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.  

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.

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.

Suicide

Every night
You wrote another line
With a bloody, broken, bottle
And every day
You wish it away
Why don't you pull the pin
On that grenade
You cuddle

I wanted to believe
Bodies swinging from trees
Struggling to stand
With your head in your hands
A stoic last stand
Of a dying man

I wanted to believe
As I watched your world
Crumble in your hands
I wanted to believe
As you raised your glass
To your last stand
And I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand...
I did not understand...

Every night
The questions poured out
Of your wounded eyes
Damn dark things
Every day
You used to pray
Listen to the black raven sing
You wanted to believe
As you were falling to your knees
Struggling to stand
With your life in your hand
The sad last stand
Of a broken man

I wanted to believe
As I watched your world
Crumble in your hands
I wanted to believe
As you raised your glass
To your last stand
And I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand...
I did not understand...

I wanted to believe
As I watched your world
Crumble in your hands
I wanted to believe
As you raised your glass
To your last stand
I wanted to believe
You would win
The war in your head
That I did not understand
I did not understand

And the questions poured out
And the questions pour out
I did not understand
I did not understand
I did not understand
I did not understand
The sound of you falling
I did not understand
As the trembling heart of a dying man
Did not understand
The sound of a trembling heart

I wonder why there is such stigma with suicide. Or with death in general. I often think about killing myself. And it's not that I am unhappy - because I am in fact Happy. I really like my life and who I am - and don't get me wrong it seems to be going on a bender hard and fast. However, above all things, I know who I am. And I don't worry. Something that seems to be swiftly maddening to those whom I choose to surround myself with. Especially my kittens.

I don't know. Sometimes it just seems that Death is the last Great Adventure I have waiting for me.

I am in Need of an adventure.

So desperately so that when I think of it I cannot breathe and my body is frozen in some silent prison, shaking with the need to explode violently into it.

Perhaps it's not my suicide that's bizarre. But the fact that when I picture it, I'm never caught. If I'm found at all. Sometimes I think I'll just wink out like a star, silent and lost among the thousands that capture your eyes. Overlooked or maybe misplaced and forgotten. And while I think I should feel sad at being forgotten, I rarely am. At worst I'm empty and at best I'm amused. But never sad. Never down.

Maybe it's because I believe that I will be here long after this body and earth has gone from existence. That I am me because I am the soul, the god I have spent so long looking for. I am the burning need that gets me through the bad days, and lifts me to flight on the good.

Empty because I don't need you.

Amused because I loved you and wanted you with me regardless of your concerns.

I don't need you. Any of you. And that should mean something great to you. Something wonderful and fantastic. Because you shouldn't need me either. Ferociously Independent. I want to be like the sea. Like the earth. Completely capable of severing you from myself at any and all costs.

So you will know how precious it is that

I Want You