Burnside Running

One of the most exquisite things I have enjoyed in Portland is my weekly runs from the East side of town to the West. Crossing the Burnside Bridge with a red face, sweaty scalp, and the strong desire to collapse and fall, but utilizing the last ounce of will in me to keep pushing for those last 5 miles, is pure ecstasy to the point in where I consider it somewhat sexual. I'm sure there is a dash of masochism in the mix somewhere, but the real thrill is knowing my limits... and pushing my workout even further.

I consider it to be the truest "will to power", in where literally and physically you are practicing that standard. There's a difference between reading something and understanding it logically, and carnally comprehending something. When my face is covered in sweat, and my heart is burning as if I just swallowed an entire pint of hot sauce, I revel in the pain knowing that it is only making me stronger. The more it hurts, the more I enjoy it, and the healthier I am left at the end of the day.

Weights aren't my favorite thing, they are a shortcut to getting a fit body. You won't see a single dumbbell in Parris Island or San Diego, but instead a complete 12 o'clock alpha male drill instructor screaming into your face to keep doing pushups. I envy that intense motivation, but I'm not a stranger to being without a parental advisor/counselor.

As hard as it is, I have to be my own parent, my own drill instructor, my own enemy. It's difficult to combat your own innate laziness. All too often I look at the people at the gym and am irritated at their smug belief that simply being there is combating laziness. It's not just about keeping a particular standard - it's about propelling yourself forward!

A salute to war, self-violence, and the will to power.

Androphilia

I will always stand by my strong belief that there is a essence of homosexuality between the narrator and Tyler Durden in Fight Club. 


"We're a generation of men raised by women. I'm wondering if another woman is really the answer we need." - Tyler Durden


Steven is Brad Pitt and I'm his Edward Norton.

"The world, like a wolf pack is not all the licking of pups and howls by the moonlight. Sometimes there just needs to be a gnashing of teeth and a ripping of flesh to put things back into the natural order of things." - Magister Lang

Devil In A New Dress

I just got finished getting my cock sucked. There's something about women that makes me so submissive to their seductive charms and atmospheric femininity. Every three and a half seconds I fall in love with a new girl, and every minute I imagine a new dream of marriage.

Their love bites on my chest and neck are recognitions of dominance and ownership, and my willingness to be a slave to their erotic malevolence always arrives with an underlying misogynistic distrust and an almost hateful resentment for their power over me. I break her face with every flirtatious act, and her nose bleeds estrogen which is my savored cocaine.

"So fucking cute. So fucking gorgeous. So fucking beautiful. Darling, I want to destroy you."

My ex-girlfriend called me yesterday and as always my compulsion drove me to say that I would have stayed with her in California if she asked, but of course that was just my adrenaline speaking. After some of the batshit crazy and disturbed people I have encountered  in the past few years, it feels great to have someone in my life that isn't immature or passive aggressive, but I wonder if I'm holding myself to the same standard. Probably not, my hellmouth can't stop itself from spitting seductive charms out of a lustful adoration to every girl I meet.

"I'm making love to the Angel of Death."

My fingers drip of a different carcinogenic nectar, and instead of nicotine-stained fingers they now are covered in the most obvious sexual acceptance, their sacred honey, my addiction. I savor all the precious that is female and to watch her squeal in delight is a beautiful dream of heaven. There's a stripper in there too. I've dated the nymphet of a stripper, along with a musician, blood-painter, college girl, and cute girl next door. Always do I bow down over their pink and purple atmospheres in the blue shade. Some I fuck furiously and imagine with other men, others I cuddle and claim and want nobody to take them from me. But I adore all.

Wolf monster satisfied by the women of Portland.

Exquisite is when you choke on your own breath as an absolutely gorgeous princess gives you a seductive smile. "I'm sooooooo your slave" I plead to her, and hold her hand to kiss. Bending over for her is fine, fine just fine.

Addiction is such a thrilling demise when the magnificent girl of your dreams cuddles with you on the couch and discreetly whispers her most fragile secrets and opens her gorgeous neck for consumption. I want her, her war, her disaster, her lust, her vanity, and her adoration. Sitting next to her on that couch made the hotel party seem like a precursor to some sort of sexual heaven and the intoxicating perfume still has not left my mind.

Silicon Valley Night

"Silicon Valley Night" ripped from fcphoto's Flickr. Sorry...

We would get after work every night and those small intimate moments were unspoken connections and bonds. Exhaling green smoke and as it rose to the sky, it made the sky look like a beautiful watercolor painting. Hanging out and enjoying the crisp, cold, refreshing Silicon Valley night was almost dream-like.

I'm never going to forget moments such as those, the relaxation in where we cursed all the negative things in our lives with calmness and quiet enjoyment. Empire of the Sun would be making love to our ears, and oh did that sweet, sweet, sweet cigarette smoke throw so many obscenities and curses, the beers would bring my sexual excitement to an all time high.

Deanne around my arm and those delicious kisses that made every single endorphin shiver with lust. "Everything is dizzy. I'm not forgetful... quite the opposite, it's just that so many concepts are being thrown at me at once" I said, and she told me "Well, it's pretty impressive that you think about things like this so clearly. Not many people are like that."

Like a tattoo, the two years I spent in the San Jose area will never leave my soul. I'm in a much happier place, a location better suited for my desires and goals, but in retrospect those nights was truly were like walking in a dream.

