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.

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.

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.

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.

I Miss You Cockslice

I miss camarilla's
I miss Shiloh
I miss staying up for days on end
I miss reading more than three books a day
I miss never being home
I miss driving for hours to avoid home
I miss ditching school
I miss Alicat
I miss our coven
I miss grocery shopping high
I miss raves
I miss drug running
I miss rescuing friends
I miss being Ocean
I miss being Silver
I miss being Tape Freak
I miss being Stewart
I miss D&D
I miss Ambrosius, Mayonnaise & Beast
I miss circles
I miss tarot cards, palm reading & seering
I miss painting and sculpting
I miss eating while driving
I miss buying friends food
I miss going to the park and having someone to celebrate nature with
I miss casual sex
I miss when sex was never an issue
I miss not feeling let down
I miss the D&D kittens
I miss the feeling of a new tattoo
I miss the feeling of a new piercing
I miss cutting
I miss dancing under the moon
I miss working at the theater
I miss acting
I miss avoiding the cops to avoid being arrested
I miss the beach
I miss The Castle
I miss death brownies
I miss snow
I miss winter
I miss black ice
I miss tobaggening
I miss Uncle Buzz
I miss the farm
I miss when Michael Jackson was cool
I miss doing Thriller
I miss doing The Time Warp
I miss doing The MIB
I miss french braiding my own hair
I miss anime weekends
I miss Kelley
I miss Pilot Candidate
I miss Outlaw Star
I miss when Sailor Moon was cool
I miss debate
I miss improvisational speaking
I miss driving to get lost and not being able to
I miss singing along to The Aquabats!
I miss going on patrol
I miss firing guns
I miss swimming
I miss believing the world was flat
I miss believing the entire world was only South Dakota
I miss blizzards
I miss the Black Hills
I miss the DAMN YOU!!
I miss mmmKay
I miss begging you to shave your head
I miss pissing you off
I miss kissing you
I miss hugging you
I miss holding you
I miss loving you
I miss being in love with you
I miss making out with you
I miss having sex with you
I miss slapping you
I miss biting you
I miss clawing you
I miss talking to you all night long
I miss IMing you
I miss watching you sleep
I miss walking until dawn with you
I miss caressing you
I miss pinning you
I miss pleasing you
I miss pleasuring you
I miss punching you
I miss kicking you
I miss yelling at you
I miss crying with you
I miss drinking your blood
I miss the taste of your kiss
I miss the taste of you
I miss the sound of your heartbeat
I miss your scent
I miss your eyes
I miss your hair
I miss your smile
I miss your laugh
I miss your sighs
I miss your voice
I miss your lips
I miss your hair
I miss your ears
I miss your happy face
I miss your angry face
I miss your confused face
I miss your letters
I miss your car
I miss your anger
I miss your rage
I miss your sorrow
I miss your pain
I miss your fear
I miss your grief
I miss your lust
I miss your love
I miss your wild abandon
I miss your ferocity
I miss your fist
I miss your bite
I miss your palm
I miss your throat
I miss your wrist
I miss your offering
I miss your gift
I miss your world
I miss your art
I miss your thoughts
I miss your ideals
I miss your morals
I miss your notions
I miss your opinions
I miss your perversions
I miss your need for 3am conversations
I miss your need to wipe ketchup on me
I miss your need to wipe mayonnaise and mustard on me too
I miss your lectures on my health
I miss your choice of music
I miss your choice of films
I miss your choice of novels
I miss waiting for you
I miss speaking to you in French
Gods how I miss your eyes
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you
I miss you so much it hurts

On Being A Vampire

I suppose I have been rather cantankerous of late... And-Or rather morose and encumbered with malaise. Stunted I lie lethargically recumbent. Bent on doing nothing - or rather sleeping the life I'm with away. Trapped in a memory, I'm sleeping with ghosts again. And maybe avoiding being my usual self.
It's almost like I'm hiding from something. But I have nothing to hide. However, maybe it is my lack of being so precociously blatent in my nature. Although it is something I find as natural to myself as breathing or taking a piss. Vampirism. The state of being and indulgence.

