Originally Posted:8/27/07
Brittle fabrications gouging holes in the heart. There's a snake in the grass (my dick's in her ass). That's not a clever rhyme, its not a mother fucking joke, every fiber in me yearns to be yours. I don't want your heart, I don't want adoration. I want fear, I want desire, I want lust. I could care less for your thoughts, you're just flesh to me and when I burn with the want I'm going to feed...
But then the lying starts and I trip over words, unbound in my own mind. "They're outta get me." and the paranoia sinks in like a gash in the throat and the rebellion begins. "I'm fuckin innocent. So you can suck me." Burned out all over again, sinking with exhuastion back into bed and covering my ears to escape the noise in my head.
I swallowed swallows unladen from Europe and Africa and spat sonnets at Shakespeare (or Marlowe if you so please). I drank deep the sin and I sang the praise, had dreams of a river, pleasant nights and long days. I saw the roses in bloom, saw orchids from the Abyss, watched as Istar fell, and bled the Countess. For all of my triumph I've nothing to show for my quests lay on paper once whiter than snow. My glory goes onward, under other men's names: Tanis and Roland, Erzebet and Raist. My humor, my laughter is not mine to claim, for all that I am has been written in tales. I am a story, a fable, nothing more.
You read that and wondered where my mind was going. Why the first two sections were lust and physical need and the last was a twisted song about stories and fate. They're intertwined, I swear it is true and if you just think a moment you'll see it too. For the need to be had is like the need to be real. The careless abandon we delve into for sex is the blind, ceaseless need to prove we exist. I won't share my secrets for you or for any. I will say one thing, and I hope you understand: I may be fiction, but I am not false.
Lullaby and goodnight. Forever sleep, my darlings. Never lift your eyes again, upon this dismal plane. The world is for the maggots. Never wake...
Again.
Eternally,
Scar Rider
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Raping, Stalling, Crestfallen
Originally Posted: 2/19/07
Vile monsters of the subversive kind haunt my waking moments like swamp water covered in brine. They slither and prattle and slink in the back of my mind, but their eyes are the worst part. Those eyes so full of hope and deception, of love and disdain at once I can barely stand to look at them. Why are so many of the people in my life frauds?
I have questions, questions I can't answer about the world and the justification of my own inactions. I wonder why people smile when they want to cry and why you never did love me. I think about it sometimes in those dark recesses of the night when man's mind is most succeptable to dreary thoughts, when the bleak ugliness of the world cascades down around us and we realize that we have no control, even over our own will.
I wish I could catch a fallng star one time and send it back to the sky, to save Mother Nothingness from losing a child. Ironic, isn't it? Wishing and wishing, we kill the stars and my one wish is to save one. I could laugh at that in another life, at another time. Now it just makes me sad. Maybe I'm growing up, maybe I'm getting old. I've been dead since the day I was born.
A fire in the eyes of a woman gripped with passion is like nothing you'll ever see. Its hunger and longing and sorrow combined. Its all the hope of what her passion will bring to pass, that the object of her affection will wisk her away to fairyland and marry her like the prince he is. The truth of that, is that men see that passion and it ignites a different kind of passion in them. The dark kind that comes with finally realizing the kind of power you have. Sadistic, reprehensible and utterly despicable. We know we have the power to crush your hopes and dreams, to destroy them in a single blow.
And we do it.
That's the most galling thing of all. We know we can, and we fucking do. Really opens your eyes to the depth of depravity we really exist at doesn't it? No matter what good we do in life, there is always the lingering burden that our actions have destroyed something beautiful.
For me, that is unthinkable. I can't live with it anymore.
I never said I beleived in forever.
Vile monsters of the subversive kind haunt my waking moments like swamp water covered in brine. They slither and prattle and slink in the back of my mind, but their eyes are the worst part. Those eyes so full of hope and deception, of love and disdain at once I can barely stand to look at them. Why are so many of the people in my life frauds?