Marines

In a very unstable period of my life, I felt that joining the Marines was the only option I had for myself to advance and feel accomplished. Other branches of the armed forces did not interest me at all because I wanted to experience the biggest challenge available. To this day I can't help but feel anything other than admiration and respect for anybody who has been able to survive the Crucible and met all standards in Recruit Training Depot at Parris Island or San Diego. It is the ultimate test of will for an American.

Additionally this is a good time to mention that I have been on my own in one way or another since the age of 18. In order to receive federal financial aid within the United States you need to show your parent's tax information except if one of the following applies to you:

• You have a family member or child as a dependent
• You are married
• You are under the age of 24 and both of your parents are deceased
• You were a ward of your state until you were 18 years of age
• You are 24 years of age or older
• You are a member of the United States Armed Forces
• You were a foster child after the age of 13
• You are an emancipated child as determined by a court judge
• You are homeless or at risk of homelessness as determined by the director of a HUD approved homeless shelter, transitional program, or high school liaison.

None of those apply to me and when I was homeless I did not gather any documentation describing my status. So essentially, if I want to go to school before the age of 24 I have to pay for it out of my own pocket.

Joining the Marines was a great option for me because it would consider me a "member of the United States Armed Forces" and it also came with much of my schooling being paid for. My intentions were to join either an intelligence or communications MOS with a development plan to become an Officer. After four years of active service, I planned on coming back and immediately joining the Police Academy to which I would have been well prepared for with plenty of training already accomplished and good solid experience.

I was attending weekly USMC Poole sessions and overall preparing myself to head off  to bootcamp sometime in June or July, until something was brought to my attention that devastated me.

When I saw that haunting paragraph it felt like my world had been destroyed. The despair was so crushing I could not even shed a tear. My life felt like it had no way of getting better and that I would forever be stuck in a static position filled with the stench of broken relationships, unsatisfying work conditions, goals forever postponed and a feeling of entrapment in my own complacent persona. Unmovable. Stuck. Trapped. Static.

The remorseful conversation I had with my Staff Sargent confirmed that eczema is a strong disqualification because it is considered an open wound and causes complications with the small pox vaccine given to every member of the Armed Forces.

With this incredibly rich life option being taken out of my grasp, my mind turned into a defeatist cycle of darkness and despair. I will always remember April 2011 as a dizzy and turbulant circle with California's retarded sunshine heating up my room and my face as I did my routine of biking 10 miles daily to work. But this counterproductive attitude did not last long, and around the time of this blog post entry I started reverting back to my original plan of moving to Portland.

Now I'm living in a state of accomplished desire and I am working simultaneously on getting even more work done. There will always be an unsatisfied yearning to go through bootcamp and receive that highly valuable experience, but there is something an ex-girlfriend once told me that excites me and makes me feel there is still a chance for personal redemption though will:

Jonathan: "I'm impressed by the training soldiers go through, with drill instructors yelling at them all the time and pushing their limits."

R: "Well it's more impressive if those soldiers were able to push their limits without drill instructors. It's more difficult this way too."

And that's my plan.

Once Upon A Time

All of the Lights

"ALL OF THE LIGHTS, EVERY NIGHT. ALL OF THE LIGHTS."

My life is an iridescent heaven. It's not so much due to what I acquired, but rather the very fact that I dreamt something and brought it to fruition. I was a child, then a teen, and now an adult. At this very moment I am "in a Portland coffee shop, typing out a new blog post on my computer, and enjoying the sound of gentle delicate rain on the window" and it is not even September.

This is still only the beginning. Very well could I construct a sentence that perfectly outlines what I have to say, but our dear friend Friedrich W. Nietzsche has already articulated it for me...

"Not contentment, but more power; not peace at any price, but war; not virtue, but efficiency... What is good? All that heightens the feeling of power in man, the will to power."

...as has my dark father Dr. LaVey, "Magic: The change in situations or events in accordance with one's will, which would, using normally accepted methods, be unchangeable."

But for now, I breathe in these seconds, the seconds of a foggy afternoon, with damp trees, a gray sky, beautiful women and intelligent men walking down the street, a state more in tune with nature and devoid of commercialism and fame, and a city that welcomed me  like a new friend.

I feel at home.

Upward & Onward

Because other people in the world don't have the same self-awareness to the degree in which I do, I feel responsible to be the best person that I can be in all aspects of my life. The majority of the human herd go about their day blindly, subscribing to whatever their society and immediate social circles (which includes family) asks them to do, whether directly or subliminally. We, "with the eyes to see", even as children, have an extra dash of critical thinking that makes us question things that the masses are too afraid to do so.

The reason why it is so difficult for me to move on from my relationships is not so much out of traces of longing love, but regret in the context of personal development and how I could have went about things differently. A perfectionist, you could say. When I'm with somebody that I love, I'm the best lover, protector, beloved, and supporter that I can be because I chose them and want to give them the affection that they deserve. And as hard as I try, I can't seem to ignore the idiots that roam this planet that treat their significant other with the same amount of care that they would to a dumb drunk broad they met at the pub. I'm no saint, I have done many things in the past that I regret, but it is because of the fact that I contemplate on how I could have went about things differently that I am making some sort of amendment to my mistakes.

