ghxsts bio picture


Welcome to my blog!

Hello my name is: Icicle Audacity. All I see are ghxsts. I'm the misguided stride for self improvement - a sadistic, futuristic machine. A hollow cold emitted through vibrant lights, it’s a warm as wool winter but I’ve got a chill I can’t shake. This is what I am & I think I’m fine in my own misguidance. My bones are frozen, my marrow has turned to ice - my body is just a body, a corpse without a head. I'm just a vessel & my brain has long been dead.

Dylan McAmmond
En Vogue Photography

"That's really the only thing that matters to me, is that I make art for a living. And if I make art for a living... I win."

i see something in nothingness if you could picture this

“I am the maniac, I am the fool – I found a monster in me when I lost my cool. It lives inside of me, eating whats in its way – put black spray paint on my windows during the day. I wanna spend time with it, I think I’m losing it. . . or I found it and I’m using it.”

Like rain-water running down the street, these days pool in strange and unseen places; I’m living my life like a beetle buzzing against the window pane. What became of you that makes you hover like smoke and move like a memory? Sometimes the wind is pushing and sometimes it pulls, but calm water is a curse without shores. You have a gaze like water recently disturbed, trembling and elastic with the ardor to be effortless. Every lake envies a river like silence envies sound, all because the circumference of earth fails to not offend.

I feel the world slow like an unwound clock – light stretched to become shadow. It’s the same pattern as always and I suffer the lack of the entropy: the distance between the bars and the cell expands and contracts like a struggling heart. The surface of time without the influence of willpower is smooth and infinite.

Light hangs lower in the sky, more like an ethereal mist than the tangible substance I’m used to clutching tightly in my fist and tugging at the horizon with. The sounds of home are precious and fleeting; snatches of cacophony, stretches of silence: against me they both are harmonious.

I’m supposed to long to leave here.

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