a world sourced from a young boy’s dream.

desperate to be his own man. desperate to be yours. he leads a defiant crusade for the salvation of pop music. a messiah, compelled to inspire communities unloved.

the glamorized poster child for unrequited intimacy, pin him up. he’s filled with dark yet innocent obsessions to control his muse, while disastrously pining to become one himself. ironic, it’s today’s young love everlasting.

at night we’re provocateurs of the party: unintended victims of 21st century media culture, and consequentially, cutting edge youth perpetually crying for attention. can you blame us? we’re shameless, and sadly, still fameless.

but not for long.

because that’s hollywood for you, baby– rich in high class whores, gorgeous social climbers, fashionable fakes, glitter puffs and stuff. it’s no big deal, but we’re here. existing only to fulfill this delusional destiny. the future, I call it.

it doesn’t matter who we are. we’ll be who we want to be,

even if it kills us.

—Junius Frey