ghxsts bio picture

FOOD FOR THOUGHT.

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
Facebook
En Vogue Photography
Printkind

"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."

The captain is out to lunch and the sailors have taken over the ship


Respect became a serpent – the master of each breath yet with every gift tightening its hold until the world turned the gray of ambition.  A fire runs through these veins, infection springing like sunrise from a wound that we’ve lost sight of. Answers without questions and predetermined outcomes coat the ground like snow. Out my window I hear connections; like an apparition taking familiar shape, like the taste of scent – it places emphasis on absence.

There’s something pressing in on me. I’m familiar with it, like a friend from the past who never grew up and expects you to be the same. I’ve let it in because I don’t have the heart to turn it away. It slowly blinds me to what’s important; it fills me with need. You can’t feel good about what you do if you can’t feel good. It’s always there now, perched in the corner of my soul watching like a voyeur,  enjoying how uncomfortable I am & my soul dances for it like a girl behind glass; when it’s done it  slumbers, but it won’t be out for long. I want to send it away, but its my only customer.

You surrender tomorrow with today, and we’ll keep stumbling like children lost in the darkness of their own home.

“The problem was you had to keep choosing between one evil or another, and no matter what you chose, they sliced a little bit more off you, until there was nothing left. At the age of 25 most people were finished. A whole god-damned nation of assholes driving automobiles, eating, having babies, doing everything in the worst way possible, like voting for the presidential candidates who reminded them most of themselves. I had no interests. I had no interest in anything. I had no idea how I was going to escape. At least the others had some taste for life. They seemed to understand something that I didn’t understand. Maybe I was lacking. It was possible. I often felt inferior. I just wanted to get away from them. But there was no place to go.”

Your email is never published or shared. Required fields are marked *

*

*