Goodbye 25, And Good Riddance!

I have to say that 25 may be a milestone, but in this case it was a rather shitty one. Twenty-five has been full of disappointments, letdowns, and betrayals. As I say goodbye to 25, I say Good Riddance! You have been one of the worst years in my life. Congratulations for sucking so hardcore.

As we leave 25, let’s think of some tragic mini-milestones:
»We said good-bye to one of the best managers I’ve had the privilege of working under in a long time.
»We lost friends we thought were going to be there 5, 10, or 15+ years from now – turns out sometimes people are just not who you think they are.
We’ve learned:
»That even if it’s not your fault, someone out there is more than happy to blame you for it regardless.
»Sometimes public knowledge is a secret – go figure!
»You will miss those people who turned out not to be friends, and you’re just going to have to grin and bear it, because it never pays to try and keep in contact with them.
»That sometimes falling in love means nothing at all.
»What it means to be an American, and all the things we’re willing to fight for and against.
»Blood is not always thicker than water.
»If violence against another is violence against the self, you might as well hit the other person, because self-mutilation causes more concern.
»Religion is ridiculous regardless of the institution.

For all the hell that 25 gave us, it did at least try to redeem itself. We found old friends we thought were long lost, who had in fact been searching for us for quite a time. And we discovered what to do with our career and where the future will take us.

So goodbye 25, I’m not sorry to see you go. Good luck to everyone that is or will be 25 soon – you’re gonna need it.

Twilight Invented Good Vampires?

I was looking through the local newspaper the other day, and I ran across this article, that quite literally made me want to vomit. It was such utter refuse I wanted to find the author and beat them to death with several hundred copies of the article. “The de-evilution of the vampire” indicated that Stephanie Meyer is the creator of heuristic philanthropic vampires who can be good beings and maybe hate who they are.

To the author of that article:
Oh hell no, you didn’t. Obviously, you haven’t read a book published before 2003. If you had, maybe you would know any of DOZENS of stories. For instance, the tale of Bunnicula – which I read in the THIRD GRADE, likely long before you could spell your own name let alone read it. This story is a lovable book about a VEGETARIAN vampire RABBIT. That’s right, a cute cuddly friendly little bunny THAT NEVER EVER BIT A HUMAN BEING – Suck on that Bella. The only people that have any right to be even slightly worried about Bunnicula are vegetable gardeners; and even then, what will you lose, one or two carrots a night? Oh the horror!

And why didn’t your mother love you – because if she had you would have grown up on Sesame Street with THE COUNT!! Who what, ran around counting and laughing. Oh, gee, what a horrible guy. And if you did find the time to crawl out from under your fucking rock and watch it – was he seriously that terrifying? Oh my god, he’s counting!! With *gasp* NUMBERS!! Noooooo! Get the fuck out of here.

As for vampires who “hate who they are” or “want to change” I have quite literally read dozens of books. If you look to ONE AUTHOR by the name of Anne Rice you will find her series FULL of vampires who at one time or another HATE THAT THEY ARE “DAMNED”. I swear to god every book in that series included one vampire or another who was pissing and moaning about having “no soul”. Even R.L. Stine had a vampire who hated being one.

And where the hell were you when Blade came out? I’m referring to the movies since it’s very doubtful you’re even aware they were ever graphic novels in the first place. Isn’t that entire series about a vampire who hates himself? ZOMFG, I’M TOTALLY RIGHT! *GASP* No Way! Not only that but several characters are self-loathers: Whistler, Hannibal Kane, even Dracula.

This only reminds one of Buffy the Vampire Slayer: the movie, the series, the graphic novels. It’s got its own franchise and a god damned spin off ALL ABOUT A SELF LOATHING FRACKIN’ VAMPIRE Angel. Hello! And there was also Spike. Both of them with more depth in their left ass cheek than Edward’s whole frickin’ family.

What’s infinitely worse is that the Twilight series is nothing but a rip-off of L.J. Smiths The Vampire Diaries. And a HORRIBLE one at that. First, no character has real depth and the only soul searching moments revolve around TEENAGE ANGST. Isn’t this why everyone is so glad they get out of high school and into the real world? The ability to look back and see that it was all MUNDANE BULLSHIT? That all the drama you were swept up in or watched was as fucking ridiculous as you thought it was or were told by your elders it was?

