Black Friday

I just changed my new myspace blog backround to this. I was going to opt for this, or even this, but my first choice fit the layout of my blog better, and matched my previous layout's colors, so I'm happy with it. What would I do without good ol' Deviantart????

Katie and Sex made my day today. What with Katie's kind remarks as to how thankful she is for me, and Sex promising hugs and a beer or ten, (although I'll have to pass on a beer, quit drinking. Had to, it's like crack to me!) I'm all giddy with Thanksgiving delight. And then of course the icing on the Cornucopian Cake was movie night with Mysty on Monday. I wore my gum forcefield suit, and we sat WAAAAAAAAAAAAY in the back, so if any gum chucking was going to take place, WE were gonna be the ones to blame. But alas, Mysty and I were the only ones in the theatre to see Zack and Miri Make a Porno, and one other porn lovin fellow, so our hopes were safe in knowing we wouldn't be getting arrested that night. Zack and Miri was great fun to watch and Justin Long as an ambiguously gay guy was like, THEEEEE sexiest fucking thing I've seen since Sex's ass on her myspace default and/or Mysty on Monday night. Mysty's beauty takes my fucking breath away, and I just never know what the fuck to do when she starts petting my hair or caressing my inner thigh. I get all geekfest on her and start talking like Farmer Ted from Sixteen Candles. Hopefully the "situation'll come on line". But yes, Mysty is stunning, and her sporting her hot pink leggings and combat boots combo doesn't help one fucking bit. She's muh little miss sunshine.

Well, nothin' says lovin' like playing co-op mode on Guitar Hero World Tour with your 9 year old daughter. She's currently obsessed with Tool's "Schism", which is an awesome fucking song, but hubby is kinda "if-fy" about allowing Carmen's absorbent little 9 year old mind processing the contreversy that is Tool. She took the liberty of looking up the definition of what "schism" meant, and she's like "huh"? So I had to explain to her in 9 year old terms what that meant from my cloudy perspective of it all. I did some research on Tool last night and was kinda annoyed at how they treat their fanbase, but at the same time mesmerized. The lyrics for "Schism" are very profound, as most lyrics for any song belted out by Maynard Keenan are. I kinda dig his other band Perfect Circle, but more than anything Tool is what does it for me. My dad's been an avid fan since 1980-whatchamahoozit, but I didn't really start digging most of their shit till the last few years.

Prison Sex, which I recently discovered is about child abuse, was banned from MTV supposedly after only a few airings, which kinda pisses me off too, because, fuck yeah it's offensive, but at the same time, it's putting sensitive subjects out on the table for people to look at and dissect and consider. More than anything, it's the lyrics that hit home for me:

It took so long to remember just what happened.
I was so young and vestal then,
you know it hurt me,
but I'm breathing so I guess I'm still alive
even if signs seem to tell me otherwise.
I've got my hands bound,my head down , my eyes closed,and my throat wide open.

Do unto others what has been done to you

I'm treading water,
I need to sleep a while.
My lamb and martyre, you look so precious.
Won't you come a bit closer,
close enough so I can smell you.
I need you to feel this,
I can't stand to burn too long.
Released in this sodomy.
For one sweet moment I am whole.

Do unto you now what has been done to me.

You're breathing so I guess you're still alive
even if signs seem to tell me otherwise.
Won't you come just a bit closer,
close enough so I can smell you.
I need you to feel this.
I need this to make me whole.
There's release in this sodomy.
For I am your witness that
blood and flesh can be trusted.
And only this one holy medium brings me piece of mind.

Got your hands bound, your head down,
your eyes closed.
You look so precious now.

I have found some kind of temporary sanity in this
shit blood and cum on my hands.

I've come round full circle.
My lamb and martyr, this will be over soon.
You look so precious.

Oddly enough, I spent the last 5 hours of my night writing a very private piece, kind of speaking from the perspective of one of my characters, which wound up becoming very personal and too close to home for me. I had decided to do some Tool research before I hit the pillow after I was done writing, and I kind've made me sneer with ironic derision at the ache of it all. After I read the lyrics for Prison Sex, which I had heard in so long, I felt such a deep connection with what I had written last night. It just kinda tore me to pieces inside, and so I've kept it festering within.