For some reason I'm drawn to memories of my coming out as wiccan. Declaring proudly with determination as I clutched that candle staring into the mirror in the middle of the night. "I Am A Witch." Stating:

I Am A Vampire

brings that rush back. That sweet symphony adrenaline ignites your body to humming. For some reason, as of late, I have been filled with a burning need to randomly meet people - shaking their hands the way those within the lifestyle have become accustomed to - and stating. "Hello. I'm a vampire. Nice to meet you." The want to climb fire-escapes to the rooftops of local buildings and shout it to the heavens.
I find it strange in that I have never denied I was. Nor have I ever not answered the questions about my consumption/desire/arousal around blood or biting. Quite forthcoming I generally tend to overwhelm. I come on strong.

You're thinking cup of coffee when it's more like Tsunami, a mile high and climbing.

I miss the shitty group of friends I had when still in the camarilla. When I still dealt with camarilla's. It was fun. And yes, we were kids and stupid. And we did a lot of things you REALLY should NOT do, or try, or even consider when you're high out of your mind on narcotics even hard core addicts avoid - but they were good times. They were fun. For all the wrong reasons - and a few right ones. We were like a family. Just as fucked up as your average, and less crazy than your Springer types.
The nights were wild and illegal. Sharing was especially casual, insanely so as not a one I know of practiced safe sex if they were getting any. And while not convinced of our mortality we were still smart enough to know better, and crazy enough not to give a damn anyway. Of all bodily fluids swapped, blood was probably the wisest choice we were making. It was definitely the one we traded on with most reverence.

And I do not advocate the young vampire scene we were living, it's not as though we had any role models. Or any real idea of what we were doing. Like most things at that stage, some of us lost touch with the scene while others went off the hairy edge into Crazy Town with it.
But as friends go, they were right fine and I miss them. And most of them weren't douchebags. I really only remember getting hurt over one or two. The rest just grew away. And maybe there were more bad times than good, but I cannot remember them. Only the hazy golden glow of a by-gone era and memories of being emboldened and content in my nature. In our nature. Celebrated as it was, if only for a little while.

I'm not too sure I want to attempt to enter the lifestyle given my current location. My metro is growing, but insofar as acceptance of differences, we're still living a Leave It To Beaver state-of-mind. The thoughts are crowding my mind, I'm just not sure I can swing the freight.
I'm not looking for a husband, a significant other, or lover.
But it would be nice to find a friend. To connect with others who's ideas of love and passion and romance run among the darker hues of the spectrum. Logically, I rationalize that given my position it is an unlikely and overly ideal dream.
Still, when the night is full and the moon is high I wish and dream...

Come out, come out - where ever you are.

Without You I'm Nothing At All

Strange infatuation seems to grace the evening tide
I'll take it by your side
Such imagination seems to help the feeling slide
I'll take it by your side
Instant correlation sucks and breeds a pack of lies
I'll take it by your side
Oversaturation curls the skin and tans the hide
I'll take it by your side

Tick tock
Tick tock
Tick tick
Tick
Tick
Tick tock

I'm unclean, a libertine
And every time you vent your spleen
I seem to lose the power of speech
You're slipping slowly from my reach
You grow me like an evergreen
You've never seen the lonely me at all

I
Take the plan, spin it sideways
I
Fall
Without you I'm nothing
Without you I'm nothing
Without you I'm nothing
Take the plan, spin it sideways
Without you I'm nothing at all

Sometimes I think I want a love that lasts forever. And I cannot help but laugh at myself. Perhaps the notion is too feminine. Or merely too childish.

Maybe it's just the fear.
The fact that I am too afraid of losing who I am, who I've fought so hard to be.

I think it's the late hours. That time of night when the moon calls me hard, and I can feel the tide rushing with the blood in my veins.

I want to find something to blame it on. But there is only me. And I know it. A fact that although I am wholly myself I still feel incomplete. And I'm not too sure what it is that is missing, I only know the wound is there and it's bleeding me out. I am tired of fruitless expectations. I am tired of myself.
I. Need. ?

