No One Likes Emo

Don’t get me wrong, I get it.  But you need to let it go.  I know you sit and think about how you were when you were together and how marvelous it was.  You sit and replay over and over how good you were together; the way they made you feel, the secrets you shared.  Every soul shattering iota of passion, warmth and caring that cascades over you when you sit and dwell on the memories.

What you need to realize is that it is all bullshit.  They are not that person.  They are not the one you want.  What you want is the idea of them in your head, not who they really are.  Because if they were that person, they would be here, and they’re not.

You need to get over it.  Stop sitting there everyday torturing yourself with their memory.  You’re not a child anymore.  You need to put the past in the past.  I didn’t say it wouldn’t hurt and it won’t be easy but you need to stop whining.  Everyone gets it.  We’ve all been there.  But we had the decency not to skulk around for an indeterminate amount of time.  So drop your balls and grow up already.

I can guarantee that if they aren’t in your life right now, they aren’t thinking about you.  

What If I Don't Want To?

I'm supposed to write this.  Something for the masses. And I find that all the words have left me of late.  I sit and stare at the paper and it just is.  And I am, but we are not together.  It would be tragic, if it could be considered remotely sad.  Its not like I don't have thoughts.  This morning I swam a mile and my head was full of things and now its empty.

Its always empty the moment the ink is ready. 

Like a Little Girl

Yesterday I was in a car accident. Nothing major, really it was hardly even a fender bender. And I was totally fine, the lady I bumped into was a snarling cunt like I had made it my mission that day to fuck her car up. Which was awesome considering her car had nothing wrong with it aside from some scratches on the bumper and the car I was driving, not mine mind you, had a caved in front plate and slight hood raising. To top it all off I am completely calm and resigned with how this is going to float back with the car owner when the officers show up. And I fall apart like hot fondant.

I literally started crying when the officer talked to me. Granted it was the first car accident I'd ever been in while driving, and it was not my vehicle, and I was on the return of a long car trip; but still. I did what I always laughed at girls on TV for doing, and that's legitimately crying in front of officers. Although I did try and hide it. Which I think made them more keen to comforting me, because both of them were really hip on assuring me that everything would be all right and no one was hurt and these things happen every day! Seriously, both of them must have said those exact same sentences three times a piece. At least. And I kept nodding. And then they even joked with me to get me to smile.

So I wonder, why is it some people look totally adorable when they cry and others look like they just squeezed a lemon out their nose? And I mean adorable. So cute you want to give them a cookie and a pat on their head. And if they are the others, then they look like they just got stung by something their allergic too. Their face puffs up like Will Smith in Hitch and you wonder what in the hell happened. Do they have the mumps? Are they a demon straight out of Angel and they're shedding their mortal flesh sack so you can gaze upon their fearsome complexion?

I mean, really? Where in evolution did we decide that being cute should hitch onto crying? If you're cute, you should be cute when you cry! Damn It!! And how to you explain the pretty people who are all "Ooh La La >;)~" and then they cry and they become "DAMN! D:"

It Came From Below The Sink

Woke up groggy. Tried to nap. My body thought this was hilarious and the moment I laid down it was instantly alert and energized. Fucker. Noticed there was this funny smell. Couldn't place it. It just smelled bad. Not the garbage, not the bathroom, not the laundry, wasn't coming from the out of doors. Bailed out to go grocery shopping to fill my poor empty fridge. Came back and that damn smell was still there. Went to get something from underneath my kitchen sink, only to discover the source of the smell. I'm not sure how long this had been building up, but damn. As it turns out, whatever you pour down the sink doesn't go down the drain. It empties out into the cupboard below the sink. Yummeh!

Note From A Friend

Although I don't know you extremely well... over the course of the year I couldn't help but pick up on your fascination for blood and guts because it always makes me laugh... I know you like Monty Python and because of you I now know who Monty Python is and now I like him too... You strike me as the type of person open to diverse personalities accompanied by a unique one of your own... I'm sure your brains will take you far and you will bring about your own success. May your road of life be long, ever prosperous, and enjoyable...

Sadly I cannot remember who wrote this. And they neither signed nor dated it, so I cannot place from when or where its from. Save to say I still appreciate your kind words, whomever you are.