The line that struck the most prominent of chords within?

"I have found some kind of temporary insanity in this".

Maybe I'll have the balls to post what I've wrote sometime soon. Maybe not. I dunno. We'll see.

But uh, yeah. Back to the matter at hand....

"Black Friday"?

Went with my sister in law again this year. She invited me last year, which was my first experience with a facet of humanity that I have compared to Magneto's experience of losing his family in Poland, in the first 3 minutes of X-men 2, which can be viewable right fucking here.

I'm NOT fucking kidding.

THAT'S exactly what it was like at Walmart at 4:00 in the fucking a.m. For those of you that don't know what it's like to be exposed to the madness that is Black Friday, you absolutely MUST try it at least once.

I was squeezed through a vagina fashioned of human hands, shoulders and arms, while being vortexed through the doors of America's Favorite Supermarket, clutching for any last remnants of my sister in law's gloves as we were tore away from one another in humanity's desperation to get their grubby little paws on the last 42 inch flat screen television (for only $698.00. if you act NOW!!!) I entered the building much like that of a newborn, with the same dumbfounded look on my face as I was greeted by Walmart employees looks of disgust and contempt for us humans altogether, retorting ""Walk!! Don't run!!"

I was just as nearly as disgusted as these disgruntled employees, walking around in a daze, not knowing where I was going or what I was even doing for the next 10 minutes or so, while Kristi, (my sister in law) led my rookie ass around, showing me of shortcuts, rites of passage through the masonistic temple that is Walmart. She knew of secret bricks to slide out of place, and bookshelves that rotate if you sang in the correct inflection of hymn, all of which spelled out "Power, greed, and value!!".

I was amazed at Kristi's dexterity, although I shouldn't have been. She's been doing this faithfully for 12 fucking years know. Talk about a devout!!

And we fully intend on doing it all again next year....and the year after that and the year after that. I go for the jest of humanity. Such a good laugh for one's soul!!!

The Farting Cat

Happy Thanksgiving evra'boday.

I "should" be....

I should be folding laundry, watching the final episode of True Blood.

I should be thinking about what I'm thankful for.

I should be typing away with fevered fury all the longings and temptations of my lowly and humble minotaur character that I've created for my own that came to me in the night after raping my own god-damned muse.

I should be taking my herbal supplements regularly.

I should be dusting, sweeping, mopping and performing spectacular oral sex on my husband regularly.

I should be jotting down all the wonderful introspective that came to me in the night after I raped my other muse in regards to the "Beautiful" book that I'm going to write about my mother.

I should be telling my friends like Katie and Mysty and Tina and other such anonymous entities that I want to make a "Beautiful" book pt. 2 in regards to all the beauty that they put forth on this plane of existence.

I should be at the Filipino store, buying Lumpia wrappers to better prepare for the Thanksgiving meal our families are about to share tomarrow.

I should be taking a fucking shower.

I should also be off this fucking blog, and still not giggling that Satan is in my heart right now, making me want to tell the people I hate, "Fuck You". (He also made not want to work today or for 12 consecutive years in a row.) I have only myself to blame for wanting to stay up late and have sex all night long.

But instead I sit here, collecting blog dust.

I'm gonna go brush my teeth.

Here's a gem to share with the group:

(Rudyard Kipling excerpt)

In the Neolithic Age

Then I stripped them, scalp from skull, and my hunting dogs fed full
And the teeth I threaded neatly on a throng,
And I wiped my mouth and said,
"It is well that they are dead,
"For I know my work is right and theirs were wrong."

But my Totem saw the shame;
from his ridgepole-shrine he came,
And he told me in a vision of the night:_
"There are nine and sixty ways of contructing tribal lays,
"And every single one of them is right!"

Satan is in our hearts

I LOVE the Pick of Destiny. I LOVE Tenacious D. I LOVE Jack Black.

The Perfect Drug

It's what my writing is to me.

Trent Reznor from Nine Inch Nails says it best in the song "The Perfect Drug".


