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.

=^ ^=

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.