muse

♤♤ hello ! I'm Reno ♤♤ • 60s/70s/80s/90s music • ○ Postpunk Cowfolk ○

[reno-muse]

☆○☆•~•`..•°°`☆~•°°~○○☆••~`~~```○•☆

HI ! I'm Reno.

( I'm also @reno.arts on Instagram. )

☆○☆•~•`..•°°`☆~•°°~○○☆••~`~~```○•☆

|| CURRENTLY LISTENING TO ||

WHAT I LIKE:

MUSIC: folk, punk, folkpunk, new wave, postpunk, gothic rock, classic country/western, folk rock, soft rock, rock, grunge, thrash metal, power metal, gothic rock, art punk, and like every other genre of rock under the sun. TALK TO ME - I'm friendly ! I love making music buddies.

Band/Musicians I especially love:

The Birthday Party, Specimen, Jackson Browne, James Taylor, The Eagles, The Replacements, The Cure, The Clash, Fugazi, Nick Drake, Willie Nelson.

Films I Love:

The Outsiders, Rumble Fish, Lost Boys, Drugstore Cowboy, Trainspotting, The Goonies, and music films like Instrument or Woodstock.

Misc:

Poetry (Especially of Patti Smith or Lizzy Mercier Decloux), playing guitar, talking too much about my interests.

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[reno-muse]

I'm back !

ok that's all I have to say thanks

[reno-muse]

about me!

[reno-muse]

Demo Tracks (poem)

I've never seen a real withdrawal

I've got it in my blood with Jethro Tull and catholic confessions so I figure it's something hysteric,

like schizophrenic butterflies gnawing at my stomach when I turn over and retch

It's something I think about when I kick paint cans down the sidewalk and think about how people huff that trash and burn cigarettes in their arms and that's the only time I feel like I get my family is when they're so strung out I can't ever touch it

And i think about the great, hulking behemoth,

And the cross he hangs on a foot in diameter ungratefully hung in every nun cranny and looming in the bathroom to catch your body sinless as the cans of paint and lifeless like nicotine

And i curse him, mostly, for that holy splinter, thinking he felt the same.

[reno-muse]

Reading Carroll (poem):

The best people in my life are like idle minds

flighty and weighted like heavy and damning carols

carols in big glaring blue lights for Christmas

carols against the kind that give headaches and harbinge family freak-outs

against ugly gleaming pigs of

fat and feigning bus fares 

against glaring like cut seams from gaping wounds

Rikodeine ribs peeking out like real mice,

against real, thick-gauge pianowire-sculpture,

since they can afford that. 

Shorter, shorter,

The best people in my life are dogs to mourn,

reeling and raving and pushing

pulling your teeth out for some kind of treat,

having forlorn that last sort of you in any kind of recognition in sites so

damned and clammy in destruction and 

warm in the womb, sole, for their contention.

[reno-muse]

This Neil Perry i drew ages ago

[andersonandperry]

brat summer is OVER

time for DEAD POETS SOCIETY AUTUMN

[noufuturevision]

did this drawing of the motorcycle boy and have not been able to get his likeness like this since

[reno-muse]

RUMBLE FISH. RUMBLE FISH. RUMBLE FISH. AHHHHH

[reno-muse]

poetry!

[reno-muse]

hi !!!!!!!!

♡♡♡♡

AHHHH HI !!!!! 💗💗💗💗 hope ur doing good silly goose !!!!!!!!!!! I luv having another cowpoke on my blog this is so fun and goofy 🪿 🪿 🪿

[testure-1988]

Johnny Slut

[reno-muse]

youth in the sun 2024

[reno-muse]

[reno-muse]

Maroon walls seep through a sepia undertone of your camera like a venose scab into my head.

The photos that line your walls fade and change in a shaking, crying waver with the times. The constant rhythm of their removal is a falter in my step. The flowering art you hang from the corpse of my varicose-blossomed film leaves a negative on the wall where it hangs. Your table grows sparse in the recent years as your guests - and you never were very partial to guests, you tell yourself in absence of the photos you've now ridded - filter in and find their space at the hearth. The artistry of your own brings you more comfort than the guest's gifts, intention, and careful health imbued. A dozen unions filter through and shone upon your art and the light may fade them but before the camera, its rhythm constant to the onlookers nontheless. The beat of the flash bares itself into new life and creation and the fading strum of a wooden guitar - often loved and often forgot. Beads and feathers and strains of hair littered the blessed wooden altar you lie upon and burn into a veener on your back for the benefit of your images in your head and in your face. And despite the onlookers, you find yourself quite alone in your own defective mourns and soft fire of under-scoring pity. The stanzas of reality and stardom blare like sirens of the sea into your head while your eyes watch the cars in the underpass and you understand that your soot-black eyes in all their love have never really felt at all.

[reno-muse]

Might post some poetry later

[reno-muse]

Epiphany

.... the side has a part of a William Burroughs poem written out. "Crossroads"

[reno-muse]

Epiphany

.... the side has a part of a William Burroughs poem written out. "Crossroads"