It's grotesque how most simply cry to love songs or curse their ex-lover in a phone tantrum without even attempting to see their side of mistakes, or observe the situation from an objective point of view. Pitiful.

My infuriated spite has been a great source of productive energy. It is evident right now - without the Untermenschen dancing around like jackasses, clothed in their parent's money, throwing away their financial aid by smoking pot in front of a donut shop, and crashing their (rather stated, their parent-bought) car every other week, I would have not had the fear of becoming like them, and therefore, will and motivation to accomplish my dream to move to Portland and carve life, instead of letting it carve me.

Under no circumstances am I stating to be elite other than a higher critical thinking ability, but rather that the majority of the world is filled with walking corpses, programmed by religion, government, social conditioning, capitalistic advertisements, society, and they are below, while I, and "those with the eyes to see", rise upward and onward.

Afterlife

"...I just want to thank everybody for being so patient, and bearing with me over these last couple of years, while I figure this shit out."

"After death", "Hereafter", "Next world", the "Other side."

I woke up at noon in the middle of a warm Californian January with intense dread. A relationship gone sour, a job that didn't meet my own standards, I could not attend college, did not have the opportunity to achieve any of my life goals, and I was stuck in California, a place that was no longer a sweet home but a sticky and warm climate of mediocrity and smugness. Despair was the sickening static state of mind that would color itself into my life; I did not think that things could get better.

There wasn't a jolt of excitement or inspiration for me to fuel on, just carcinogic umbilical cords that slowly were killing me and would not let me go. There were all these promises, an upcoming job promotion, a scheduled move to Florida with my then girlfriend, possible financial aid for school, a better social life, but in the end it all turned out to be shit and it's my fault for not trusting my instincts.

None of those plans would make me happy, but because I am my own worst enemy, I felt like that is all I deserved. I forced myself into thinking that the plan of working two jobs and few classes at a local community college was "good luck", that I would receive a higher job promotion because of my skills and knowledge, but instead proved to be a valuable resource for my employers in the static position I was in, forced myself to be with somebody I wasn't happy with because I didn't think I deserved any better, and that California was a land to which I should give allegiance to, despite the fact that it is an overpriced wasteland of delusions of grandeur with a debt that is fatter than its infestation of fake trees, supermarkets, highways, and flip flops.

And of course, I couldn't afford a car so in California that means you don't have much of a social life.

Some people are weak enough to live life passively and allow it to move them wherever the wind blows, but "those with the eyes to see" utilize willpower to carve life into the shape they want. I just needed time to "do my paperwork" if you will. I spent a few more minutes in my bed that morning and made a step-by-step list of things I needed to do in order to get to the place I wanted to be. As my mentor Boyd Rice once said, accomplishing things in life is simple, it's a matter of getting from point A to point B, but most people in the world are too stupid to take the first step.

Viciously in the coming months I attacked all the obstacles in my way. I left my manipulative girlfriend, planned a transfer into a new company with work better related to my future career, looked into better housing with the city I wanted to move into, and planned out a health and fitness plan to improve my overall quality of life. I split my feelings of obligation that I had for my friends in California and decided that the only person I should be entitled to protect is myself, others are grown people and need to make their own accomplishments/mistakes.

As with most things I get a late start on, I end up accomplishing them faster than I thought I would. Am I happy? Hell yes, happier than I have ever been in my entire life. In days in where "of late, it's harder just to go outside" I now cheerfully walk the streets of Northwest Portland and breathe in the refreshing oxygen from the abundant trees, rub my cheek against the colorful flowers reflecting the Summer sun, and flirt with the gorgeous antique homes and buildings.

So as I take a sip of this delicious latte, in my head I make a toast to all those stuck in dark places and wish them hope. Despair is a suffocating smoke that clouds up all thinking, but fight for that fucking little small dash of light in the distance. You may end up reaching it faster than you'd think.

Life, it does get better.

FAVENRIS RISING

"Most of us live our whole lives without any real adventure to call our own. Every passing minute is another chance to turn it all around. The fate of destruction is also the joy of rebirth."

Waiting for the End

I'm a couple of hours from leaving California. I have lived here my entire life and been out of state very few times. About two years ago I made the decision to move to Portland, but there were too many things holding me back. Work, relationships, family, obligations. It was as if these things were an umbilical cord holding me back from growing into the person I want to be.

And now I've finally managed to work those piles of paper on my desk and get to the place I want. There wasn't a single person helping me along the way. I don't have parents to pay for my college costs, they don't give me a job at their place of employment, they don't pay my rent or buy me a car. Absolutely everything that I have acquired has been through my own hard work, and I remember feeling frustrated and worried that once I received the fruit of my labor, I wouldn't appreciate it. But I do.

7. Acknowledge the power of magic if you have employed it successfully to obtain your desires. If you deny the power of magic after having called upon it with success, you will lose all you have obtained.

What I'm experiencing is a feeling of incineration into some sort of final stage in my life. It's as if I'm inflamed amongst a languid herd, rising upward and onward. Life is a never ending opportunity to make yourself better.

Goodbye San Francisco

The Pink Rebirth

The time spent with you could best be described as "Valentine's Day heart flutter", and your pink radiance is the nectar my mind acquires to color my world in brilliant lucidity.

