All her life she wished not to be the crazy one
Knowing full well that the pain inside her heart could only cause the pollution in her head.
She burned the letters and hoped your face would materialize in those flames
But you couldn’t even bother to show then.
What became of her fluffy white clouded dreams, we may never know,
Dropped her reveries into the rushing tide
And replaced the fantasy with blood-red nuts and bolts.
For her new reality seemed more imaginary than those fleeting romances she allowed,
But moonstruck she was
And moonstruck she’d stay
And those rushing tides would see to her heart be drowned.
I don’t know why this made me laugh so hard.
Rock and Roll is not pretty. Fuck your goddamn pretty.
Rock and Roll is real.
We are Fine Fine Titans.Photos by Brandon Shafer
The time is near!
Forty seconds of a truly impressive thunderstorm, which passed over Minneapolis earlier this week.