I have questions, questions I can't answer about the world and the justification of my own inactions. I wonder why people smile when they want to cry and why you never did love me. I think about it sometimes in those dark recesses of the night when man's mind is most succeptable to dreary thoughts, when the bleak ugliness of the world cascades down around us and we realize that we have no control, even over our own will.
I wish I could catch a fallng star one time and send it back to the sky, to save Mother Nothingness from losing a child. Ironic, isn't it? Wishing and wishing, we kill the stars and my one wish is to save one. I could laugh at that in another life, at another time. Now it just makes me sad. Maybe I'm growing up, maybe I'm getting old. I've been dead since the day I was born.
A fire in the eyes of a woman gripped with passion is like nothing you'll ever see. Its hunger and longing and sorrow combined. Its all the hope of what her passion will bring to pass, that the object of her affection will wisk her away to fairyland and marry her like the prince he is. The truth of that, is that men see that passion and it ignites a different kind of passion in them. The dark kind that comes with finally realizing the kind of power you have. Sadistic, reprehensible and utterly despicable. We know we have the power to crush your hopes and dreams, to destroy them in a single blow.
And we do it.
That's the most galling thing of all. We know we can, and we fucking do. Really opens your eyes to the depth of depravity we really exist at doesn't it? No matter what good we do in life, there is always the lingering burden that our actions have destroyed something beautiful.
For me, that is unthinkable. I can't live with it anymore.
I never said I beleived in forever.
To The Women in My Life
Originally Posted: 1/14/07
dreamt of you last night. In my dream I gazed in your demure eyes, eyes of dark bourbon. I gazed there and spoke. Said "Kiss me, just once." for I knew it would be all we needed. A whole world, a whole life, dreams made true and all with a kiss. Yet, perhaps not. Perhaps we would still walk away and continue this waltz, our intricate dance of love and feigned ignorance. Still, we would have that kiss and it would be true, it would be magic, it would be one of a kind. I never wanted to fuck you, never wanted to make love to you, not once. I always saw us, you and I, as art. Saw that I would kiss your mouth and revel in you, gloriously nude and repeat my kiss at every point on your body. Then the moment would pass and we would be friends again. The love would stay, the ignorance would die and there would always be us, you and I...
You make me sick, you lurid bitch. Your conceit, your pompous lack of courtesy, the selfish way you breathe my air and leave me gasping, dry-heaving.Oh yes, I hate the very skin you wear, the little holes you try to tear in my resolve like I revolve around your pitiless lies. You are a whore, nothing more and your cavernous cunt is a coven of wretchedness, of filth, of disease, of impurity. You inferior peon, you mindless, worthless, pitiful excuse for gutter trash. Call me brash, but I think you're killing me. You wield no power, hold no sway and yet I feel it day to day, the constant downfall you leave like a plague, a pall. If I fall, surely you are at fault.
You are not a dream. No, you were a fantasy once (and occasionally still) but now you're real. Real and wholly mine. You are a creature whose love I could only pray for until it came to be mine. There is little to say now, beyond simple vows and curses sworn at your behest, sworn for your love and your greatness. Even that seems too little for someone so pure. My life is grandoise, my love is too. For something so diminutive to be the best I can offer...how unfair it seems in light of all you give to me. How truly unworthy I seem to my own eyes. I hope I never awaken to find you too, nothing more than a dream.
You have the moral high ground? Hardly. You seem to speak in riddles and rhymes to those of a lesser mind and when I look upon your smiling face I see nothing but its desecration. You defiled piece of scum rotting in the stinking summer sun. Your purity cast like refuse to the wind of change and the reeking scent of Alpha male. Perhaps it was worth your descent into sloth and sin, the pleasure he gave you, but I hardly beleive it so. Perhaps the natural adolescent rebellion caused it, perhaps you lied all along about your true nature. I prefer to think your words were, are and will ever be wasted only on yourself. Reassurances are nothing compared to the embrace of a real friend and when they're all gone, well you'll have nothing left but your own shallow words and empty husks of a beleif system long sacrificed for carnal delight. So shove it, bitch. Your morality is more than dead. Its been sold off to a jackal with love only for himself.