Not a single word you said escaped my gaze. I listen. Closely. Ignoring the untouched cup of coffee and forgotten pastry. I don't pay attention to any of the problems in my life, for fear that I may miss a precious thing you speak.

Idiots dance behind us in their stupid conformity of dirty sex, social smugness, and inflated egos to carefully conceal their inner turmoil. Playing slot machines with perverted hands that once held our trust.

But time stands still when I'm next to you, as it has always been. To the girl with the pink highlights: it has been a gift being with you. We may have never woken up together to a sweeter morning, but tonight we drink to the sweet sunset.

The Pink Aroma

I'm waiting for the end and your perfume is the welcoming eyes at the edge of town. Waving a welcome as I spread my wings and depart...

...I will miss you.

Vices

I have two vices in this world:

alcohol & women.

And I don't break 'em for no one.

Portland Calling

My attachment cannot be described in words, much less those on a computer monitor. The fangs of hate and piercing eyes of contempt that I have don't block your radiance from my sight, and I'm excited to call you one of my best friends.




There's no need to cry. "People never really leave us. They always leave a part of them behind." You told me that quote in a very unstable moment in my life, and as my departure is imminent I repeat it to you so you don't feel like you have really lost me.




Like a tattoo on a ribcage, or the back of an arm, imprisonment number stamped on a sleeve, or cuts from trauma engraved, it doesn't matter if it's love or hurt, memories of people stay with you forever, and I'm proud to say that you are a warm place.


Take care of yourself,

- Favenris

June 6th

I don't have the time or energy to write about today's significance. There are other more important tasks that require my time. Instead, the day can be summarized in a single sentence:

"He dumped me. It is normal for passion to fade away in a relationship and that is why he left me. Sooner or later, he will discover that a girl doesn't let passion last forever either."

My uppity moral lesson for this blog post?

girlswillmanipulateyouineverywaythattheycanthinkofsothatyouwontleavethemandwillcontinouslyblameyoufortheirhurtsothattheycanimplantaseedofguiltthatwillconsumeyou.

Boom, done, now I got better shit to do.

Subjective Blindness

There's a pile of papers on my desk that I need to work on. Every now and then I get distraught and think that I don't have the ability to filter through them, or work through the ones that need attention. But then I remind myself that it isn't because I don't have the ability to do so, but because I simply don't have time for it. Other more important tasks take priority over them.

There is so much that I would like to accomplish, but I'm not in a position in where I can get started. I'm not in a position where I can dust off my shirt and say "alright, let's do this." The frustration won't take over me, though. Each and everyday I'm working on making time for that stack of papers on my desk, and one day they are going to be accomplished.

I'm very easily frustrated with the charlatans of the world, especially when people I love so dearly give them attention out of lust or anger against me. They fail to recognize that they are wearing make-up instead of holding any real authenticity. The pretty cute girl who is crying is always going to receive more attention that the truly hurt girl who is doing her best to smile.

The stupid fucks who think that they are in some sort of abyss most likely only have a single blank page next to their desk, and the worst part of it all, is that their family is filling out the form for them. Yet they complain about having work on their desk and scream and proclaim it to the world, shouting it at every corner that they can.

It makes me sick that there's people like that in the world, who cry wolf. The only thing that keeps me going is knowing that I will receive an endorphin rush when I complete my stack of papers, and that silly idiot in his laziness will receive no emotional accomplishment whatsoever.

Go ahead and let him cry on your shoulder, it makes me easy to filter and discriminate the stupid from the ones who force themselves to see the world objectively instead of succumbing to subjective blindness.

"Relationships are such a bore."

I'm starting to lose complete interest in relationships. Being an observant of the people around me, most of the time it doesn't seem like love, but rather confining traps of insecure people too lonely to be by themselves and projecting their desires and hopes for their future into another person. Those who are not in a relationship are automatically placed in the category of "looking."

What's wrong with promiscuity? I don't see anything wrong in accepting the sheer honesty in that biological infatuation that lasts for a couple of months isn't love, but rather just a high that everybody experiences as a normal part of life. And I'm fine with it. I love the feeling of "loving" while fully understanding that it isn't too different than a blowjob.

Just the human body saying "I'm totally getting a rush right now."

Love is defined by me as strong friendship and allegiance. It is people playing on the same team for the same goals. That doesn't mean a guilt and pity filled relationship nor a completion of a social game and making her completely infatuated with you, but intense attachment that stands the test of time. Love for a person's complete personality, including their flaws.

You know as I keep getting older, I'm more adept at organizing my thoughts and being able to figure out why I feel a certain way about a person. For example, with the next person I choose to call my girlfriend, it's not going to be for her image or how attractive she is (as I have mistakenly done in the past couple of years) but rather because I enjoy spending time with her and would like to align myself with her as a part of a team. But that doesn't mean I'm going to allow myself to decline into the position in where I think she is "the one." I'm going to feel that way, I know I will, because I'm twenty damn years old and my hormones are going crazy and jumping from one place to another.

But like Dr. Anton LaVey said, "there is a beast in man that must be trained, not tamed." You need to fully be aware of your instincts and utilize them as tools, instead of submissively letting your biological fires guide you into anarchy.