Yard Sale

Had a yard sale to fund my upcoming trip to England. It was EXHAUSTING. I like yard sales, but I've never hosted one. Turns out, I don't like yard selling. haha Its very weird to see your entire life laid out to sell. Saw some interesting sites to say the least.

This sign sat at the edge of the yard all day. It said 'pray' so I slapped on a symbol of my faith. Didn't specifically say to whom I should be praying. Tch tch tch.

Slushie!! Dude, cherry slushies are the sex. And you can't beat $1.

Fire Department drove by checking the hydrants. Also scoped the sale. Awesome.

And then the cops showed up... o__O

Yes, that's right. Cop at the yard sale. No worries, he wasn't there for us. He was there for the neighbors. ^^

All in all it was a very eventful weekend. Very long and tiring, but good.

Industrial Part Deux

Got my industrial re-done today. The last time I had it done I'd taken it out to clean it and forgotten about it and fell asleep. Needless to say after five months it healed over night. Fun. Hurts like a bitch. Worth it though. I missed it.

Attack of the Cat: E4

Feeling rather fresh today. Spending time going through more things and rewinding kids movies. Its such an interesting shock to see the difference in quality between tape, dvd and blu-ray. I'm enjoying the contrasts.

Attack of the Cat: E3

So it has been a VERY long while since I wrote anything. I broke the screen to my laptop, and as that's the main computer I use its put me in a bit of a bind. I have ordered a new one, so we should be back to the rigmarole by October 1st.

I've changed locales for now. Getting ready for a big move. Won't tell you where just yet. Getting some local photos taken of my current Florida location before I escape into the wild blue yonder. Packing things and prepping for the "Here is Your Life... In a Box" yard sale. haha Also watching as much of my Netflix before my eyes fall out and bleed as I can. Currently "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" with Noomi Rapace. So dreading the American version. And on that note, "Let Me In". Producers should have to serve jail time for bad remakes.

Cut myself some bangs tonight. I'm back in black, with long hair this time. Looking pretty fashionable if I do say so myself.

Zodiac

Celtic Zodiac
October 28 – November 24 Sign: Reed (Ngetal)
The Fire Festival of Samhain
Symbol: The White Hound or the Stone
Ruling Planet: Pluto - Pwyll
Celtic Gods: Dis, Pwyll, Arwan

Reed signs among the Celtic tree astrology signs are the secret keepers. You dig deep inside to the real meaning of things and discover the truth hidden beneath layers of distraction. When there is a need to get to the heart of the matter, most certainly the Reed sign will find the core. You love a good story, and can be easily drawn in by gossip, scandals, legend and lore. These tendencies also make you an excellent historian, journalist, detective or archeologist. You love people because they represent a diversity of meanings for you to interpret. You are adept at coaxing people to talking to you, and sometimes you can be a bit manipulative. However, you have a strong sense of truth and honor so most of your scheming is harmless. Reed people join well with other Reeds, Ash or Oak signs.


Moon In Leo
Proud, benevolent, generous, creative and jolly. Craves to be noticed and appreciated, cannot bear to stay in the shadow or be criticized.

In the depths of their souls, these people know they are true nobility, perhaps even royalty or monarchs. They know for certain that they were born different to others and only some outrageous injustice has destined them to live in a small flat instead of a palace. Yet even in these circumstances the Moon in Leo tries hard to create a decent and elegant lifestyle. He or she insists on buying clothes and items which are special in some way, and enjoys throwing a party and having guests at home an easy way, perhaps, for them to show their true colours.

Leo Moons are proud of their children, who they naturally assume have remarkable talents that distinguish them from others, and as parents they are happy to spend whatever it takes to discover and develop their kids' talents. They can also be big spenders when it comes to buying clothes, both for themselves and their children. Wearing rags is not for nobles! Moon in Leo individuals often have good taste, especially with clothes and food, and this is frequently the result of their own parents' influence. Even if they don't have any creative talents of their own, which is highly unusual, they are still interested in arts, theatre and fashion, and they undoubtedly have their own distinct opinions about these, and all other subjects.

Playing, celebrating and partying are the best ways for Moon in Leo people to restore their energy after periods of stress. For good self-esteem, every now and again they also need to be viewed, appreciated, and adored.