Mommy dearest, mommy dearest don't leave me alone. You selfish bitch. Perhaps I love you and perhaps I always will but I prefer to think those things are in my control. I'd like to think I could throw my disdain at you when you deserve it and hold you near to my heart when I must. If all the things you sacrifice for me are weighed with what I have done for you, maybe we aren't so different. I think we are. I think maybe someday your eyes will be open to what you've done, what you helped create and when they are I hope it eats you from the inside out. Because even you can't say you love something like this. No, I don't think even a mother's love can possibly over come this thing.
"Mother, the pain ain't hurting me". I'm free from it and from you now. As free as baby boys can be. As free as anyone in these times of darkness can become. You've given and taken and taught and learned and birthed and murdered me more times than I can dare to say, and when there is no one left here but me, no one beside you, I will sing out your name. I will sing you to sleep once more so you can't curse me for letting you die all alone. "Does anyone else know how it feels to be wrong?"
I grow weary of this. Of your prating and plotting and endless nonsensical babble. If you want something, then take it. Never let it pass by when it lies before you without vestiture, without shield or defense. It lies before you naked. And you're afraid, afraid of the light of the night of yourself. Perhaps there is darkness ahead, tribulation and touble but none of it matters. Nothing matters unless you face it alone. Then you're sure to fall. You're sure to die and it will be nobody's fault but your own.
Goodbye.
dreamt of you last night. In my dream I gazed in your demure eyes, eyes of dark bourbon. I gazed there and spoke. Said "Kiss me, just once." for I knew it would be all we needed. A whole world, a whole life, dreams made true and all with a kiss. Yet, perhaps not. Perhaps we would still walk away and continue this waltz, our intricate dance of love and feigned ignorance. Still, we would have that kiss and it would be true, it would be magic, it would be one of a kind. I never wanted to fuck you, never wanted to make love to you, not once. I always saw us, you and I, as art. Saw that I would kiss your mouth and revel in you, gloriously nude and repeat my kiss at every point on your body. Then the moment would pass and we would be friends again. The love would stay, the ignorance would die and there would always be us, you and I...
You make me sick, you lurid bitch. Your conceit, your pompous lack of courtesy, the selfish way you breathe my air and leave me gasping, dry-heaving.Oh yes, I hate the very skin you wear, the little holes you try to tear in my resolve like I revolve around your pitiless lies. You are a whore, nothing more and your cavernous cunt is a coven of wretchedness, of filth, of disease, of impurity. You inferior peon, you mindless, worthless, pitiful excuse for gutter trash. Call me brash, but I think you're killing me. You wield no power, hold no sway and yet I feel it day to day, the constant downfall you leave like a plague, a pall. If I fall, surely you are at fault.
You are not a dream. No, you were a fantasy once (and occasionally still) but now you're real. Real and wholly mine. You are a creature whose love I could only pray for until it came to be mine. There is little to say now, beyond simple vows and curses sworn at your behest, sworn for your love and your greatness. Even that seems too little for someone so pure. My life is grandoise, my love is too. For something so diminutive to be the best I can offer...how unfair it seems in light of all you give to me. How truly unworthy I seem to my own eyes. I hope I never awaken to find you too, nothing more than a dream.
You have the moral high ground? Hardly. You seem to speak in riddles and rhymes to those of a lesser mind and when I look upon your smiling face I see nothing but its desecration. You defiled piece of scum rotting in the stinking summer sun. Your purity cast like refuse to the wind of change and the reeking scent of Alpha male. Perhaps it was worth your descent into sloth and sin, the pleasure he gave you, but I hardly beleive it so. Perhaps the natural adolescent rebellion caused it, perhaps you lied all along about your true nature. I prefer to think your words were, are and will ever be wasted only on yourself. Reassurances are nothing compared to the embrace of a real friend and when they're all gone, well you'll have nothing left but your own shallow words and empty husks of a beleif system long sacrificed for carnal delight. So shove it, bitch. Your morality is more than dead. Its been sold off to a jackal with love only for himself.
