I exist in a world of ticket machines and five cent coins with bad weather and worse people, just another hungry stomach growling for more in this copyrighted, patented and trademarked world where everything can be sold and bought and traded and raped and where everyone is searching for a soul they lost the other day, talking about how absolute power corrupts absolutely but forgetting who they’re quoting and whose face they’re printing on oversized, overpriced t-shirts, trying to write rhymes about the times like a Bob Dylan lyric but unable, too dipped in downtown problems of pulled triggers and lit cigars, and still hoping a martyr figure hasn’t forgotten us.
Photography by Sagan Culph.
Words by Ivana Rnjak.
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