Terminus: Krog & Edgewood

Over on the corner of Krog, right before you hit the tunnel on your way to Cabbage Town, there is a Martial Arts School that seems to share a building with The Revolutionary Church. They contracted a well known graffiti artist from Miami to throw up a mural displaying zombies, xenomorphs, skeletons and some of the most intricately woven tags I've ever had the pleasure of running across. The Police one I start off with however is hidden away a few blocks away in the depths of neighboring wino country.








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Terminus: Scene & Heard

Just three more and I'll shut-up with the 'photos' already. I love the desolate wasteland backdrop to the Murder Junkies flyer that stands in sharp contrast to the ad for "New Amsterdam" on the billboard behind it. Also digging the Rorshark Test aesthetics of the Bob Dobbs tags (found stenciled on the ground at the local BP), I haven't seen a Bob stencil in ages so here's hoping this is the start of a trend and finally, I have to give sloopy wet kisses of props to the big glaring blue "MONDOHOMO" spray-painted across the top of the Krog Street Tunnel, which in my mind serves as a kind of winking fuck-you to the passing Gentrifiers, Normies and other assorted bitter little shits that pass by it in their morning/evening commutes. It's the little details that makes a city my city. Anyway, for your momentary pleasure ...

My three "Happy's"

"The perilous and erotic adventures of an unpublished author"

1. Drinking cocktails with the ghost of Lee Marvin 'til four in the morning while listening to the haunting surf guitar chords of Joe Meeks.
2. Multiple Orgasms for the Poor!
3. Black market copies of 'Astronaut Fights'. Leaked footage off of the decaying MIR station feed showing that there is no better expression of manhood than watching two vodka drunk cosmonauts engaging in ultraviolent fisticuffs in zero gravity.

Thelema Cat is watching you Masturbate!

Back when I was an angry young man trapped in the wilds of SoFL-Suburbia, I briefly dated (i.e. occasionally slept with) an earnest young deathrocker, who told me without a doubt or the slightest hint of sarcasm, that her cat was the reincarnation of Aleister Crowley. She named the reincarnated Master Therion, Horus and enjoyed cuddling him while she danced around in her cotton pink panties to old Echo & The Bunnymen LP's. Occasionally when we would cut school and hang out at her parents house, I would lay in bed with her smoking up her Dads weed with abandon and then spend hours trying to get old Horus to play chess with me or regale me with tales of climbing treacherous mountains or failing that to at least lay a few tantra-tips on me in the pleasing of his mistress. Horus however would do nothing more than give me that look all cats give me that says 'One day we will rule this planet you inept hairless monkey'. Still I have seen fewer living beings as happy as 'Thelema-Cat' being squeezed into a pair of heavy 17 year old breasts while being sung an off key chorus of 'Bring on the dancing horses'.

Different times I guess.