Mommy dearest, mommy dearest don't leave me alone. You selfish bitch. Perhaps I love you and perhaps I always will but I prefer to think those things are in my control. I'd like to think I could throw my disdain at you when you deserve it and hold you near to my heart when I must. If all the things you sacrifice for me are weighed with what I have done for you, maybe we aren't so different. I think we are. I think maybe someday your eyes will be open to what you've done, what you helped create and when they are I hope it eats you from the inside out. Because even you can't say you love something like this. No, I don't think even a mother's love can possibly over come this thing.
"Mother, the pain ain't hurting me". I'm free from it and from you now. As free as baby boys can be. As free as anyone in these times of darkness can become. You've given and taken and taught and learned and birthed and murdered me more times than I can dare to say, and when there is no one left here but me, no one beside you, I will sing out your name. I will sing you to sleep once more so you can't curse me for letting you die all alone. "Does anyone else know how it feels to be wrong?"
I grow weary of this. Of your prating and plotting and endless nonsensical babble. If you want something, then take it. Never let it pass by when it lies before you without vestiture, without shield or defense. It lies before you naked. And you're afraid, afraid of the light of the night of yourself. Perhaps there is darkness ahead, tribulation and touble but none of it matters. Nothing matters unless you face it alone. Then you're sure to fall. You're sure to die and it will be nobody's fault but your own.
Goodbye.
The Worm God on Love
Originally Posted: 12/9/06
*Author's note: The original title for this was 'The Worm God in Love' because I intended to write it as a parrallel between my own life and the character of Shakespeare in "Shakespeare in Love". However, upon beginning said parrallel I realized I have never seen that movie and therefore could do nothing at all.
"I owe my heart to another
But its hard to care
When you're sitting so close
So just kiss me one time, baby
Let me lose control..."
Have you ever fallen for someone you couldn't have? Begun the slow descent into the pool of fetid madness that is the human heart and all in vain for the person you go to such great lengths to be with, to possess, is ever out of reach. Have you ever dreamt of soft moonlight and satin sheets, making love to that person just to feel their skin against yours? Perversions aside, that's a beautiful moment and one you will, unfortunately, never experience with the subject of your unwarranted love.
"She flies like a bird
Over his shoulder
She whispers in his ear
'Boy, you are my star...'"
Perhaps that is the nature of those types of feelings. To provide a roller coaster experience. At times that are exciting, deliciously refreshing and altogether a cause for exultation. Other times they are a bitter reminder that not everyone can acheive the same level of happiness, that some of us are born to suffer hardships and some of us, as much as we'd like to, can not please everyone. We're human, and that makes us less than omnipotent. Even the gods lack that ability, why should we possess it?
*Author's note: The original title for this was 'The Worm God in Love' because I intended to write it as a parrallel between my own life and the character of Shakespeare in "Shakespeare in Love". However, upon beginning said parrallel I realized I have never seen that movie and therefore could do nothing at all.
"I owe my heart to another
But its hard to care
When you're sitting so close
So just kiss me one time, baby
Let me lose control..."
Have you ever fallen for someone you couldn't have? Begun the slow descent into the pool of fetid madness that is the human heart and all in vain for the person you go to such great lengths to be with, to possess, is ever out of reach. Have you ever dreamt of soft moonlight and satin sheets, making love to that person just to feel their skin against yours? Perversions aside, that's a beautiful moment and one you will, unfortunately, never experience with the subject of your unwarranted love.
"She flies like a bird
Over his shoulder
She whispers in his ear
'Boy, you are my star...'"
Perhaps that is the nature of those types of feelings. To provide a roller coaster experience. At times that are exciting, deliciously refreshing and altogether a cause for exultation. Other times they are a bitter reminder that not everyone can acheive the same level of happiness, that some of us are born to suffer hardships and some of us, as much as we'd like to, can not please everyone. We're human, and that makes us less than omnipotent. Even the gods lack that ability, why should we possess it?
