Looking through CDs, live music, books, theatre and all kinds of things that fit in your mouth. Injecting the mindstream via the tearduct with reviews that connect you to the experience, whatever the form.
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Wild abandon is part of a healthy disregard and distrust for authority. The Merc with a Mouth shovels it deep and shovels it fast to explore what it means to be responsible for living such a lavish life borne of hiding the true cost of consequences.
Between the scenes the lights go black save for a lamp on a desk. In the back corner is a man looking over notes over glasses. This is not a part of the play, and he is no manager of the factory. A mere trick of the light.
There was a time when watching Foo Fighters play as headliners of the Big Day Out meant being punched in the shoulders as a couple of idiots kept slapping on stickers from some marketing brand again and again.
There is an inherent peace within Thanos’ motivations. A quiet want and quest for setting a scene that sets the Mad Titan up with a pathos worth following and admiring in its boldness and interpretation. Here, destruction is not for its own sake, but as a necessary instrument of balance.
Beyond teeming to the gills we’re standing still hinting at the notion of moving forward. It’s a whole weekend of costumes, get-ups and cosplay seeing how long you can shuffle on a mosey before needing to go to the toilet again.
Wild with abandon sit kids a row behind smacking and slapping their maws as they chew, gnaw and measure out pops of gum, sticky of saliva. Silence is never there when the cheeks make such noises.
Deep in the mirage of anti-colonialism and the politics of a sovereign nation coming to light is the tale of a start-up company looking to go public.
The classic tale of frustration leading into suicide and rethinking life choices to bring another year to a close. Once more another look over the bridge and wither come the thoughts of absence.
Bruising through immigration hassles is not the best way to spends years of your life. Humour, then, is what’s needed to keep your head in the game when trying to make it off a Nauru-like plane of existence.
The cycle of violence against Uncle Bens stops here. They don’t even drop the father-figure in a flashback. The world moves on with the fact that enough people know what that backstory is. Peter Parker has enough angst and failing to not always loom over a dead body.
Survival after graduation depends a lot on how much of a safe space the books and lecture halls have weakened the muscles from being in open air. There among the filth of society we walk and wonder what kind of things are going on in other people’s heads.
Getting on the ground of miserable is life. That struggle of the normal, everyday drudge coughing up gristle with a crick in the neck from slumming it in the car overnight. An exercise in exhaustion. The expense of which cashes out when Wolverine brings it back and away from the world of one-upping a world levelling event down to a personal note.
Corrals are everywhere. The lines to the lines are lined with rope after rope. The registration and ticket pickup area, from at least the Thursday, has no trouble making snakes of the situation. The entire building is decked in black and yellow. Up from just a quarter.