I got my head, but my head is unraveling
can't keep control, can't keep track of where it's traveling

I got my heart but my heart is no good
and you're the only one that's understood

I come along but I don't know where you're taking me
I shouldn't go but you're reaching, dragging, shaking me

Turn off the sun, pull the stars from the sky
the more I give to you, the more I DIE!!!!!!

And I want you and I want you and I want you and I want you

You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug you are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug

You make me hard, when I'm all soft inside
I see the truth, when I'm all stupid eyed

The arrow goes straight through my heart
without you everything just falls apart

My blood wants to say hello to you
my feelings want to get inside of you

My soul is so afraid to realize how very little there is left of me

and I want you and I want you and I want you and I want you!

You are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug you are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug you are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug you are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug you are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug you are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug you are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug you are the perfect drug, the perfect drug, the perfect drug you are the perfect drug, the drug

The perfect drug take me,

if you want take me,
if you want take me,
if you want take me,

if you want
without you everything falls apart

without you, it's not as much fun to pick up the pieces
without you, without you everything falls apart

without you, it's not as much fun to pick up the pieces
it's not as much fun to pick up the pieces

it's not as much fun to pick up the pieces without you,
without you everything falls apart

Without you, it's not as much fun to pick up the pieces

Spud gunz, Starbucks, and Dream Country....

Current mood: manic PANIC!!!!!


So like, currently?

Snookms is outside shooting a home-made spud gun. Made of pvc pipe and couplings. I can smell the delicious pvc cement from here. Just heard a big DUWOOOOB!! which Brian is making fun of me about for impersonating as I type. Fukken douch(e)baggery.

Also nursing a Chocolate Truffle Mocha that I got from the Starbucks inside Barnes & Noble in one hand, and a Jones Co. Candy Cane flavoured soda in the other. Oh how I love the packaging for them sodas. I'm thinking of submitting Snookms' "Happy Holidays" underwear Christmas special photo that I took last year to them. Wouldn't you love to see this as you take sips of your Egg Nogg flavoured soda on a warm Christmas Night??



I know I would.....

Sandman Series number 3 Dream Country is waiting patiently for me to read on my bed, as I had to settle for volume 4 in the series last week. The B&N Snookms took us to last week didn't have Dream Country (which is volume number 3) in stock, so Season of Mists it was. Beautifully written, btw....Dream has to venture to Hell yet again, in search of a lost and forgotten love, and gorgeous Lucifer, the Morning Star, the Fallen Angel, has taken it upon himself(themself?) to surrender the keys to the Gates of Hell to Good Ol' Morpheus. THAT'S the reason I was on the whole "A Heav'n of Hell and a Hell of Heav'n" kick. Such a marvelous fucking piece of literature.

So far, my favorite intro into the story has got to be Steve Erickson's perspective on Neil's prose.

Here is but a mere sample for your reading pleasure:

I'm writing this on the fine edge of that blade that's consciousness on one side and dream on the other, that thin silver horizon where you hover right before falling asleep, and right before comepletely waking. Neil Gaiman lives here all the damn time. He scribbles his stories and sends them out from the thin silver horizon whose bridge the rest of us traverse just twice a day. Gaiman is the troll who lives beneath the bridge; he exhales into word ballons the visions that flash only fleetingly across our gaze and then are gone with the next memory. Dreams of what we've loved and lost, dreams that are more vivid than our lives, dreams that tell you they aren't dreams, from which come the questions that trouble and entrall and finally free our spirits,if were' brave enough for the answers. Gaiman's ideas, in other words, of a good time.

....How I would secrete gold persimmons from my vaginal glands to get a fucking review like that in regards to the blather that is my writing one day. The sighs are an endless bunch here, so I will cease the bullshit musings.

In the beginning of Dream Country, this writer, whom is suffering major writer's block makes a deal with this infamous novelist and gets this "muse" in female form, and everytime he rapes her, he is embued with the ability to belt out a great work in progress, continually making millions contingent upon whenever this douch(e) fuck decides his weenie needs a party. So this "muse" of sorts finally summons the courage to call upon her higher power for help, only to discover that she is bound by the ridiculous law of the land to continue to serve this slave driver of an ass as muse for eternity. Alas she calls upon "Oneiros" as a last resort, remembering once that they were lovers in a previous life, and "Oneiros" who is Dream, has the ability to transcend the laws of many dimensions that most inhabitants would be otherwise bound to....