If they don't have enough love in their life, Moon Leos can have problems with their heart, circulatory system or their general levels of physical energy. Problems with vision are also quite typical. Many Moon Leos tend to have some sort of difficulty in their relationships with their own children, perhaps because they are so eager to spoil them.


Moon in Leo Celebrities

Gordon Brown, Clint Eastwood, Jane Fonda, Mohandas Gandhi, Rudy Giuliani, Paul Hogan, Queen Elizabeth II, Julia Roberts, Carlos Santana, Paramahansa Yogananda.

The Use of Psychoactives in Ritual

"I am just reading my books on paganism/wicca and I came accross a chapter in Margot Adler's 'Drawing Down The Moon' called the ''Interview with a Modern Witch''. The woman interviewed is Sharon Devlin-member of the craft. She states that paganism today is lacking music, rhythm, dance and psychogenetic drugs. She also says that we have to bring those ecstatic states again by ritual drunkennes and sex, which was an essential to the rites in ancient times... The best part is that she blames Christianity'' for fear of ecstatic states, fear of intelligent use of hallucinogens, fear of intelligent and sensitive use of sexuality to produce extasy...'' I agree with the part about sexuality to certain degree. I am totaly against drugs and I am not a Christian. I go for rituals performed in the most pure, natural state. I don't have to be halucinating to reach my Goddess.
PLS Shere your opinions......"

First, let me say that the use of the word “drug” is wrong in this instance. Simply put crack is not the same as peyote. Never has been, never will be. To group them together is wrong and it implies that certain substances are bad by association. We would never tell someone in severe pain that they can’t have morphine simply because there are people out there without enough willpower to not use or get off of the medication and subsequently abuse it. So to group them together is just, to me, poorly informed or ill-educated.

There are some substances that can be used in ritual, and I choose to separate these substances under the title of Psycho-Active Substances. To me this implies that it is more for medicinal – and by this I mean medicine for the spirit – use. Psycho like psyche the “above mind” and active, just that. A stimulation of the higher self if you will.

I think that if you are comfortable using them (PAS) then by all means feel free. However, as the title implies I do not think that you should be slathering it on, or drinking it down every time you have circle. Also I think that there should be age limits, much like the one America uses for tobacco and alcohol. Again, willpower and intelligence are needed, and from what I have seen are used in regards to these substances.

Secondly, there is recorded evidence of real witches using PAS since the middle ages. The first known case we have of this comes from approximately 1450 in the form of Flying Ointment to be used in pagan rituals, specifically those of witches, and was made up of solanaceous herbs. In fact one such recipe indicates that you would use Henbane, Wolfsbane, Belladonna and Hemlock in a mixture boiled in animal fat – usually toads known for their hallucinogenic toxic production.

So to state that “Real Witches” would/have never used PAS shows a poor witch, or one who is just too lazy to actually do some research into their (and by this I mean witches as a whole) past. And yes, I do feel that if you state you are a witch, you are obligated to go out and look at your own history – that however is a personal stance, but so far it has helped me pick out the real from the fad.

Now on the point of sex in ritual, I do not understand how or why one who calls themselves a witch would be against it. As anyone I have ever known who has participated in a Beltane ritual has performed accordingly; whether as a solitary, or within a coven. This is one of the reasons most Beltane circles are closed to members who aren’t part of the coven and the vast majority separate the daytime celebrations from the evening, especially festivals occurring around this time – at least the ones I’ve been to and have heard of friends participating in.

So the fact that sex in ritual would now be something to worry about baffles me. This said I would have to go with my previous statement of “intelligence and willpower.” As for the age limit on sex – it’s a no brainer.

As for the issue of liking/agreeing with Drawing Down the Moon by Margot Adler, I’d have to say that I really did enjoy this book. For me it was a way of looking into the past and seeing the struggle for Paganism to be recognized in its many facets (Druid, Wiccan, Hindu, etc etc) as a valid religious/spiritual choice. You also have to remember that you DON’T have to agree with what was said or done. Whether you live in American land of the free, or any other democratic society, or even any modern society you have a right to believe as you see fit so long as it doesn’t hurt someone else. This means everyone has the RIGHT to their own opinion.

