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
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"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."

Vi veri universum vivus vici

When all these paths dissolve & we drop inwards into convalescence, we’ll rain everything into this emptiness & I’ll find you again for the first time, fingers touching like sunbeams that have traveled the universe to find it ends where it begins. I’m confronted by feelings familiar, a word too often granted sympathy & seek refuge in the bliss of distractions that pierce the mind & drain the heavy fluids which bloat it, crushing its lungs — killing it like a man choking to death on experience.

I live for the nights walking these streets. Simple toned colours pass me by in a richness of dull shades. The sound of vehicles, the same yet different from myself, drawing my attention every now & then — a second of interaction instantly splits into silence again.

The clouds of the sky consume the light from the city like an endlessly stretching moon as I coast along the surface of a sun. The streets have become more familiar, they grow disjointed & isolated, poxed with flakes of decay tearing across an otherwise serene calm. I’m one of those specks & I feel the familiar sense of fear & excitement as the world starts to close up around me more &  more with every step — large concrete & steel cage bars falling into place like a net sweeping up from its hiding-place in the leaves & dirt.

This place is filled with the locking suspicious eyes, with one another we refuse to cure our own disease. The city grasps me tightly in its fist, there’s no more feeling or sense of anything else. All of my options have developed into alleyways or one way streets that all look the same.  There’s nothing but forward — nothing except the sound of the tires spinning & holding frantically to the pavement & the feeling of impending consequence like being alive has become a sin.

It’s easy to lose track of direction, then space, then time, then yourself, not always in that order.

Searching for something new. Something new, something exciting — all so you can watch it from a distance & garnish your isolation with a feeling of accomplishment.

A populated area now, more intertwining streets, more bodies moving back & forth through them. I walk around the edges like a wolf — like a wolf around a camp fire, looking at the unfamiliar scene with wonder & curiosity.

So many people really emphasizes how alone you are.

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