Intention of the best people I’ve ever known has always taxed the meaning of any incriminating monologue of might malevolent at first sight so sleep tight goodnight for its too much to live simplistically if I might I may be honest it’s no secret to happiness that I struggle in the beam of setting light of sun setting on my heavy mind rhythmical triads tinker there is no forgiveness for anything I might feel shame over or ways I was i don’t remember there in a fog of smoggy memory soggy embarrassment and repeated apologies the face in the mirror is tired of its view it needs a new set of eyes windows to the soul to see through and which from outside fresh perspective can see into so finished gutted motivation flipped desolate dreams constillate their own lucidity inside the feeling of who the fuck cares? them and them ah oh yes and they yes and that. Especially with trust handed over and abused by its use of what is perceived as a shrug of mind shouldering its own kind muddled mingling with the chance that the choice of who might have forever knocked your heart while in the ring far out of just might be at the wheel stirring you deeper into a spiral of fear becoming vibrant clearer in the steam soaked mirror dried by the hand of who I hope won’t try the boundary who won’t need to be the seer of my doubts through leftover kryptonite to feed the demon who appreciates the level of volumes turned up along the curves of the energies I leave now exposed in light of my submission to finding this sought out quieted peep of place pieces of mind put back together 

Oh, me they are yapping at. 


That’s a cute couple. 


Pelican Brewery. Cannon B. Nasty as fuck dish. Fuck. My girlfriend ate them all! I know. I know. Gnar gnar tongue taste but the texture was gooey. At least they busted out for her. She was stoked. Good enough. Never want a whoft of a even a burp thought from smelly badussy scent yet yummy looks it some like maybe good. And I needed to snap some culinary killer dishes. These make you Randy? I took my shirt off on the beach. Im an elmers paste white popped off bottle cap of itself white as a spot light. I don’t give a tangled dingle berry I can’t remember. I mumble. 


I shower.

Rarely. I mean barely remember to do my head. That’s done hair. And my face. Selfie soup mess. Too many for a salted ninja turd. 

murder of misti meader – new tracks on SoundCloud. Fig Newton 


I’ve got a few new demos up
Listen to Murder of misti meader by brian anthony hardie #np on #SoundCloud

#fstff 
Thanks for the support


It doesn’t matter when

Or why my fractured heart

Would comment on then

Or them 

Mother and daughter 

Would never fight for him

Not for his well being

Even a pain he chose then
Its hard on me too

Is there anything I can do.      I always ask

I Can’t tell if she’s frightened to

Come back or if she’s just through

At night I hear a yes from a demon

Regarding you it says yeah you son

With you she’s done.     Checked off the list.

Devil smiles says I insist

But I regret this

And this and this and this and this

And this 

I said.            I said.           I said.    

Please don’t do this

If there’s any insistence that I have

In this.        I said.                 I begged.      Please

        Don’t do this.          To yourself.        

To your child to your attempted man

I know I fuck up but I’m always up doing the

Best that I can.      Without a sense of hesitance       Can’t you see I am.                     Here. 

Right here.       Trying to rub 

Your whip lash out of 

So much more than just out of

Your neck
Have I wrapped

My arms hard around where

I shouldn’t have?

Around skull

And cross bones.        Poisonous path.

Soul whiplashed.        I know you’re 

mad.     And I have had.                A week in bed 

Wondering if the demon of my nightmare is supreme and right indeed.

When will I see 

The mist clear the streets