I'd break my right arm to figure it out. A prospect that is as horrifying as it is the truth.

I hate this feeling and the way it creeps up on me. No matter what I'm doing, enjoying; it's just suddenly there and it's everywhere and I feel as though I'm drowning, suffocating, imploding in on myself. With no reason. No cause.
Hunker down further, because this is going to end badly.
With no end is sight, that's all I can hope for...

Aciculate

What do I think of her? I don't care. I hate her. I hate you. I want her to DIE. Quit bleeding me out with your rancid bullshit. WHY DO YOU WANT MY FUCKING APPROVAL? Piss off. Stand on your own two feet for FIVE god Damned seconds.

Sometimes I want to string you upon my wall. See Blood Eagle, Norse. I want to skin your face while you sleep. And keep you alive so I can wake you while wearing it. So you'll cry and I can chirrup in the sweet glee as the salt from your tears bores acid trails down your fucking face.

I AM TIRED OF YOUR FUCKING GAMES.

I'm sick of the way you lie. The way you showboat and endeavor to endear yourself to others. Seeking something you don't deserve. When I want fiction I'll read a book.

The thought of you makes me itch. I feel as though all the flesh I have is constricting me, and I know it's not my flesh but thoughts of you. Thick and sticky - like florida air. Some sick sadistic sauna that never shuts off. Burying you, crushing in upon you like some ghoulish additional layer of gravity that shouldn't exist. And the razor I've entombed in my cutis drags so easily along that line displayed in taxidermy guides.

And I'm not sure what's sicker. The fact that the thought of you makes me want to skin myself for fear of suffocation. Or that the blade slicing through to the dermis is the only happiness I know anymore.

And to your shock and horror I am hysterically happy, cackling with glee insurmountable. [Insurmountable - incapable of being overcome]

I'm suckling the blood from my fingers. Tonguing it from my arm. And if I gnaw just a bit harder I'll reach that pulsing beat within these soft tips.

What wounds me is the fact that you will assume this is about you. Because you just cannot help your arrogance. Everything I used to love about you is wearing me down. Before it crumbles to dust I'll make sure to carve out a piece for you to keep. You always had to prove you owned me in the end anyway.

And this life I'm living is a lie. So all I've left to do is throw it all away. What makes me sadder still is the knowledge that in the end it wouldn't make an impact in your life

Cessation depends on inconspicuous intercourse betwixt carotid and steel...

Hunter When The Moon Is High

Some things are hard to understand…understand if you really understood me I wouldn’t be so alone. Or rather feel this way… arbor mist zinfandel sangria sucks ass – it’s like drinking lime wine [NOT REALLY IT’S LIKE DRINKING FRUITLOOPS]; what a pervasive and degrading idea. I see him sitting there and wonder what he’s thinking…or if he thinks of me while I think of him…though the answer is more than likely not. He has his own life, and his own thoughts - though I wish he would have me on is mind I am not delusional enough to think he does…

A mind’s eye is a Minds Eye and though I may seem impotent in certain facilities I am coherent enough to understand a concept as base as this. Why others do not seems to boggle and vex me in ways not understandable to myself…as though I am above the evolution of the others. Though not all, I do have a few who fallow suit. But not enough and this it’s self seems to vex me even more…like I’m waiting for the remainder of humanity to catch up with myself...

My heart beats a rhythm I wait for someone to hear and understand so that they may love me. It beats wine at the current moment and maybe Lady Sovereign as it right…because some love me and some hate me but they are all obsessed in some way. I’m the Rubik’s Cube everyone wants to finish. Not bragging as I do not understand this myself. Find myself giving them sideways glances as they reach and paw for my attention – labs after the approval of masters proving to be false gods...