Morpheus...Dream....Sandman....Oneiros....they are one in the same, no?? Kinda reminds me of the way Tolkien used to give each of his characters 20 different names depending on where the main characters in each chapter hail from. I like the ideal though, as you get to use all the cool names for characters you thought you were gonna have to trash evidently. Like Aragorn is Strider, and Gandalf is....is SOMEBODY else, I can't fukkin remember. And Gollum was/is Smeagol. I dunno. It's just cool and all.

At least the last volume, Sandman series number 11, Endless Nights is now available for my reading pleasure. Hopefully I get my grubby little paws on it before someone else does. It usually only takes me 2-3 days to finish reading these graphic novels, so it's usually costing me 20 bucks a week to keep this habit. I tell you what though, it's far better than any DRUG I've smoked. Yee-haw.

I must venture back to reality now. There is a potato cannon sitting outside with my name on it.


Currently reading :
Dream Country (The Sandman, Vol. 3)
By Neil Gaiman
Release date: 1991-09-24

P to the S....

I know I've just been copying and pasting what I've written on my Myspace blog to here lately, But honestly? I just really don't fucking have much to say these days. I'm at a loss fer words, yo.

This bitch gotz plenty to say though. The workings of a fucking writing genious. Has the future all laid out for themself and doesn't even know it. Yer cluelessly awesome Jess and I hope you don't mind that I'm sharing with everyone else just how much of a badass you are. Maybe I should ask first? Just give me the word and I'll have it down ASAP, mmkay?

For Erica...

What MY life looks like?

Hmmm....



Most days I'm the Brunette, but there are days that I settle for the role of the Blonde.

Escapism

Current mood: jabberwocky


My forearms hurt.

From playing this. And this. But mostly this.

These are all examples provided on GHWT done on expert mode, and I, of course, can only play on hard. Expert is way the fuck harder than hard, so I would have my ass handed to me on a giant Corelle brand platter if I ever even tried to venture to expert mode on any Guitar Hero game. But yes, I've managed to plop myself into the fascist world of escapism once again.

One cannot complain too much, as I've been here many a time before, and while I can secretly inwardly giggle when Mysty truthfully expels the myth that matters like "WOW' (World of Warcrack) and other such nuances indeed AREN'T a form of escapism, that fact of the matter is that it's true. It gives you a sense of accomplishment in a realm one would otherwise have been tossed aside as a fucking loser of sorts.

I sit idly by in my pajamas that I've donned for the 4th day in a row now, trying hard to argue this point within myself internally, but all that's succeeded in doing so is that my clothes are now crying tears of desperation, my shiny new black tee with a silver skull emblem, once a thing of newness and beauty, is now sad and forlorn, worn with the wear and tear of being ate, slept and shit in.

My dreads have managed to manifest themselves by now. Before they needed prompting, the picking of scaly barnacles. But yesterday they spoke to me. They say they no longer need me nor my incessant picking rituals. They can get by just fine on their own now. They sing on a song all their own now, much like the "horns" on that of "Treeman". After a well turned night of my ridiculous "off the herbal meds" bickering over finances and our lack thereof, Snookms and I both had the pleasure of watching this documentary. I felt I could relate to this sweet man on so many levels. I would have elected to have just become a full fledged tree. I think I may have been sexy as one, no?

Even in my currently uberly depressed state, I can still say with deep and profound conviction that there is still so much beauty in the world that lay before me. It feels unattainable, a stretch, if you will. And I sit like an idle God, watching this snowglobe of pleasantries, unwilling to do a god-damned thing to reach out and "touch someone".

I feel alone.

I feel afraid.

And I feel okay with this.

Maybe things will work out the way I've always hoped and dreamed.

Maybe not.

I'm utterly complacent with this notion, but something vexes within, crying that this shouldn't be right. If I could only touch this small and weakened creature right now.

If only I could see her again.

I might be not okay with not being okay then.

And that would be okay.


