Truth(at least the only way I know who to explain it)
I tell her, “these last five minutes with you have been the best five minutes I’ve spent with anyone in the last five years.” And every word of that was true. I mean, she opened her door holding a bottle of champagne in one hand and The Maltese Falcon and Blue Velvet DVD’s in the other. She was…
If everything was good and perfect and wonderful, what the fuck would there be to write, paint, or make music about? I’ve always found alienation, heartbreak, and spiritual destruction to be much more of a muse than perfect or almost perfect. You can’t know what good is until it’s been really bad.
I could fall in love with a cruel desert that kills without passion…
If you have a problem with what I write, my books, it’s your fucking problem then. I’ll never fucking apologize for my material and I’ll never try and understand where you’re coming from since you clearly have no interest in understanding where I’ve been.
"We don’t have to do anything, we don’t have to do anything lets just watch the leaves turning in the wind, say what you wanna say…we don’t have to go anywhere, we don’t have to go anywhere lets just sit and talk about the usual thing, I couldn’t move anyway…"
Still the best lyrics…
"Some bits of snow still hanging in the air, but that’s outside…take off your clothes and lie down over there, oh that’s just right…I sat by this window and watched for you, no you weren’t late…there was a thousand things I had to do, they can all wait…."
"I think Dominique might be the coolest chick in the world.
A total babe.
Which means nothing in reality.
All the monsters I’ve met in my life have come gift wrapped in gold or killer band shirts."
— Jaime King, “Blazed” by Jason Myers (via blind-diode)
"It’s your world now too. All this, everything. It’s all yours, and it’s a fabulous fucking world if you let it be fabulous to you."
— Kristen, Blazed by Jason Myers (via president-cellphone)
In life there are books that leave you raw, they can leave you cut up and left bare. These books are almost like someone heard the cries you screamed at all hours. Heard the disgust, happiness, anger, love, appreciation and fucking sadness of your voice. These kind of books are the ones that you hold close to your heart, the ones you remember. They make you feel.
Mr. Myers you’re right I’m fucking rad.
And so are you…. Thank you….dude.