O' WORN ASPHALT

The Moon is in synchronous rotation with the Earth—always showing the face. Art is Holy because it is associative and thereby demonstrates our interconnectedness. Art is Communion.

We are entitled to our labor but not the fruits of our labor—be free. Noise punk. That old seashell.

AAHHH—reclaim punk from good-timey retro types and macho conformists. O’ Natural Satellite. We’re all so meta---. All this metal. Luuna.

DIY. Pure art force. The Moon is the same size in sky as the Sun. Witchy space inside. Chest cavity fire. Pulling up the tides—the oceans reach up to Moona. Sex is a meaty flower. A constant offering. The rates are not constant. Mona.

Dark Maria (seas) make your face. Come at me like a radio. (Fugazi: fucked up, got ambushed, zipped in.) There is an old man (in dreams) with his back against mine leaning-pushing-moaning-drooling but who is this stranger bossing at my back? He's like...wacked the fuck out. 

The Moon reminds us: Soul.

The Red Mother. The Red Tent. Art is Holy because it is associative and thereby reflects the experience of our interconnectedness. Art is communion.

Fuck careerism—the laborNow is the fruits—be free.

No career at the end of desire.

Art Holy Communionananda.

Wikipedia: “The Moon has an exceptionally low albedo, giving it a reflectance that is slightly brighter than that of worn asphalt. Despite this, it is the brightest object in the sky after the Sun.”