A Series of Portraits Frozen in Time
Originally Posted: 7/20/06
A Series of Portraits Frozen in Time
My most precious memories are moments that I can never recall. Moments that seem so perfect they almost make you sad because you know it will be over too soon. These are often marred by the imperfect memory and therefore, I prefer to let them linger in the past. Never too far from my minds eye, but always out of reach for conscious thought. This way, they're preserved without the blundering of my reminiscing. I think people are the same as memories.
I keep the people I hold most dear a little further from my reach these days. At least the ones in the past. People with whom I can sense a delicate balance. Where once these relationships seemed so strong now they teeter on the fragile balance of destruction.
A Series of Portraits Frozen in Time
My most precious memories are moments that I can never recall. Moments that seem so perfect they almost make you sad because you know it will be over too soon. These are often marred by the imperfect memory and therefore, I prefer to let them linger in the past. Never too far from my minds eye, but always out of reach for conscious thought. This way, they're preserved without the blundering of my reminiscing. I think people are the same as memories.
I keep the people I hold most dear a little further from my reach these days. At least the ones in the past. People with whom I can sense a delicate balance. Where once these relationships seemed so strong now they teeter on the fragile balance of destruction.
Apologies, Facts, and Minsinterpreted Drivel
Originally Posted: 4/23/06
There are a hundred million reasons why I'm insignificant. A thousand more that tell you I am everything. But facts are just facts in the minds of those convinced. For the rest of us, its merely opinion. Opinion with enough propoganda to make it real. So feelings suffice, and mold who we are, rather than the things we know. Our hearts define us. Our minds just let us be controlled. I've often wondered about the things I've done before. What brought about the events, what about my life caused these things to happen? I know, some of you are getting sick of me being sentimental. Sick of me reminiscing about old friends (ok, one old friend) and never really saying what I mean. Well, then I have good news for you...
Fuck you. I was lying. I don't have any good news. This is my piece of the universe and I'll litter it with whatever I please. Truth is, I don't say what I mean because I haven't figured out how to do so yet. Its like having a baseball shoved in your throat and trying to describe how it feels. Bad analogy, but close enough to the truth. I've just been exploring some things I hadn't thought to go into before and it brings back some issues I've had tucked safely away in the nest of my inhumanity for some time now. Uncomfortable, yes, but not altogether unpleasant. It gives me the motivation and the most sincere need I can imagine having, to finally try and right some things I've done wrong.
I've hurt alot of people. I've hurt alot of deserving people. More importantly, I've hurt a few undeserving people. I can't say I'm remorseful because doing that, would just be senseless. It would imply that all the things we went through were for nothing. This, above all else, is untrue. Everything I have done has served a purpose and even if I hated who I was, I don't hate who I've become. Well, most of the time. My issue is what I had to do to become this thing.
I'm afraid of some things. They don't include spiders of being alone. Spiders are just creatures like any other: fun to kill but otherwise, of little significance to me. Being alone is something I've always told people I feared. Here's the kicker though: Hah, I'm a liar. I'm not afraid to be alone, to be entirely honest, I'm afraid I don't care enough to be with someone else. Want to know what else I'm afraid of? Paralysis. Letting my foods touch on my plate. Fatherhood. Being implicated for sodomy and yes, bumblebees give me the willies.
Back to my original topic....which...was never actually established. So, let's get some more bullshit in first. I'm tired of being poetic. I'm tired of trying to find new ways to say the same old shit and sick to death of trying to move people to better understand what I feel. Words are utterly meaningless unless you can see past them. Look me in the face and tell me you understand a single fucking thing I say and unless you're among the most elite human beings I've ever met...I'll stab out your eyes and kick your god damned teeth in.