Back to relationships however, love won't be a word that is going to be used very lightly. Wasting it on people that you no longer feel for in that respect, or worse, getting fucked up and high and whispering it into a girl's ear so that she'll lick your abs and cock in the next room, just makes it less meaningful.

Evil Seducer

At the party she crept up close to me in the couch. I didn't stand a chance, this gorgeous thing was just brilliant. Cute, adorable, yet still sexy. She called me an "evil seducer" and I said I can't be held responsible for the things that come out of my hellmouth. Her hand resting on my thigh we started talking and one thing led to another and there we were, tasting the taste of her lips, the scent of her neck, the softness of her hands...

Drunk I fell victim to her feminine charms and her cheek against mine brought me higher than any drug that night. Apparently she did as well, biting her lip at every word of Spanish I whispered lovingly into her ear. I told her that I didn't want to fuck her, I wanted to see her, alone, tomorrow, and be able to get to know her better outside of the environment of a hotel party.

So, to the judgmental jury that so passionately loves to smash my spirit down with inevitable guilt & low self-confidence, explain how I am the evil seducer when all I've done today is check my phone, hoping to see the warm and inviting message "1 Missed Call from Deanne."

My Compulsion

I'd kiss your bleeding wounds, but what right does the man who gave those shreds have to cure? A loving embrace that melts your heart and makes you feel in a haven would be another option, but I'm sure my mere warmth would burn and scar your limbs even further.

I can smell the hate through the phone, and as I inhale I remember all those memories of dead love and burden. This would have been my excuse to give up restraint and spit out fire, burning all the attacks against me and illuminating your logic as wrong.

But I don't care about being right, my compulsion stems out of loyalty to the good times, the ones I wish would coat over all the fights, angry statements, and immature behavior.

However, like I said, who am I to heal your wounds, and I'm sure when air passes through and stings, it helps, because it gives you a tool to hate me and curse down every apology I give.

Eclipse & Conformity

[Written in June 2010]

I'm on my way to meet up with a friend to watch the new Twilight movie "Eclipse" and began thinking about the human herd. A majority of people are complete sheep, in ways that they don't even understand. Wearing the latest punk anti-conformity plaid shirt or thrift store jeans doesn't set you apart, and if anything else, most likely makes you a part of the trend because you are subscribing to a fashion that is acceptable. This does not only need to apply to clothes. When Twilight became famous as a movie, it was acceptable to enjoy it, a couple months later, the trend turned antagonistic and people were given a cookie for hating it.

The true individual is one who focus only on their specific and subjective tastes, without regard to what is popular at the moment. I am one of them, and before you hate me for having pride, you need to look at yourself and may realize that you're one as well. There's nothing wrong with knowing that you're superior than others, as long as you still give a basic level of respect and courtesy to everyone and keep opinions to your own lair unless others wish to hear it.

I'm going to watch Eclipse, and whether that's cool or not is irrelevant.

The Music of Hardcore

I grew up in a Spanish speaking household, and language creates a certain outlook on life. When I speak in English it is still new to me, I don't have as much emotional attachment to it. Words sound emotionless, like they aren't honest. And with music being the best way I am able to communicate emotionally (words being logic), I think the natural conclusion is to start writing music in Spanish.

Hardcore has always been the only spirituality I hold. I remember going to my first show and I could see in the singer's face that he was spitting something out powerful and true. But in the crowd were stupid girls who wanted to fuck him just because of the scene he was a part of, and they were oblivious to the lyrics he was speaking, attacking them.

I identify with him, and in a way, would like to emulate, but in my own way. Nobody wants to hear about your problems, but if you design them into something beautiful, then people will start to pay attention. I would like to do that with people that I am close with.

The only burden of starting a band is that we would be required to play for other people and I don't like that. Especially if we became popular and fit into predesigned scenes that those with a label mentality automatically delegate.

My desire to make music is the same reason why Marilyn Manson created "Just A Car Crash Away", to have a catharsis and convey a certain message more accurately to those close with me.

Perhaps a Trent Reznor approach would be best, in where I can record all the instruments by myself, and privately show my creations securely and quietly.

I have only sang for one person in my life, and it was one of the most liberating experiences I have ever felt. She has been the only person to hear me sing, and said I was quite good. People in my family have been good at vocals, and one of them is actually a famous musician in his country, so the future looks promising in that respect, but don't expect to be hearing anything any time soon. Or even at all.

Monster

Sometimes I hate myself. Why am I not surprised that this is not the first girl to tell me the following?

"I asked my girlfriend if she'd seen you around before. She mumbled something while we got down on the floor: "we might've fucked, not really sure, don't quite recall, but something tells me that I've seen him."

"...You ate my heart and then you ate my brain."

Vicious fucking wolf. You don't know how to treat a girl's heart with respect.

The Fighter

I'm always the first to fight. The minute an assumed attack is given, I spit and bite back and ravage the opposition. Taking things too far, I break them from the inside out if I don't have the opportunity to knock him down his step.

My standards are high, not just for myself, but the people who crowd me. No longer will I allow the stench of the rotten illuminate the space near me, and you can fellate the guilt and swallow like a good whore if you dare to present some upper "higher moral" condescension upon this elitism.

I treat everybody with a decent amount of courteous respect, but I won't let them leech onto me because of their inadequacies and flawed nature.

You're right in your desire to fear me. I can break you both physically and emotionally, seduce your girlfriend, and suck all of your lifeforce enough to buy me a new luxury.