Currently reading :
Where Is God When It Hurts? : A Comforting, Healing Guide For Coping With Hard Times
By Philip Yancey

Ville Valo

I now know why some serial killers desire eating the flesh of their victims.....I would make a butt steak of this guy and freeze his testicles for dessert.

HIM - Rebell yell

EVEN SEXIER. *purrrrrrr*

Dancing With Myself - Billy Idol

Schweaty Schexiness. Woot.

stuck in the sound - toy boy

Awesome song to play on GHWT. (Guitar Hero World Tour)

Sha-sha-sha-shaaaaaaake.

Something I threw in my memoir

"Yammering"


Yes. It's 3 a.m. and I'm yammering.
I have nothing to write or say, but just feel a dire need to secrete my hyroglyphic juices everywhere.
Huh. Actually, it's only 11:30 p.m.
But to me, it's 3:00 in the a.m.
Anytime that it's nighttime
and the house is quiet
and there is no one awake but me
It must always be 3 in the morning.
So there.
There has been so much taking place in my life in the past few weeks that I feel as though life is speeding right past me
and I have not yet the time to embrace each moment
to caress and savour it's wonderful taste
in my metaphorical mouth
long enough to remember it
and store it in my memory for future use
I feel as though I'm on the shoulder of the interstate
some State Road out there
with a thousand times upon a thousand
of cars
vehicles
in their transience
they see me only for a moment
and then passing me by as the sun's early rays
hit the street's rough and blackened pavement
leading back to the sun's horizon to the east
where darkness and unknowing await
for me
they beckon like blankets
fluffy white blankets
that envelop you in dreary slumber,
that sweet 6 a.m airport morning slumber
that only the scent of coffee grounds could subdue
so you wink away the early blue hints of sunlight
and plop you're slumber-drunken head down
you know all too well what sleep will do
yet you succumb
because it's simple
it offers a complication that you don't have to be responsible to
and in dreaming
you don't have to dream
you can just be
a sunbeam of light
forever floating
amongst the waves of the Pacific
floating in and out of harmoniac conscience
and so these blankets of unawares
call out to me
I resist stronger each day
and they are dissapointed
but they know one day
that soon I will return
even if just for a "holiday"
but there they are
that unabated feeling of always being there
I don't want them to always be there
I want them to grow tired of me and leave me
like all else who have attempted to climb my difficult peaks
they realize the beauty that awaits them is unattainable
so they turn around and climb back down
there is no point in climbing to the top
if that's not where my beauty can be found
No
it has been tucked away
in a cave
far south from here
only to be seen
on special occasion
when you'd least expect
maybe on some dreary day
when the rains have flooded the gorge
and seduced the raging rivers
with pressures umimaginable
then, maybe then
you might spot it
floating it's way up north
past the orchards
yes, that was never my true beauty
it's not the kind of beauty
that most will find beautiful
it is one of appreciation
one to have grown on another
it's not outrightly discovered
at first glance
and claimed and staked
it has to reveal itself time and time again
only to be devalued by most
and the only I treasure
are the precious few
whom can spot my beauty
from straightaway
and forever encapsulate it
in the palm of their hands
so that they cannot and will not
let me go
because I am exotic to them
but not to all
and to all a good night
otherwise
it hides
protects itself
in a deep little realm
all it's own
where beauty is no longer beauty
night no longer night,
and day no longer day
life
is now death
what was once considered repulsive to the outside law
is held as treasure here
worth it's weight in silver
because gold is no longer valuable in this kingdom
This is where I play
this is my realm
of dying beauty
where each event held tragic
has a ticket
all it's own
that none could so ever afford
The price you ask?
"You could never afford me",
replies my blackened darkness
My blackened trees I do water
with the tears of my anguish
they are nurtured
in my torture
they grow night by night
and the creatures
come out with prowess
ravenous lavenders
light up the nocturne
making for themselves
an impure glow
they feast upon the pure
and digest it's harvest
leaving behind an emptiness
as it mushrooms into sorrow
an eternity of endurance
stretched far beyond the limits of any imagination
the moon chats with me
each night
we bench ourselves
in the midnight
sitting idly
in our park
the hills are our slides
the hills of life
the "ups"
and the "downs"
make us say "wee"
our swing
the mood swing
with each push of destiny
we gain considerable altitude
only to come sailing downward
into a threshold of ire
and keep on the downstroke
downtrodden
until life itself
has pushed us back up
just to wait again
for the incessantly necessary need
to downward spiral
into the abyss
of depression
and repression
preparing me
for my plight
but I revel
in this treasure
I take delight
in the dark affairs
who else to care so?
God is the moon and the raven-trees
He is in the very air I breathe
each word I speak
I have spaken unto thee
he caresses me even in my dark place
He takes my hand with joy
and secretly tells me
that he "wishes they were all more like me"
this IS my dark place, mind you!
and where dark realms reside
you have your way
with words
even if it is in playtime with God
So I take his giant hand in mine
stripened by my artistic fancy
and plant for him one of my own
he smiles at me
his God-smile
his nod of approval
as I nudge him further
down my path
and walk amongst my garden of black sunflowers
which I have named Moonflowers
we walk the pathway
of hooves and death
he giggles at my gothic fleet
pawing at my shoulder,
"Good riddance"
but yet, I witness his grin once more
I show him a thing or two
about how he could have done this on earth had he had the chance
I remind him of me
and what I was named on his earth
and you know what he says to me?
he shows me my name in his heaven
not on earth
but here in heaven
my prowess no longer needed
for I am a star
shining darkly
and I hear in my ears
clearly resounding
"Blessed are the meek.....
......for theirs is the kingdom of heaven"
andso
therein
I am
shining darkly
for him to see
and that's all that ever matters
for me
for eternity
I have been given my place
and I am not sad about my place
nor bothered
nor uncomfortable
for he knows me
and puts forth those very desires in the first place
even if he IS a purple and black striped Minotaur wearing nothing but an iron black sceptre and a green leafy loincloth.