Second, all the violence is toned down or completely elimnated. What is this – preschool? I don’t know about you but most teenagers I know are aware that people die and that violence except in self-defense is bad. And do you honestly expect anyone to believe that all issues can be talked out? Yeah sure, tell that to everyone right after they just got assaulted. Go ahead, you tell them to talk it out with that douche bag that just robbed them. No. If you are going to lead someone up to an awesome battle, the point then is not to kill the climax by having them all talk it out. That’s just shitty writing, and a super doucher move.

Third, good authors do not preach anything, let alone abstinence. If you read any kind of scientific study you would know that preaching abstinence is WORSE than teaching sex education. Don’t believe me? READ A STUDY BY THE GOVERNMENT. Every study done by the government, and every other legitimate agency, has PROVEN that it is better to explain everything it correct terms and provide as much information as possible than to tell horror stories and lies. Not just evil boys want to have sex and not just whore girls either.

And since when do vampires automatically have no souls? I have read quite a few stories where the creatures of the night in question are as human in that respect as you or I. Besides the fact, that when was it proven that souls actually existed. This is not to state for or against, but how can you argue such a REGLIGIOUS point. Granted, it may be something the author believes in and thusly it is inserted almost unconsciously as though it would be absurd for the author not to have them. But then, how can you discount such a being simply because it’s different from you.

What then? Do pets not have souls, I mean they’re animals. They eat dead things and poop. Those are some pretty strange things. So then do they not have souls? What about owls, they live only by night, move silently and can turn their heads almost 180° – so then do they not have souls? Which then, I would argue that’s sort of egotistical, very Christian in that “conquer the world because it’s mine all mine”, but egotistical nonetheless.

Lastly, since freakin’ when did Edward and Bella make the best vampire love story? NO. I’m sorry, but it just isn’t happening. It can’t even compete with the lamest vampire-human love stories I’ve read or watched.

Take for instance Francis Ford Coppola’s 1992 Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Now everyone with two brain cells in their head that rub together will tell you the book is a far cry from the movie, so we’ll look at the movie for just its own sake. It tells the story of a guy who goes against his RELIGION AND COUNTRY for the girl he loves. Then he hangs around for centuries looking for her and finally DIES TO SAVE HER IMMORTAL SOUL. Hello Edward, you have accepted the short end of the stick, now please go take it to Buffy that she may properly end you.

And on another note, in the real world: EDWARD IS FUCKING GAY. He likes the sausage. No vajj for Mister Cullen, he prefers to stick with wood. If he really did exist, a character with his composition would be flat out fucking homosexual. He’d probably be a flamer, to be sure. Face it ladies, in real life Edward Cullen would be FAAAAAAAAAABULOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUS!!d

I am more than sure there are hundreds of books and stories and poems about good vampires that I’m missing. Why don’t you pull your head out of your ass and try and find some of them? Maybe my readers will be their super awesome selves and provide some examples.

And I know this was a tirade, but I am sick and fucking tired of all these whiny yappy bitches who don’t even read a single book a year all hopped up on this series who can’t even be bothered to read anything else with a monster in it.

Attack of the Cat: E2

Lately I’ve been noticing a lot of things out of the corner of my eye. Now I say things because a lot of it I’m not catching, and what I do catch just isn’t there upon closer inspection. Like spiders, lots of spiders. And I’m sure you’re thinking, well maybe you really did see a spider you daffy bitch. But no, I really did not. If I really am seeing these spiders, then we’re all fucked. Because the smallest one I’ve seen lately was the size of a baseball and the biggest one the size of a golden retriever. And always out the corner of my eye. That and people. Lots of people. And lots of random whosiwhatsits that I just have no idea on. So that’s fun.

Other than that, I’m moving. Yet again. In the past two years I’ve moved five times. Which might not seem like a lot, but when you do the math it does turn out to be quite exhausting. And if we factor in the past five years total, then that’s an average of three times a year. Seriously! Who needs to move this much?!? Fuck me I’m tired! Although this has led me to some conclusions. My next apartment will be by myself. No roommates. At all. For at least one year. Fuck the haters, the gossips and the frienemies, I’m done with all your mundane bullshit. So I will spend a goodly amount of time all by my onesies. Cleanse my aura and get back to my roots and all that jazz.