That is what is so great about our time NOW. What Adler, Budapest, Starhawk, Crowley, Gardner, Buckland, Valiente worked their asses off for – our right to pick and choose what we want to learn. This is WHY we have so many different authors out there. I don’t know about you, but every book I have in my collection tells you point blank: “I am not saying that you HAVE to do it like this, choose what WORKS FOR YOU.” For instance, my friend loves Silver Ravenwolf – to me she is a preachy mom and gets on my nerves. Do I like everything she says? Hell No! Some of her points are valid; some of them are batshit crazy to me. I still read all her books though, regardless of how I feel about what she has to say on certain issues.

And personally – I don’t really like the tone of “if you use drugs or have sex you’re a bad person because my mommy told me so.” I think that attitude is part of the PROBLEM we have today. I think that if you are not comfortable doing it – you should not do it, but if you are myself and no one else has the right to tell you “you are wrong” just because we don’t agree. In my opinion that is a very Christian (Christian not the same as Christ Follower) attitude, and I just don’t like it.

If you don’t agree, disagree, but do not lord your opinion all over everywhere with a Holier-Than-Thou stance just because you don’t like it. I love dill pickles, but I hate sweet pickles. Am I going to stone your ass because you don’t eat dill pickles – noooo, am I going to give you a weird look and stare at you while you eat them – yes I do it much to the chagrin of my friends every time they eat them on their sandwiches. But I’m not going to JUDGE you for eating them.

Eight words the Witches Rede fulfill, An it harm none do what ye will. I’d say that’s a damn valid point myself.

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.

People Put Ghosts To Shame

How is it, that when you’ve moved on from something that has changed who you are – whether the incident was Hiroshima or a sneeze in the path that is your life – it never wants to remain healed.
If you have a scar, which is a constant reminder – for better and worse – that that was something you lived through; then obviously you will never be the same. Whether the scar is literal, memories carved in flesh, or figurative, the gaping wounds of the soul.

I am tired of having the offender come upon me at a later date, only to find me fully healed. Perhaps not in the condition they left me in; no longer broken and bleeding and utterly unusable – or even recognizable. Not the person I was before – not that girl whole and safe again. New. New and tattered and worn weary, but here. Still strong and breathing and capable of my own thoughts.
I am tired of having them flay open the scars to prove they are there. I know they are there, and I am well aware of who the offenders are. I remember everything, right down to the flavor in my mouth. I remember the way you smelled and your tone of voice. I remember it with a vicious clarity that if I do more than pass over it, I realize that while the scar is there the healing has not finished. And though time will whittle that away, time never Never NEVER EVER, takes that pain away. It is the ghost you sleep with every night. Your shadow in the sun.
I remember how you abandoned me! I remember how you hated and ignored and pushed me away. I remember you not being there and getting no reason why. I remember breaking. I remember being alone when you said you would be there. I remember the way the lie tasted falling from those lips.

I remember hell.
I’ve been there more times than you can count.

I remember my eagerness to believe you. To trust you. So yes, if you will look just right here you will see that I have not forgotten you. Not forgotten the pain you caused for the slight, no matter how small. See, it’s here. Just so. This here is the impact you have made. So take it and leave me be.
And while I wish you would, I know you won’t.

You will peel back those silvery pink layers of flesh. Just to prove you can. And then you will dig out all those tenuous webs I strived so hard to make. Threads to forget you. Threads to remember who I am. Threads to reattach and reconnect myself.
And once it is clear that you have rent everything once repaired, you will destroy more. You will push through everything and beyond until it is so clear that the impact has left me horribly mangled I will never ever be even a remote glimpse of who I once was – no matter how much I loved myself or yours.

I am tired of choking on the blood. I am tired of not drowning. I want no more to gasp and clutch to a life where this is the next baited answer. And I am not asking for a life free from pain, merely a life free from the cheap shot.
I am tired of making the effort on my own. Tired of stitching up my own wounds. Tired of crying tears that only make the agony overwhelmingly inescapable. Tired of fighting to breathe.
I am tired of fighting battles I know I’ve lost.

So take your pounds of flesh, your gallons of blood. Take your solace in the victory you have won. Champion yourself and make merry with your comrades. Flash your metal armor and flaunt your mounts and be festive for you have murdered the dragon. You have slain the chimera. You have decimated the creature what mortal men fear.

But do not come back when you realize you weren’t as forthright in your efforts.

Some deaths are a long time coming.