The tangy sweetness cascades along the tongue and down the throat reaching in due process the organ it’s fixated upon, and teasing in its sweetness, delicate flavors prance upon budded muscle. How sweet and ingratiating the scent of blood… I wish for it even as none comes. Nothing ever tasted as sweet and delicate as life’s liquid, whispering the sweet sins of the owner upon the tongue and losing itself deep inside uncovering angles to the soul itself that even the carrier knows not. Magick is potent in these silent touches. Burning and hot, an alluring combination, to one so hungry and deprived. I’m pawing at that source, though I know nothing will come from it; pumping in vein from a well that as long since run dry. In agony I howl for one who will let me lap at the blood pool their heart creates for me. Lone a millennium, this queer wolf-cat hybrid – emulsions of vampire spun throughout bright and cascading in an eternal symphony as potent as the pull of the poles to migrating animals… Silently she waits, in utter agonizing anticipation of what may be — what could be if only one were there to be white to her black, angel to her demon, god to her lucifer… She waits hungrily starved for the one who will come, fangs bared in a snarl cruel enough to terrorize the monsters in the darkest minds of the soulless – the one who comes will find an aphrodisiac in them and happily plunge into the maw of razored wolvesteeth.

Running silently over snow crusted hills she hunted, searching for that elusive one who consistently evaded her. She would prevail – even her prey knew this, and its heart beat thirty to the dozen, a sharp gallop in comparison to her own. She knew the time was nearing and her fangs elongated in her mouth cutting her pouty human lips until she kneeled to her fours and sifted to the form the moon compelled her into…

Customers Are People Who's Mother's Medical Plans Should Have Included Abortion

Enraged and pessimistic, bizarrely I seem to excel at customer service jobs. While nine out of ten times I seem to want to watch the customer meet an unholy and bloody gore-filled death, I somehow manage to be polite.

I find this disturbing.

While I am so inclined to kill you with my made-from-scratch-baked-goods they manage to THANK me. I want to eat their faces. Perhaps if they weren’t so fucking mongoloid there wouldn’t be a problem.

CUSTOMERS: When I look at you like your fucking stupid, there is a valid reason!

-Like when you owe me $30 and you hand me a $20 bill. Right. Let me just cover that $10 deficit because I have money justa falling outta my ass!

-I especially love how you think that just because I’m working at a liquor store I am scum. The dirt for you to tread upon. As though I have no plans in my life but to remain here and serve you. Newsflash fuckwad: you are not the center of my universe.

-I also enjoy those fucks who act as though it’s my job to serve them only. So when I’m cleaning the windows they don’t let me know they’re ready - they just huff their disdain loud as a freight train. Fuck your Nazi couch. I have other things that must get done – and no, I did not have eyes installed in the back of my head to serve you.

-These are generally the same fucks that will push their money towards me, as though I’m a prostitute they’re finished with. God forbid they might actually touch me if they handed me the cash. *gasp* they might get my human germs on them. Truly unforgivable.

-These little treasure troves of bullshit are also the ones who will look at the EFT machine to their right. Observe that it is the proper place to slide their debit/credit card and push the card across the counter to me. Apparently I have SLAVE carved upon my forehead.

-Don’t get me wrong, I do not mind if you hand me your card because you overlooked it. You are just fine. It’s the ones who expect me to: slide their card, select the payment type [apparently I have publicly known about ESP], and approve the amount. Sure I’ll approve the amount, for an extra $50 dollars fuckface.

-I also love the genetically deprived cluster of fuckups who come in to shoplift. From me. Especially the old man who steals BOXES of Glenlivet. Sure, that bulging square beneath your coat is natural….right. When I catch you I’m taking your balls cocklick!!

-And you – you mutant-corn-gobbling-zombie-jack-ass – the person who comes in to make my life a living hell. How could I do my job without you!?! This special ray of sunshine whose parents should have settled on masturbation is the “guy” who will come in and berate my prices, my selection – and buy something anyway – so he can berate me.

-Let us not forget that special man! The one who knows you think he’s sexy. Yes that scrawny-missing-teeth-hasn’t-bathed-in-a-year-thinks-milk-is-heavy stud muffin. Boy. You are scrumdiddelyumptious. Let me tell you.

And you wonder why I cringe and swear like a sailor with Tourette’s whenever that bell rings…