Finale

How do I begin to describe those wonderful months? 

Perhaps in the rash introduction - in where I aggressively stole you from an inadequate mate. There are moments in life in where you see something so beautiful that you don't care who it belongs to, your teeth NEED to bite into that neck or you need to grasp that gorgeous blonde hair. Here's the finale to that story.

I'm confident. This year has been brutal, just like I imagined. And I have risen, nay, I am overneath. And you were there since the beginning and now you are going to witness the end.

As of late I have been quiet on my blog, but do not take that as an indication of resignation or apathy. There has been much work completed in my Dayside goals - and I'm not ashamed to say that there were certain things I wanted to complete that I sincerely didn't have enough time for.

There is a tattoo on the back of my arm of which I will make a blog post about soon, but it is mainly a reminder of the importance of willpower. Instead of letting something decay, sometimes it is best to cut off at an appropriate time. I was not strong enough to do this with you when I knew I needed to, but at least I did at one point.

And I'm stronger now. BETTER.

"Lo que dios no te de, te tienes que robar."

There are many things in this world beyond our control, but the important thing to do is try, try, and try. You can't have success without trying, and when you lose - utilize the pain of defeat to rebuild yourself even better! Forever rising upward and onward.

For the passionate furious ones, when we can't accomplish something it's usually beyond our control. But we never forget the joy of victory - especially the dreamlike scenarios that remind you that there is indeed grandeur in this view of life. Don't ever let someone tell you you're not beautiful.

Amanda Von Richten

Within a single conversation with the achingly beautiful Amanda, you quickly discover that she is immune from the trivial interests of the common person. Her enthusiasm for knowledge sets her apart from her peers, and you could say that she shines in a bright Luciferian light. "Can we really calm our minds with pleasures? Or is it only temporary and insignificant?" Her understanding of the world goes far beyond her peers, concepts that would never even appear in their minds for a brief second.

We are two misanthropes isolated in our countries who crave for souls to communicate with, but will not lower our high standards towards ourselves and others. Disciplined and forever rising, Amanda & I refuse to not only give apologies for the emotions experienced on our path for success, but in bitter defiance reject complacent conformist behavior to "fit in."

The common man, flawed in his clinging desire for social approval and/or subjection to sloth-like apathy for the intellect, does such a horrible job at earning her eye's attention, that her very own feline companions do a better job at comforting her. People can't even begin to appreciate what she is passionate about, and I empathize with such sentiment as I feel equally isolated a world apart.

"There is nothing out there, in this decadent and rotting society, which can interest me. All the morals and standards, all the global interests, putrefied from their same core, simply make me sick.

How could I get distracted from anything intellectual and remarkable to to something as boring and ordinary and dull as a TV program?

But apparently, most people prefer to trade it, everything good for the vulgar, and therefore become themselves as interesting as toilet paper."

Elitism is self-defining, and though at the moment we may not in the places we are meant to be, our actions and words speak nothing short of the single word that will define this year: "rising."

The Face of God

‎"The strength of women comes from the fact that psychology cannot explain us. Men can be analyzed, women... merely adored." - Wilde

"To be loved, feelings must be rationed. To love, the doors of hysteria, fantasy, and madness may be flung open." - Anton LaVey

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.

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.

Vices

I have two vices in this world:

alcohol & women.

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

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."

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.

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?

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.

The Painter

She walks in slow steps and looks at everything with great analysis and caution. In her expression you can read her entire life story, and she doesn't shed a single tear.

It's hard to ignore her, or thoughts about her, when a pink veil of sweet scent is trailed around the place. In the rare occasions in where she opens up, it is a light of pink that swells up your heart with empathy and concern.

Her paintings are a mix of grotesque black and illuminating magenta. Humble, quiet, but nevertheless, beautiful works.

The painter, of which I am unworthy of. In these days, "of late it is hard to step outside," much less approach anybody that seems warm. You can see regret, disgust, and annoyance tattooed on my forehead like a large "L." Detoxify, ignore, forget, forgive, and relive from guilt are the wash I use to scrub this off, but my entitlements and obligations still take the best of me.

Her invitation into her home might cure this. Because if someone takes an interest in me, how much of an abusive monster can I possibly be, right?

A Warm Place

Fabric of Time

"I feel that when I'm old, I'll look at you and know: the world was grotesque."

Part 2, The Persistence of War

While you wallow in the wake of your destruction, you never take a moment to look at the path which brought you here. Your ego is so large that you can't realize that the mistakes you have made are fatal, and have destroyed our relationship to a point where even looking at you is self-inflicted mutilation.

It doesn't take a genius to realize that if it causes you to burn in fury and scream words of hate, it is the moment to remove yourself before you are marked as an infernal monster. Being with you and the lies which you brought to me time after time have turned me into an insecure fool - too scared to run, unsure about myself and the constant hurt you injected into my arm like your drugs of choice.

A knife or letterbomb won't be necessary to hurt you, because in the same way that you caused this car crash, you will injure yourself in the coming days. You will injure yourself when you touch his (whoever it may be) skin and feel nothing but cold and distance.

You should be ashamed of what you have done to the person who truly took an effort to help, and stood by you regardless of all the high disrespect you shoved in his face.

I will wipe this dry cum, shit, and spit you have spilled on me like a cocoon and fashion myself into a form of hawk eyes to distinguish the unworthy and like the wolfsangel carved from the yew tree, be a weapon of might that will cut itself through this burning fabric covering me and step forth into the third chapter of my life.

"Use your fist and not your mouth. <3"

Go ahead and mock me, but I will no longer lower myself to be fit into your tabloid salivating horny desire to persecute me as a monster. I quit.

Don't Get Comfortable

♫ I'm not saying this to shake you up. I'm just saying this to wake you up. It's all good when we're making love - all I ask is don't take our love for granted. My love for you is real, and baby, if you don't love me, somebody else will. So don't you ever get too comfortable. ♫

Wolf Snarl

And I will jab this knife into your back for every time that you placed warmth into my face, and you will receive no comfort but the delicacy of blood embracing your sweet little face.

Will the frost of winter be enough to thaw these vicious flames of passion? For your sake, you better hope so, because my heart is a ticking bullet ready to penetrate and fuck sweet, betraying, and disloyal skin.

Tragically Infernal

Constantly consuming is your warmth, and you have conquered and divided my defenses. Now as you move in for the kill, you bring down the fire and throw down my dominos of indiscretion leading to the vulnerable child crying at the end of the hallway.

Inescapable, molded solid, and biological imprisonment. "A permanent solution to a temporary problem" the warning sign says, but the thought of you out of my sight reeks of screaming infidelity. This will end in bloodshed, and that won't be lipstick on your fucking lips.

In Memoriam

I grabbed your hair roughly and thrust myself into you violently. There was no denying your lust and immediate orgasm as your cheeks blushed the most vibrant red. "You're my bitch, and I'm your man. Tell me how much you love my cock." You tried to mumble a word but only a moan was able to escape the mouth that was covered by my aggressive hand. A bite into your neck and I couldn't tell whether it was one of pain, pleasure, or a combination of both.

"You wanted PERFEKT. You got your PERFEKT. But now I'm too perfekt for someone like you."

My misogyny stems from the fact that they never love you, they love the way you make them feel. These vampires thirst after certain emotions that some people can provide them, and if you are able to learn their patterns and figure out how to release those chemicals in their head, like carnal beginnings intended, reservation has no extent. You are an object, a phallus toy, to be used to fulfill their desires, their needs, and their expectations.

That's why I'm aggressive when I fuck you -- and the more you beg for it, the angrier it makes me.