Also I’m seriously considering life abroad. I’m thinking France, specifically Paris. I think every artist should live in Paris for a while, or hell, maybe just everyone. I think it’s good for you. Maybe some other places too. Just immerse yourself in foreign culture and drown for a bit. Plus the cost of living is pretty comparable to where I’m at now, so couldn’t be that hard. And all I’d have to do to prepare is brush up on my French a bit, which will take all of a month. So no worries there. Now just to explore the local culture and nab my passport. Just in case all lights are go.

I am so tired of moving. Seriously…

My Muse, My Friend

You know, I just don’t understand you. And I wish that I did, or at least knew more about you to make the confusion a bearable placating thing. I’d like to be a friend. But somehow I think I have fucked things up along the way, and while I have vastly tried to fix things, I often feel I’m making more of a mess. I might convey this sentiment to you, if it didn’t feel like every effort is an unwarranted intrusion into your life.

I want to be a part of your life, but I think you may have misconstrued the implications of my desire for you. To be sure I have no ill intentions or misguided delusions of intimacy and that is not exactly what I strive to clamor for. That’s not what this raucous is about. I have never thought that asking to be someone’s friend would be so complicated and tedious a task, but you seem to effortlessly excel at it.

Perhaps it is arrogance, but I cannot bring myself to try and correct you. I think it’s more like to be fear. And maybe I do want more out of you than friendship, but it’s something I’ve already taken. Whether you want to be or not, I’ve made you a muse. Or maybe Fate has, she tends to be a mucker. My many misadventures have seemingly led to you, and so I will take this if this is all I have to gain from you. And let me assure you, it is not enough.

I want to be close. I want to be friends. I want to be the kind of people who call each other in the middle of the morning/night/etc because it is all suddenly so overwhelming and the sheer magnitude of it is crushing down and you can rant and rave endless and know the other person is listening and even if they haven’t had that exact feeling they know where you are coming from and have some thoughts to express and some suggestions to make. And even if all the advice fails, you know it is all going to be fine because you both can share in that moment and be free to be afraid together, knowing in the end the storm will pass and it will be good again tomorrow.

I am not searching for a savior, saint or prophet. Nor would I expect you to fulfill those roles. I am merely asking for a companion on this long lost road, on this distant journey to many misadventures. And sadly I’m finding the place I believe you should belong, despairingly vacant.

Time Wounds All Heals

There are those moments that are so overwhelming they cannot help themselves but to induce a deep state of mourning. Often it is nothing so tragic an event to warrant it, but a simple phrase or gesture, so seemingly benign as to completely and utterly discombobulate. Often I find myself without the wherewithal to go about business as usual. And so I retract and make myself small, an easily overlooked nuance.

This is not to say I go off into some deep dark cave and commence to wail about all the things I’ve lost, rather to the contrary. I find myself in these instances more often than not going about business as usual. A state which is not indicative I care less, just that I retract mentally and continue about my daily routines in a manner which lends to benevolence and commonality so as not to draw suspicions. I find it easier to process in a style that most would find, and have on the occasion I allow the observation, to find it jerky and to frighteningly out of sorts. I can move through the five stages of grief in as little as a day.

I am tragically adept at something no one should become so skilled at.

It is something I have come to deal with. Having skill sets no one wants. The irony in this is a priceless gem. Because the skills no one wants are almost always the ones they need – or will at some point, and so my advice is a hot commodity. I have the ability to see both sides of the issue clearly and argue the points for and against it. This lends logic to passion and passion to logic. Thus creating a conundrum of profound proportions.

And so I sit here, staring at this statement. A simple phrase which has no bearing upon my life or the rules and morals by which I gauge my everyday self –and yet the impact is severe. I am so unsure of what to do when I read this, the simple insecurity is a catastrophe in and of itself, and in the end the most I can do is hold steady and find myself amused. A heartrending find which no action I may take will undo or remedy and the best thing to do is merely ride it out. Breakwater.

I would like to tell the person that they are wrong or that they do not know of which they speak. However, I have no grounds to stand upon and thus no judgment to lend. So I find myself without a voice or a port in the storm. Time wounds all heals and if I wait just a bit longer the hemorrhage will ebb and dawdle or cease. And I have come to find I no longer mind the bleeding.

Attack of the Cat

It’s slow going here most days. The weather outside would be surprisingly warm tonight, if I didn’t live in Florida. One of the conveniences of living in a subtropical climate is the ability to go swimming almost completely year round, and often as late into the night as you’d like. Unfortunately, the only way for it to be this comfortably warm this late into the evening is by it being equally hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk by nine most mornings. In a state that spends nine months of the year in summer, we snow bunnies can be quite reluctant to enjoy the day.

