DustCollectors

æ boat in æ boat in æ boat in æ boat in æ boat in æ boat in æ boat in æ boat in æ boat in æ boat in æ boat in æ boat in æ boat...

ænd as we had no choice in the matter we board stars and bow only to have a more graceful sway as plug is pulled from port...

retro specs of dusts...inclined to look behind...we study the past and plow forward from the now to the future...

our vessel is our tabernacle...amour plated welcome barnacles and belated birthdays...

turn, shift, shun sun, praise the moon, verse your vices return soon...spinal flux, you'll feel it in your head

and from that bow an enantiomorphic figure emerges in the distance ... unrecognizable from the surrounding blooms of beauty...

Stripped charred and shattered the deck slowly decays down to the belly...life flourishes and we sink...

♫ænd then and only then do we see our mirror...legless and no longer able to run...we retreat with releif into the soil ... smiling at the still winds of the doldrums...

the boat sinks just to find our selves in another boat...

immorrtal yet stuck in a cell

♪♫ a dream to sail away...

♪♫ ænd wave goodbye to my body one day...

♫ from off the dock...

♪ we laugh ænd drop...

♪♪ our boulders off shoulders...

♫ just to..watch..them..roll..away...

maybe when the family can finally agree on something...

the maskures family

pony poop pots made on the potty

oh my gosh this guy has been in the bathroom for a long time...what could he be possibly doing in there?

welp...skulmas and his mischievous ways have prevailed again except this time hes...
making pots out of clay cut with pony poop...

lets just say that this shit stanks...

but in an effort to combine multiple methods of meditation we figured where else would anyone want to throw pots...except the bathroom...

i guess we figured the shit smell would be no match for the concentration acheived during this pottery session...and on top of that surrounded by all that industrial chemical clean pretty porcelain...a different approach to Nirvana...

ehh...the shit smell might have been the victor in this match...

either way take the advice of the calender in the background...

MAKE SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL TODAY!

even if its made out of shit...

peep the power of the portal...

portal toilets

and a friendly skul while your at it...

skulmas fluxkures

an intervention...half way through the full circle

sp0illing, unfurling, creating through accidental living, as our vessels transverse this reality
our flesh takes a toll from the continuous unavoidable erosion of time...

a blank slate for the manifest of your choosing...

these 180 sheets of paper lived under my arm for a week...traveling to several different living quarters of several different thaumaturge dwellings...

painting, drawing, spilling, sopping up, doodles, poetry story telling mask making ensued...

an all encompassing mental relinquishment in an effort to transmute...and bring life to these blank pieces of paper that many trees were sacrificed for...

after such...my vessel was too week and was consumed by these sheets...in which eventually to my surprise an extra layer of skin had grown over mine, made of these sheets...

my only defense was to instruct some of my peers to exp0ose these sheet to the balance and bring the sheets harm...

so after arming themselves with water balloons filled with inks and acryilic paint...and strapping sponges with rubber bands dipped in paint to their fists the abuse to my epidermis was unleashed in an effort to release my vessel from the confines of these sheets (unfortunatly no photographed was obtained of this new flesh we once dawned)

bu7t afte3r4 my me3at p0u7p0p0e3t w2as fr4e3e3 the3 she3e3ts fo9u7nd the3mse3lve3s u7nable3 to9 su7r4vi8ve3 w2i8th o9u7r4 a ho9st...

w2e3 str4u7ck a de3al that e3ve3ni8ng...

ænd through the sleepless course of bewildered alchemical construction ...

during the wee hours of the morning a different form of life was birthdayed...

soon we may re-birth all the same

frozen frequencies

also...just in-case your interested in the future...

gas mask?

oh ♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫♫Ü♫♫♫♫ænd of course...

its always about the love...

check ya colony ... life is strictly about your hive ... the people places and things you surround yourself with are what define you ...

keep reachin up...

reechups

for them...

raisewhenberrywriths

art that nor thou? a thau-maturge?

why do we fight the urge...

to reflect all things and to obsorb is the human condition...the hights of agreement between you and your surroundings...the mother...earth...she lets you live...but expects you to give...

not just your contribution art, past time, role played but she demands you to play it out...

our we not all working for the same thing?

prosperity?

yet the choke hold of our own creation is a manditory vice...

silly little tubes all build to consume these beautiful fruits yet the process and act its self is what inevitably ceases one's breathing that is unless something else snatches your life line first...

but this condition should not be feared it should be celebrated in a daily rebirth for your self every morning...

HAPPY BIRFDAY!

every day is a moment to consciously manipulate one's time and interaction upon this earth...

slowing down one's sight can allow that slow tickle trickle a bit more in abundance...filling one's eyes with an array of autonomous functioning that explain and redefine your sensational experience daily...

float in...bloom orchidandelions and spread your positivity...left only oneself be your santa muerte...

and perhaps if we remember...our connection is always teetering on the tip of our prongs...

we can take a sneak peak behind the wall...

how bout an audible explaination...

SSN by theprogknowpresis

more from this album...peep this hallway...

"the newAllBloom"

neckportal provision, posthumous death-glimpse...a vast embryonic ocean...

plug(c)over

to communally commpromise within the present to remember the future in the past...

from the tippy toppy of the crown a blank and nameless face looking down from cliffs worth
climbing...

seemingly it stands so tall in continuous ring re-bell...many eyes...many sights...holding tight to the streams that connect us all...converging into deltas we are faced with a situation...

we real-eyes were more focused on our initiative of forward propulsion...but in plain sight we might see our sight is on a different plane...a two alive mention we've seen it before and we need to take a step back and approach our ghost...