Fists up, bitch.

"Faith of My Fathers"

"Your father is a big admiral," he shouted. "Now we take you to the hospital." It was hard not to see how pleased they were to have captured an admiral's son and I knew my father's identity was directly related to my survival.

I began to recover my wits and my interrogators came to the hospital to resume their work. The beatings were of short duration because I let out a hair-raising scream when they occurred and my interrogators appeared concerned that hospital personnel might object. Eventually I gave them my ship's name and squadron number. When asked to identify future targets, I recited the names of north Vietnamese cities that had already been bombed.

In late December, they decided to discharge me. To my great relief I was placed in a cell with two other prisoners, Air Force majors "Bud" Day and Norris Overly. There has never been a doubt that Bud and Norris saved my life. They later said their first impression of me, emaciated, bug-eyed and bright with fever, was of a man at the threshold of death.

Because of his injuries, Bud was unable to help with my physical care. Norris, a gentle, uncomplaining guy, cleaned me up, fed me and helped me on to the bucket that served as our toilet.

In April 1968, Bud was relocated to another prison. Norris had been released under an "amnesty" and I would remain in solitary confinement for more than two years. It's an awful thing, solitary. It crushes your spirit and weakens your resistance more effectively than any other form of mistreatment. Having no one else to seek counsel from, you begin to doubt your judgment and courage.

The first few weeks are the hardest. The onset of despair is immediate, and it is a formidable foe. I reconstructed from memory books and movies I had enjoyed. I tried to compose books and plays of my own, acting out sequences in the solitude of my cell. I had to carefully guard against my fantasies becoming so consuming that they took me permanently to a place in my mind from which I might never return.

In mid-June 1968, the camp commander, over an inviting spread of biscuits and cigarettes, asked me if I would like to go home. I wanted to say yes: I was tired and sick and I was afraid. But the Code of Conduct was explicit: "American prisoners cannot accept parole or amnesty or special favors."

Despairing of any relief from pain and further torture, I tried to take my life. After several unsuccessful attempts... I gave up. I signed a confession that "I am a black criminal and I have performed the deeds of an air pilot". The guards ordered me to record my confession on tape. I refused, and was beaten until I consented.

Vietnamese prized us as bargaining chips in peace negotiations and they usually did not intend to kill us when they used torture to force our co-operation. I was released and flown home at the end of the war, in March 1973. I had been incarcerated for 5 1/2 years.

We were told to have faith in God, country and one another. Most of us did. But the last of these - faith in one another - was our final defense, the ramparts our enemy could not cross. This was the faith I had embraced at the Naval Academy.

It was my father's and grandfather's faith. In prison, a filthy, crippled, broken man, all I had left of my dignity was the faith of my fathers. It was enough.

- John McCain, adapted and extracted from "Faith of My Fathers."

A New Beginning

As I walked out of Borders in downtown Palo Alto, I saw an amazingly beautiful girl smoking a cigarette. I asked for one and told her "Thanks, you're a lifesaver." She smiled and I realized what silly thing I said. But right before I left, I also said "And I mean no disrespect, but you're incredibly beautiful." Her facial reaction was to die for. The intense smile, instant blushing, and overall euphoric expression.

My words can be a complete terror that leave you in tears and catatonic huddle, or I can be the most affectionate person you have ever met. It all depends on how you treat me.

Stay with me on this one, it's still on topic. About a month ago I could barely run 3 miles under 30 minutes. And now I can kill those 3 miles in 20 minutes. It's all about improvement. If I can improve physically, what other areas in my life can I sharpen myself into and perfect?

I've made a list, and there are numerous things I'd like to accomplish before September. They won't be posted here, but believe me, they are paid attention to daily.

I have goals. I've had them for quite some time, and although I've had distractions, both emotionally and financially, they don't fade. And I'm going to accomplish them. Nobody that I grew up with ever believed I would raise myself to the level at which I'm at. And although there may be those pussy boys talking tough and having the family support to go to school full-time or to a nice college/university, they will never understand the advantage they hold.

So this is a new beginning for me. I needed to learn how to chill out, enforce my will, and now it's about organizing my tasks. I've learned what makes me happy, something as minuscule as flirting outside of a bookstore, and what makes me unhappy, the guilt and burden of being in a loveless relationship.

These following months will be my bootcamp, my own intense form of training. And when I step into September it will be in a Portland coffee shop, typing out a new blog post on my computer, and enjoying the sound of gentle delicate rain on the window.

Not Afraid

I change my mind often. You could say I'm indecisive about a lot of things. My intentions are always pure, or at least, I can recognize what they are before I do something. But my goals and plans change because I often discover new ways of accomplishing what I want.

Speaking to an ex-girlfriend, if she could even be considered a once "girlfriend", I discovered a lot about myself. Insecurities, fears, and overall things that I am not pleased with myself on, or that I think could be done better. There's a good chance she is reading this, I think she follows this blog, but no matter. I have no intentions of contacting her again because relationships break, and if you try to put them back together, it can be solid, but glued on broken pieces. I don't want to disrupt her life any further, and I don't want her to do the same to me either.

"Very well, you have made your choice. I will never contact you again and will ignore all contact from you for the rest of my life. You were the perfect relationship I lost. I'm sorry for my mistakes, and take care of yourself."