People are so fucking pretentious about what they know and don't know it absolutely sickens me. If you can recite Shakespeare it doesn't make you any more intelligent than someone who can name every city in Ireland. If you can write beautiful poetry it doesn't make you any more in tune with yourself than a rapper from Buffalo. The truth is, people can go their entire lives without ever knowing a single thing. The only things you'll ever know, are the ones you beleive with your entire being. Your mind can not be the only part of you convinced of the truth. If so, it isn't the truth.
That said, I need to smoke while I think about what else I want to say in this...piece of shit.
Speaking of pieces of shit, I truly am. Not the lowest kind, but I'm down there toward the bottom.
For Tiffany, the Mistress Morbid I spoke of in the last little....thing I wrote, I am sorry (I'm doing away with anonymity because I personally doubt anyone reads this anyway). There is truly no better way I can say it than that. I'm still trying to gather the nerve to call and explain what the fuck is wrong with my head all of a sudden but there's the most primal form of it. I know that everything I've done and undone has left what was there utterly spent and I want more than anything to breathe life back into it. I want my friend back. Fuck, I want what was, at one point, the only thing in my life that mattered back. The face I woke up for every morning, the smile I took every breath to keep seeing, the dreams I slept in hopes of having. Christ, I threw so much shit away for something that will never mean anything to me. I gave it all away for nothing. I can see I've gone far beyond what I had intended with this. "Hinsight is always 20/20; Looking back its still a bit fuzzy".
How I despise Megadeath.
No, that's not fair. I don't despise them.
No more than I despise anything else, at any rate.
I think I've forgotten how to hate. It wasn't a really useful emotion to begin with, but it served its purpose well when called upon. I either enjoy things, or they don't exist to me. Its almost as if everything I don't like is dead to me. At least in my world. Damn, Trent Reznor always knows exactly what to write about. I need to take a shit sometime soon, or my ass is going to explode.
Anyway, I can see I'm about to ramble on some more. So before I go into another outburst about my personal feelings and the absolute hysteria that's been threatening to overtake what's left of my brain (parasites and madness have claimed most of it), I'm going to end this diatribe.
I haven't titled it yet. How about..."Apologies, Facts, and Misinterpreted Drivel"? Yeah, sounds about right. Goodnight, and Good Luck.
-Scar Rider
There are a hundred million reasons why I'm insignificant. A thousand more that tell you I am everything. But facts are just facts in the minds of those convinced. For the rest of us, its merely opinion. Opinion with enough propoganda to make it real. So feelings suffice, and mold who we are, rather than the things we know. Our hearts define us. Our minds just let us be controlled. I've often wondered about the things I've done before. What brought about the events, what about my life caused these things to happen? I know, some of you are getting sick of me being sentimental. Sick of me reminiscing about old friends (ok, one old friend) and never really saying what I mean. Well, then I have good news for you...
Fuck you. I was lying. I don't have any good news. This is my piece of the universe and I'll litter it with whatever I please. Truth is, I don't say what I mean because I haven't figured out how to do so yet. Its like having a baseball shoved in your throat and trying to describe how it feels. Bad analogy, but close enough to the truth. I've just been exploring some things I hadn't thought to go into before and it brings back some issues I've had tucked safely away in the nest of my inhumanity for some time now. Uncomfortable, yes, but not altogether unpleasant. It gives me the motivation and the most sincere need I can imagine having, to finally try and right some things I've done wrong.
I've hurt alot of people. I've hurt alot of deserving people. More importantly, I've hurt a few undeserving people. I can't say I'm remorseful because doing that, would just be senseless. It would imply that all the things we went through were for nothing. This, above all else, is untrue. Everything I have done has served a purpose and even if I hated who I was, I don't hate who I've become. Well, most of the time. My issue is what I had to do to become this thing.
I'm afraid of some things. They don't include spiders of being alone. Spiders are just creatures like any other: fun to kill but otherwise, of little significance to me. Being alone is something I've always told people I feared. Here's the kicker though: Hah, I'm a liar. I'm not afraid to be alone, to be entirely honest, I'm afraid I don't care enough to be with someone else. Want to know what else I'm afraid of? Paralysis. Letting my foods touch on my plate. Fatherhood. Being implicated for sodomy and yes, bumblebees give me the willies.