Boredom is my own worst enemy

I haven't written too much. Edited my memoir. Sent out a few "queries". But I've lost the fever. Maybe it'll burn back soon. Til then I've got writer's block, dishwasher's block, sex block, and laundry folding block.

Well, "Ewoh Nairb", thanks for the heads up about the Zack & Miri flick. Wish I could say the same, but not 5 minutes into the movie and 1 of 3 teenage cuntflaps managed to fling gum on my arm. Aside from these douch(e)bags, Mysty and I were the only other human beings in the theater, so we knew it was them. I looked down at my arm where the gum had hit it's target and about puked. There was a small pool of drool on it, and staring at it wasn't going to get me any calmer. The rebel in Mysty confronted the 3 goons, asking "Did one of you just throw gum at us?" And then, "Cause if you did, I'll have you thrown out." A bunch of teenage bullshit spewed forth from their cocksucking wordholes, denying the whole thing, but throwing at blasphemies all at once, so I had the Hulk shakes and was ready to smash something. I called them the douch(e)bags that they were, and Mysty said she didn't mind going to jail tonight, but I didn't think that was neccessary, so Mysty and I just tried to enjoy the movie.

The more I kept thinking about it, the more Hulk smash I became, so I just knew that before the night was over Mysty and I would indeed end up in jail for pounding 3 little 16 year olds. So I told Mysty I was going to the bathroom and came back with the manager. He was very understanding and kind, and confronted the 3 douch(e)bags and again we're met with neck rolls and trash talk. So I told her that if she cussed at me again she was going to get 4 acrossed the forehead, emphasizing with my fist. She told me "Fuck you" and I told her to "Come here, and I will", and that's when the manager stepped in between us. Mysty had came over by that time and was ready to punch a bitch in the neck, so we decided to just leave.

The manager not only refunded Mysty's money (she paid, what a gent!!) but also gave us 2 tickets each to come back anytime, with a formal apology and called the kids assholes. All in all not a bad night, but everytime I remember that little pool of teenage drool sitting on my arm, I wanna puke in some tin foil and eat it.

Art saves

My beautiful Mysty, yet again. She's so fucking creative. I heart boot fetish.

*sigh*

Going to see the new Kevin Smith flick with her tonight, Zack and Miri Make a Porno. Can't wait!!!!