That's all she needs to remember me by.

The list of goals and things I'd like to see in my life get sharper. Not necessarily longer, but more confirmed and focused in a sense. I don't want to go to God forsaken Florida. My life is just starting and there's no need for me to settle down with one person, or decide my fate.

I still have a strong desire to join the Marines but only for the personal self-pride of surviving bootcamp and combat action. That's a wrong way to enter, it should be out of patriotism, and heh, I'm the last one to be patriotic. I don't take pride in my race, my surroundings, or people I grew up with. I am myself, a wolf igniting in the shape of a Black Flame.

In simple terms, or tl;dr: I can survive Marine bootcamp without going to bootcamp. When I look at myself I see limitless potential. "What I do I do at will. Shooting from the hip, yeah, shoot to kill. Half a breath left on my deathbed, screaming "fuck that!"

From as early as people can remember me I have always been defiant. Moving out of my father's home as early as I could, the night before my 18th birthday was the ultimate symbol of independence and fierceness. That was a tattoo in itself saying "Übermensch", my Wolfsangel, the Sigil of Baphomet,  Lucifer's rebellious decent: the moment Fenrir bit the hand that feeds. My friends know that if I ever get into a fight that I am to lose in, even when I'm on the ground, bleeding and unable to move, I will still be screaming "fuck you" and spitting the opposition in the face.

In my dreams, death appears as a hooded teenager with a nightstick on a bike, and I get close to him, bring down his hood eloquently, and say close to his face close enough for a kiss: "fuck you."

Here is a poem I wrote almost a year and a half ago, and already I can feel the flames burning me into a sharper shape, with fangs even longer, and a stare to leave you in a catatonic state…

I am a Prelude

Metamorphosis shackled in guilt

Transparent

Like an iceberg of oil

This yew tree is waiting to be ignited.

This is a strife in blood and sweat,

to thaw my bruised palms,

in the warmth of the Black Flame.

Disarm

Disarm you with a smile,

and cut you like you want me to.

Cut that little child...

Inside of me and such a part of you.

Ooh, the years burn.

I used to be a little boy.

So old in my shoes,

and what I choose is my choice

What's a boy supposed to do?

The killer in me is the killer in you.

My love, I send this smile over to you.

Disarm you with a smile,

and leave you like they left me here.

To wither in denial.

The bitterness of one who's left alone.

Ooh, the years burn.

The killer in me is the killer in you.

Love You More

The best way to describe my relationship with my ex-girlfriend is conveyed in the song "Love You More." There was some sort of sexual attraction to the anger and stress of the relationship, to the point in where it actually turned me on when she made me jealous. When she did, it gave me all the more desire to dominate her in bed, ravage her, and fuck all thoughts of anybody else out of her head. I've been more aggressive with her than with anybody else I have been with, to the point of even painting my adopted symbol on her skin with blood.

But underlying the "fun & excitement" of sexual anger was the need to prove myself in terms of masculinity, self-worth, and morality. Her opinion meant everything to me, and it changed me as a person as well. I partook in things I didn't feel comfortable with, and continued on even when I thought we were best separated. It's amusing - despite the fact that I fucked her roughly with her hair in a clenched fist, and torso held tightly, she always held the dominant hand over me.

I highly doubt she cares enough about me to read this blog, so it's safe to be frank and honest. I still care very much about her. One of the hardships of intense relationships is that emotions can get so high that it leads to rough fighting and what Eminem describes as "spitting venom in your words."

I'm sure in time we will both grow as people and exercise more maturity in the way that we deal with people, but now that I'm on good speaking terms with her, I'm just afraid of either of us screwing it up.

Marines Corps Medical Disqualification

There is a strong chance that I have a medical condition that will disqualify me from joining the Marines Corps. Initially I felt strongly disappointed, and later in the day I experienced some relief.

This was supposed to be the ultimate redemption, a way to clear my head, and able to be comfortable in my own skin. I'm highly elitist, and judge myself and others harshly. Passing the challenge of Marine Corps boot camp would have been my lifelong pride. Taking it a step further, going into active service for four years as I planned, and experiencing war was something else I looked forward to.

Another case of "walking the talk."

And now that I've reviewed the medical conditions throughly I'm thrown back into my life, and I don't know what to do. Should I continue training? Is there a chance that I may not have eczema, but some dry skin condition that doesn't disqualify me?

I'm confused also with how I feel. There's relief in that I won't be in a desert with bullets soaring past me, and that I can continue living in the civilian world, but I have also lost one of the biggest challenges that a human can experience....

Parents & Independence

I hate people who wear the illusion that they are independent. Idiotic kids who turn 18 and think they are entitled to do whatever they want because they are now "adults." It infuriates me to see them talk about how big they are, when they provide no means for themselves and are still dependent on their parents for support.

I resent those given jobs by their parents. Their claims of having a "rough family life" make me want to spit in their face. Sucking Daddy's cock for a nice job, when others struggle day by day to raise themselves up without any cum slurping.

I resent those with the luxury of being able to move to another state for their simple pleasure of discovering something new. Their emotional "adventure" is seen as a hard task by them, instead of the glorious rewarding option that it is.