I will not lie; I am a night owl by nature. Everyone that I can relate to in my family is a night owl. We may adjust ourselves to suit our jobs, school, etc – but make no mistake, the first opportunity we have to stay up until sunrise and we’re all over it like white on rice. We also benefit by being insomniacs, thus capable of running perfectly fine on as little as two hours of sleep.

This would seem irrelevant, excepting the fact that the town I reside within is almost completely diurnal. The tragedy of small cities. The danger in small cities and towns with night-owls is the ego. Oh sure, you might not think anything of it at first, “This is nice, quiet.” Sooner or later you’ve developed this whole “I own the night,” thing and start coming up with paranoid-delusional reasons as to why others are alert at such late hours. It seems oddly appropriate that most of these scenarios are made up while midnight trollings through Wal-Mart. By the way – if you are ever trapped there after two a.m.: Duct-tape Bowling.

This is a lot of meandering – and if you’ve happened by looking for a point I’m afraid you should call the game now, pack it in and go home.

I’m staring that the belly-button rings sitting on my desk just beneath my monitor. They’re nothing special, just large globular neon-pink marble acrylic balls. I love that you can find objects in various places for significant price differences. At Sally Beauty – they are $10 a piece, somewhere in the Market of Marion, I got them 3 for $10. Mix-n-match – imagine that.

If you ever get a chance, you should listen to Coast to Coast. I’m not sure if they’re affiliated, but they do have a website, and if you search hard enough online – which is to say not very hard at all – you’ll be able to find free broadcasts of the show without need of a radio. Just in case you are like some writers around here who only listen to the radio as a way to wake up in the morning.

I have come to the tragic conclusion that I just don’t want a job anymore. I neither care nor have the motivation to go out and seek one. Don’t get me wrong, I currently have a job which I love – the hours and pay are shite so I need to move on. But I don’t want a job. I want to write and do my art and get paid for it. Grants are hard to find unless you’ve been published as a writer, but I am avidly looking. And I am working at a double major in college to get some lame pays-the-bills shindig. I just don’t necessarily want it. And as my month of nearly paid vacation comes to a close, I find myself in mourning.

And to pack it all in, I’m not entirely sure if work is the only cause. It may just be I’m tired of here. Which is quite possible. The tragedy of being tired of where you live is the fact that most all of your friends and family are there. Abandonment has never been so complex.


Holy sh*t dude, I totally forgot I was in the middle of something. haha I went and altered the look on my dA and got to chatting with a friend and completely forgot what I was doing. So sorry to have forgotten you – but I suppose that’s where we’ll end it for now.

=^ ^=

Cantankerous Bitchings

Ok, seriously? I’m rather annoyed. I’m not sure if they’ve officially cancelled Defying Gravity or just put it on hold, but the fact that another network is cancelling a show I REALLY LIKE is starting to chap my ass. 2009 Officially Fucking Sucks. A year of awfulness. And what’s worse, is that it is nothing catastrophic. It’s all the minor little shit that fucking matters that has gone to hell.

Sometimes I wish I had a really crazy fan that would just go out and kneecap all the miserable fucks who’ve stolen my distractions away from me. Or curb stomp them. I’m not picky. I just want them to live in a horribly disfigured way forevers.

Cantankerous Bitchings

Tragically I’ve come up with a new subject for a book. It’s nightmarish. I’m not even halfway through – research and other mind you now, not written word per se – on three and now I want to jump on a new one. It’s totally awesome – at least in my head and so I’m super psyched to get started on it.

And to be sure, I’m thinking I might want to make it a Manga. So I’ll be sketching up character refs to see if that’s the direction I want to go for sure. It will probably take longer than any other project. Of course this might also lead me to doing it to the rest of them… How tragic. Ha!

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Is it just me – or do you want to skin the fucknut who created the McCafe commercials of epic annoyingness? And strangle at least half of the cast of Glee. The whore wife, the tramp cheerleader, the obsessive star, and Will – the spineless wimpy fop. Break their legs and beat them to death with them. I can’t decide if I love the show or hate it. Like picking at scabs – you know you really shouldn’t but there’s something to the sensation of digging a hole in your flesh.