Babylon by Frank Thompson

They live to the limit in hopes for some normality.

We are always on the run, new ideas flash our minds, we embody them, we feel them, we burn them and die. Onto fluorescent dreams where lovers meet and divide, inside the eye of the dreamer, we say let’s live today and die today, die in our glorious and vain purpose, the debauchery of it all, to be paged in the future’s past, a fine art for tomorrow. Let’s ignite and explode our spark at excellence and start from the bottom again. Entry once gained to the world of the divinely crazy, we invent in ourselves a possibility of stardom and live presently in the successes of those before us.

Babylon, a city of angels stacked in the stars. 


of how logic was ensued in memory of the flow and liveliness with the madness of angels who live the life – was it all a dream? They document about whispered past times, the majestic misery of old life inspires the new, and we think to say, nobody died in movies… when all sacrificed their time vaingloriously. Forget not the angels who placed imagination in our minds and hearts – without the stardom magic we are not who we are today.

Bursting collated, an unidentifiable, unmatchable, magical display of colors in the end coming to white, then black. A circus, majestic and adrenaline high crash UP with a crescendo of bright colors ablaze, CRASH AND SMASH. The Cymbal. Spectacle spectacular, now it’s our turn.

Let’s join Hollywood and become stars paving the boulevard of those not yet born.

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