Back to my original topic....which...was never actually established. So, let's get some more bullshit in first. I'm tired of being poetic. I'm tired of trying to find new ways to say the same old shit and sick to death of trying to move people to better understand what I feel. Words are utterly meaningless unless you can see past them. Look me in the face and tell me you understand a single fucking thing I say and unless you're among the most elite human beings I've ever met...I'll stab out your eyes and kick your god damned teeth in.
People are so fucking pretentious about what they know and don't know it absolutely sickens me. If you can recite Shakespeare it doesn't make you any more intelligent than someone who can name every city in Ireland. If you can write beautiful poetry it doesn't make you any more in tune with yourself than a rapper from Buffalo. The truth is, people can go their entire lives without ever knowing a single thing. The only things you'll ever know, are the ones you beleive with your entire being. Your mind can not be the only part of you convinced of the truth. If so, it isn't the truth.
That said, I need to smoke while I think about what else I want to say in this...piece of shit.
Speaking of pieces of shit, I truly am. Not the lowest kind, but I'm down there toward the bottom.
For Tiffany, the Mistress Morbid I spoke of in the last little....thing I wrote, I am sorry (I'm doing away with anonymity because I personally doubt anyone reads this anyway). There is truly no better way I can say it than that. I'm still trying to gather the nerve to call and explain what the fuck is wrong with my head all of a sudden but there's the most primal form of it. I know that everything I've done and undone has left what was there utterly spent and I want more than anything to breathe life back into it. I want my friend back. Fuck, I want what was, at one point, the only thing in my life that mattered back. The face I woke up for every morning, the smile I took every breath to keep seeing, the dreams I slept in hopes of having. Christ, I threw so much shit away for something that will never mean anything to me. I gave it all away for nothing. I can see I've gone far beyond what I had intended with this. "Hinsight is always 20/20; Looking back its still a bit fuzzy".
How I despise Megadeath.
No, that's not fair. I don't despise them.
No more than I despise anything else, at any rate.
I think I've forgotten how to hate. It wasn't a really useful emotion to begin with, but it served its purpose well when called upon. I either enjoy things, or they don't exist to me. Its almost as if everything I don't like is dead to me. At least in my world. Damn, Trent Reznor always knows exactly what to write about. I need to take a shit sometime soon, or my ass is going to explode.
Anyway, I can see I'm about to ramble on some more. So before I go into another outburst about my personal feelings and the absolute hysteria that's been threatening to overtake what's left of my brain (parasites and madness have claimed most of it), I'm going to end this diatribe.
I haven't titled it yet. How about..."Apologies, Facts, and Misinterpreted Drivel"? Yeah, sounds about right. Goodnight, and Good Luck.
-Scar Rider
Everything That You Stood For, Just Had Its Ass Kicked Out the Door
Originally Posted: 2/18/06
You make yourself look like a fool, and your disrespect is mortifying. The language that endlessly worms its way from your throat and into the world, the foul, deplorable slang you interpret as modern poetry, is less artistic than photographing a 92 year old man sodomizing your ten year old brother. The repetitive, zombifyingly mind-numbing music you listen to is more a sad attempt at cashing in on a sound, a genre that was dead before it began. You disguise yourself in hard talk, mask your fear with smiles and your homosexuality with talk of conquests and riddicule. You're a coward, a nothing, a futurless, insignificant wretch with more piss in your pants than a newborn. Yet you have the gall to wave the word 'bitch' around like its some kind of weapon, something that will give you power over somebody else because you label them with a derogatory name? Mother fucker, sit back. We're going for a ride.