I hate 26 year olds who still live with their parents, and go snowboarding every other weekend. They spend their money on luxurious things and don't even go to school. At the end of things, they will probably fellate their father as well for a job, and wear the image that they found this hard job by themselves.

I hate smug whores who grab claims to independence yet they don't have a real job. They talk enormously about what important people they are, and how they don't need anybody, yet they don't have money for their own school or other necessities.

I hate the bastards who are able to collect financial aid. In California, the state stupidly assumes that you are financially supported by your parents until you are 24. I have been on my own since I was 18 and I don't qualify because I can't provide a parent's tax information. A parent? As if I had one.

When I go to war, I will take pride in the fact that although I don't receive any help or assistance, I was able to take care of myself and go forth. And if I die, equally, knowing that I was pushing myself to my own limits and entered into a compromise that would give me a better future.

So, little bitches, go ahead and continue thinking that you're what you say you are. Meanwhile real men are walking the talk.

3 Libras

I don't know why I'm drawn to the damaged and wounded. Perhaps I'm trying to amend things in other people's lives to prove to a girl I don't even speak to anymore than I'm good, and whatever happened years ago were honest mistakes that happen to all teenagers. But what hurts is that they end up disappointing me, mostly through their own self-destruction.

I threw you the obvious and you flew with it on your back,

a name in your recollection,

thrown down among a million same.

Difficult not to feel a little bit disappointed…

And passed over…

When I've looked right through to see you,

naked and oblivious.

And you don't... see... me.

But I threw you the obvious, 

just to see if there's more behind the eyes of a fallen angel.

The eyes of a tragedy.

Here I am expecting just a little bit too much from the wounded,

but I see through it all, and I see you.

So I threw you the obvious, to see what occurs behind the eyes of a fallen angel.

Eyes of a tragedy.

Oh, well. Apparently nothing.

Sometimes I wonder if I ever truly liked them as people, or if they were only emotional investments to prove how much of a "good friend" or "good boyfriend" I could be. Interims, you could say, or a test of how much I can push into the right direction. It's confusing and it makes me wish that feelings were much more clear instead of gray and blurry. One I miss tremendously, the other, well, the thought of her infuriates me.

I try to fix things and get frustrated with myself when they don't turn out in a good way. A man without any spirituality, I think that love is the closest thing you can get to divinity. Did I ever truly love them? If one wasn't a drug addict, and the other wasn't such a destructive mess, would I think about them any better? Or would the experiences that followed us forever alter my perception of them?

Is there more behind the eyes of fallen angels, or are some people just doomed to commit the mistakes that they have been trying to run away from?

Nuclear

New Religion

She felt close enough to me to give me her favorite work of art.

I'm still speechless. I can't remember the last time someone actually gave me one of their creations, or even more, their favorite work. This is going to be a good person in my life.

Pink Suicide

I wrote this poem about a year ago...

Pink Suicide

Under lover's lane, she warms her cheek against my chest

and this pink spotlight grasps yet another cancer of mine.

The tide of chemical explosions and natural high parts

And until he's finished passing by,

I dare not display her lipstick on my collar.

There's notes between him and her,

which if I could grasp and read upon a piano,

would play melodies of, "regret, sin, and secrets."

Sometimes a note escapes my lips and I blush.

[to the girl with the pink highlights]

"Magenta glowing so bright it cuts, a veil of pink extending from my seclusion to your disaster. Such a pretty wreck. And like an angel you cast me into the depths of guilt and shame, but sanctified shall be your name, for cursing someone with scars like yours would be heresy and anathema…"

A Day In Quotes

"I'll never stoop so low again, I guess I don't know my own strength."

"Fuck guilt. This cold wind makes me feel alive."

"Now you're special, you weren't so special when I was with you."

"A silver lining of clouds shines on people Jesus couldn't save."

"I love the way you lie."

"We fell back into the same patterns."

"Maybe I'm addicted to the pain, stress, & trauma."

"I'm just a soul who's intentions are good, please don't let me be misunderstood."

"As they took his soul, they stole his pride."

"The mystery of your rhythm is so feminine."

"A silver lining of clouds shines on people Jesus couldn't save."

"I wanted perfect, I got my perfect, now you're too perfect for someone like me."

"You grabbed your red lipstick and wrote on the mirror 'por siempre.' Now I'm 19 and you're 20 and it should have worn off by now."

"Sadism & masochism. Dominant & submissive. Masculine & feminine."

"Run out the room and I'll follow like a lost puppy."

"Our relationship was a beautiful little girl that was murdered and mutilated and dumped on the side of the road." ('07)

"I'm not answering the phone, let it ring. Lately I've been feeling like a falling bomb."

"You have good intentions, and you always get what you want, but you're always so damn aggressive about it."

"This song is dedicated to a friend of mine. One day we got into a huge fist fight and didn't speak again. A year later he was shot in the head, and killed. This song is about appreciating what you have in the now - it's called Steps Ascending."

"I tried so hard, and in the end, it doesn't even matter."

"Megalomanic, you're no Jesus, yeah, you're no fucking Elvis. Step down. STEP DOWN."

"This is your baptism, and you can't forgive them."

"You can only scream so loud until they forget your existence."

Happy Motherfucker

I met Livia for the first time today and I already think she's one of the coolest pups around.




And also, I was given an amazing present:




I'm a happy motherfucker right now.

"Breathe, breathe in the air."