I looked at the barrel while the fire blazed. Amazed. My life dulled by always noticing the trajectory OF angles. My interests in film coincides with the everyday outcomes of my life. My skill completely upstages me. At twenty-five I'm unscaved but my production sword is yet to make a cut. I have not the avenues to enhance preexisting material as I shuffle about Texas streets. The Capulet sword bears down upon me as the fair Veronian streets of Texas are winky dinky dogging me. I'm going batty boy. My stick will suffice. My melee could dissable a haphazardly trained platoon. My back aches as the burden of building this country scorches my darkened skin during my treks. The suicidal Dirty Larrys face me but the force of their questionable righteousness builds momentum after their DISPATCH. My camera ingenuity would dissipate instead of enhance if my inclination of stage persuades me. I delay my curtain call while I revolutionize vision. I let my soul glow a little while I control my juice. Rhyming better than Pac and Wayne clones my ventures into entertainment never cease. I live feeling the Tropical Cancer Thunder.