You have spent your entire life afraid of people who look like me, who talk in speech you don't comprehend, to look at you with pity for reasons you don't understand. Some of them you've ridiculed, some of them you may have even had the nerve to physically lay your hands on. No, I don't mean "freaks". Those have become commonplace these days, a thought that is nauseating in its own right, I mean people who just have a little something...different about them. People who would, on a given day, rend your flesh and eat your insides for shits and giggles. Yeah, people like that. Most of them, I'm fairly sure you have never once looked at face to face, because you are, as previously stated, nothing more than a coward. Well, I'm here now and we can be face to face. Say something sharp and no-doubt mind blowing. Nothing, huh? Yeah, I thought you might have a response something along those lines.
My qualm with you is not a result of something directly aimed at myself. Nothing you did to offend me intentionally, but something offensive nonetheless. I am not easily offended, to say the least, yet you managed it, so now I will explain the rules in a manner you can understand. Firstly, hold your tongue or it will be removed. You could always go to class every so often and perhaps learn to read and write and then, maybe, you'd be fit to speak. Until then, eat your words. Secondly, you will never, and allow me to repeat, never, refer to any woman (be it my fourteen year old sister, or your eighty year old grandmother) as a "fine ass bitch". Commit that atrocity again and you will have a good reason for fear. Lastly, respect other people and their families. They will repay the favor. Fail to do so, and you will suffer.
The rules concluded, and my temper somewhat calmed I leave you with this: Try a style outside of 3X clothes that make you resemble something of a cross between a jackass and an acid head priest, learn a few words longer than four letters and lastly, come out of the closet. You aren't fooling anyone.
Roll that in a blunt and smoke it. Bitch.
God As Himself
You make yourself look like a fool, and your disrespect is mortifying. The language that endlessly worms its way from your throat and into the world, the foul, deplorable slang you interpret as modern poetry, is less artistic than photographing a 92 year old man sodomizing your ten year old brother. The repetitive, zombifyingly mind-numbing music you listen to is more a sad attempt at cashing in on a sound, a genre that was dead before it began. You disguise yourself in hard talk, mask your fear with smiles and your homosexuality with talk of conquests and riddicule. You're a coward, a nothing, a futurless, insignificant wretch with more piss in your pants than a newborn. Yet you have the gall to wave the word 'bitch' around like its some kind of weapon, something that will give you power over somebody else because you label them with a derogatory name? Mother fucker, sit back. We're going for a ride.
You have spent your entire life afraid of people who look like me, who talk in speech you don't comprehend, to look at you with pity for reasons you don't understand. Some of them you've ridiculed, some of them you may have even had the nerve to physically lay your hands on. No, I don't mean "freaks". Those have become commonplace these days, a thought that is nauseating in its own right, I mean people who just have a little something...different about them. People who would, on a given day, rend your flesh and eat your insides for shits and giggles. Yeah, people like that. Most of them, I'm fairly sure you have never once looked at face to face, because you are, as previously stated, nothing more than a coward. Well, I'm here now and we can be face to face. Say something sharp and no-doubt mind blowing. Nothing, huh? Yeah, I thought you might have a response something along those lines.
My qualm with you is not a result of something directly aimed at myself. Nothing you did to offend me intentionally, but something offensive nonetheless. I am not easily offended, to say the least, yet you managed it, so now I will explain the rules in a manner you can understand. Firstly, hold your tongue or it will be removed. You could always go to class every so often and perhaps learn to read and write and then, maybe, you'd be fit to speak. Until then, eat your words. Secondly, you will never, and allow me to repeat, never, refer to any woman (be it my fourteen year old sister, or your eighty year old grandmother) as a "fine ass bitch". Commit that atrocity again and you will have a good reason for fear. Lastly, respect other people and their families. They will repay the favor. Fail to do so, and you will suffer.
The rules concluded, and my temper somewhat calmed I leave you with this: Try a style outside of 3X clothes that make you resemble something of a cross between a jackass and an acid head priest, learn a few words longer than four letters and lastly, come out of the closet. You aren't fooling anyone.
Roll that in a blunt and smoke it. Bitch.
God As Himself
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