Cody Chestnutt blaring, whilst having the warm wind in my face, ruining the very hairstyle I had spent approximately twenty minutes on.
And then finally arrive in Torquay, and camp overnight in a old tinned trailer.

Some day. Hopefully

I'm going to be so gay one day, that I'll paint my nails aqua, drape myself in silver velvet, with the words, Silver Palm Trees printed across my forehead & in the meantime I'll be shitting glitter in tune to Ride Like The Wind.
I may not seem like a world leader, but I am in fact the next soft porn party.
I'll live on the rich populated Mayday Rd, in the 29th apartment, with my friend, Edgar Murder III, and you will find us head banging to Nights In White Satin, with olive martinis drugged with date rape in our hands. He'll be wearing a charcoal fur coat, worth not even £5,000 because he's one rich motherfucker who pays his bills on time & drives in an old pizza delivery van.

But I don't have time for the rich & the famous.
I have a latex business to run for fuck's sake

yeah this is me, well? run

luuuunch

i thought it was Tuesday, guess not

I had an creative urge today.
whatever,
photos by me

mummy dearest

photo 1) RIP Steven Stone
photo 2) mother is the one that looks like Duckie from Pretty In Pink
photo 3 + 4 ) photo booth pictures with mother & Bindi

from within

Photos by Marc Paeps, you can find his work at:
trendhunter
Marc Paeps

religioNs

I remember the first time I saw this movie, it became an obsession. Then the graphic novel became a bible, a way of life, it became everything. Now two years on, it sits with the rest of my favourite books on my preferred shelf, which is exactly in the middle of the bookcase. It has everything from Audrey Hepburn to The Encyclopedia Of Human Behavior Volume II. I can be quite the classy fuck when it comes to books & shit.
But then again, who isn't?

virgin.

If I grow up to be as iconic as my good friend here, Richie Tenenbaum. I'd either:
A) Shit twice with excitement & die
B) Sit in the corner of my shitty, run down living room & somehow begin to feel the urge that life suddenly has meaning
Or C) Express to the world, that I am now finally fuckin' cool as hell, and I'll go to the nearest bar, it'll be called: Black Horses Shall Indulge In Cocaine, and I will wish that my brain could video record & announce to everyone that I can, in fact eat my own head.

But then again, I'll never be a Tenenbaum. Which means, I'll get a shit paying job at either VICE magazine, or even sell shitty paintings on the sidewalk.
But then again, people like paintings.