Clement G. West was shivering in the December cold. Having been born in Delaware and raised up and down the river that also beard this great name. Clement was taught the brutality cold has to offer on Christmas morning and the day after, 1776. It had begun to snow again. 8 or 10 inches worth it was much like that fateful night. Three men from the militia talked to him but he just stared past them. Why should Clement G. West continue to take orders from the militia? He began to walk. Clement thought about the children 2 boys 3 girls all made it to adulthood. Smoke and rifle powder filled his nostrils with a almost uplifting scent. He started planning tenterhooks along side of cabin built by trappers. After a dozen or so he noticed he was bleeding. Badly. He undressed one article at a time placing them on the tenterhooks with womanly care. Naked in snow he looked up to the Moon. Clement shivered and recalled a notion. He has no wife and no children. Bleeding from his head the fog lifted. No Life no warmth just a vague order…. A order by General Washington himself! Clement REMEMBERED. He gathered himself and took off running as fast as he’d ever run in his life, totally in the nude. Hessians angered by the Yankee streaking past. All took aim not a single sharpshooter found their target.
Clement reached the front. Intense warfare and blood. Red snow on the ground. He relayed that general Washingtons had crossed and was flanking the Hessians aggressors as we speak. Do not charge again sir, hold here. Clement collapsed think of his wife and kids…. Into the heart of the Moon and the cold it brings….
i can’t believe how my life had gone now and then I remember when I was a youngster seems all was a blur, poof here I am, pretty much a old man of 37, look like I feel from heaven only yesterday and it happen to be my 874th pay day tomorrow is just another…
way to age…
i avoiding people like the plague I will stage before I ever beg on a Corner like a aged war hero know one knows how old or the canisters of napalm he dropped on Charlie back in nam his wife Holly came back to the woods of Bohemian grove where spiders never weave funny thing how it used to be fine like a aged wine now it’s class was fare no one cares for a instant you age a 1/3 in conflict and judgment
He loved fireworks as a child. Born on the 4th of July it was pretty much guaranteed. He stood now looking at the drug dealers passing out poison. The “S” on his chest having come from his fondest and fondest memories as well his reason for wearing a mask.
13th birthday 1993
Before heading to the nights firework display he was playing with his best friend Eric. In the garage with the door down and a sparkler bomb in hand he lights it and tried to run away as he tossed it by several cans of fuel. Burning way faster and igniting fuel there was no running. Eric died and he had 3rd degree burns on 95% and scarring on 100%
Hideously ugly he now covers his faces in public with a hoodie and glasses and anything else the kept the ugly from view. Tonight though he would show his new face. He would yell his new name to everyone as he burned the wicked. Tonight these poison peddlers will know…..
concerned with beauty or the appreciation of beauty.
“the pictures give great aesthetic pleasure”
a set of principles underlying and guiding the work of a particular artist or artistic movement.
This guitar is probably one of the most aesthetic creations in the history of the universe. I took this picture here……
The rock and roll hall of fame in Cleveland Ohio…..
Walking up to this very aesthetic building you have NO CLUE what to expect as far as aesthetics. My mind was aesthetically blown over and over again….
This. THIS picture. Although the handsome devil here has a certain aesthetic awesomeness the guitar here brought me to my knees. I cried. After composing myself I took this selfie. 4 inches from JIMI F!%$ING HENDRIX’S classic strat.
When something is so aesthetically amazing it feels like a religious experience… I truly was then “experienced”. The energy pouring off this aesthetic MASTERPIECE is like talking to whatever god you care to pray to.
I want everyone to look into their heart and decide. Decide what it is that MOVES you. Whatever that may be WILLBE without a doubt aesthetic in every way possible.
Mustard…..yellow sauce of death. I don’t remember being born or getting my diapers changed or even the whole “potty training” saga of ’83. I do remember the first time I ever vomited from eating mustard. July the 4th . 1986. My birthday. MY MY MY Birthday. Not this great land of ours but MINE. The bright yellow tang of my retched hatred at first looked almost damn feative. Grinning ear to ear watching the entire world (as far as I knew) laughing and have a BLAST. My mom….my own blood mother handed me a hotdog covered in this yellow festival of nightmares. Not even asking I take a huge bite. In a wor….DUMB. In two words….DUMB …. and DUMB. Instantly I cough. Can’t breath. My stomach convulsing I throw the hotdog randomly (more on this later)