this is easy

ventilate

i keep pictures of my pain in the drawer next to me. it fuels my obsession. it fuels my grief.

but what is grief? it"s a secondary emotion to selfish loathing in my opinion.

what?

what did you say?

my grief is different?

listen little girl i found your grief so delightful in that i could feel and taste it and face it and oh my word touch it. i could bring it down in and outside of the depravities of skin and silk and what you called evil and good. i could do a lot, with your grief.

there is a shotgun, that you brought here, leveled to your head. it's not my hand that guides it. this is the spirit of all of you have ever done. all you ever will be. this is the condemnation of a thousand years of trying to right this wrong and the failure it has brought weighing down on your temple. just as a circular barrel that needs release.

all i ask is that you call off your lackeys. there is teth, he is a darling. if jason gets him he is done. then there is ariel. you don't know her though do you? she is the one with teth, the one that took him out of the underground to the northern tower. the pawn.

you didn't expect her?

don't wimper, it will only make it hurt more.

i only let them live when they saw me to let you know that i cared. and i do care, as much as this hurts. i have to show you what the knife can do to a person like me, or like you.

go to sleep, we will talk more tomorrow.

john casey

breathe in

the inflatable bed was the best worst idea.

breathe out

i find that a mellow drone is found out by a passionate groan.

letters from ellie

ventilate

and it was so.

rotten.

he always thought that i couldn't tell the difference. hell, he thought i couldn't make a contraction. ha to him.

i sit and i drink. it's sort of funny that way. i stopped drinking a long time ago when he put me here. i was being punished and felt i shouldn't feel any euphoria, even the fleeting one that comes with brief (oh so brief) intoxication. that ended quickly. then i started to drink. and i flew.

it flew in the sense that birds fly south. it flew in the sense the piss goes in the wind. it flew. fleeting just doesn't fit it. i got it, it went away, and not because of nature, but because of need.

every time i write you i end up talking about something else. seems funny. all i want to do is see how you are. hope you are well. i know you don't wish me as much.

and it ends again. she is at the door. i hope you are well.

damien was shot

breathe in

first post in years and i still can't figure out why i can't write

ventilate

there was a scream. in the tower that is not unusual. but the human voices were unsettling

it is heavy as it seems

breathe in

its official. its always been official. there is some sort of fascination in the brilliance of dimness, some sort of fixation with unattainable youth.

i saw my future, my past and my present in a living room watching reba today.

my future slept underneath me, wanting to be held and pushing away everything that wanted to hold him, locking one out with his words, the other behind doors and body pillows.

my past sat next to me, his lips and eyes and his dull wit screaming at me, reminding me of who i am, whatever i have become. it screamed why.

my present just screamed, slammed doors, and begged for just something more.

yes clyde. it is as heavy as it seems.

breathe out

no teenage flinch

nebulize

tori - siren

sleeping with razors

breathe in

the concept of neverstill is still new to me. and to everyone else. see something more tomorrow.

raising arizona

breathe in

i've thought a lot about karma in the past few days, and karma has nothing but a fucking twisted sense of humor.

i became so stressed out i lost my voice. it wasn't alcohol or cigarettes or any other body damaging vices; those i kept in check. just at one point, i couldn't speak. maybe it was psychosomatic, and it was my higher self knowing that the foul thoughts that were circling my head should never be spoken like the infinite names of cthulu. or conversely, maybe i knew i had said enough, damning most with half sermons even hypocrites like ted haggard would be proud of.

(for example, at one point over the past week i announced that if someone had come hundreds of miles to embarrass themselves and everyone around them then they should all go to their hotel rooms now satisfied with a big fat mission accomplished, and if they needed any other motivation my foot in their ass was a handy option.)

now, alone for the first time discounting sleep in 2 weeks, i get electronic pleas for forgiveness. thanks for your hospitality....sorry you can't go to that bar for a few weeks... i meant i love you like a brother... i'm sure he'll speak to you in a couple weeks... just tell them i did it... i'll make it up to you....

am i bitter and selfish if i don't forgive? am i wrong to want to punish those that have wronged?

i know it sounds like gay drama, but i'm honestly not prone to that in real life, i just play a disgruntled fag on tv. i shouldn't care about my reputation, my social standing, but i do. and when i'm associated with a herd of drunk guys who don't realize that denver really is a mile high and unless you live here you should really watch your intake, or have my connections look at me sideways because i associate with the type that can't walk around the bar without exaggerating their inebriation, is that reason enough to condemn and chastise because it inconvenienced me?

if you didn't live your life right the first time, don't make me relive it all in one weekend as a learning experience.

nebulize

big wheel - tori

splinters and gopher wood

breathe in

didn't drink enough tonight to counteract 16 hours of sleep. so i've been working on the dhp (more to come) and catching up on my late night craziness. oh... and this

nebulize

three

gravel - ani difranco
you and i both - jason mraz
precious illusions - alanis morissette
your cloud - tori amos
burnt like you - skin
that day - poe
i don't love you - my chemical romance
the reflecting god - marilyn manson
straight - veruca salt
heaven sent - esthero
jenny i read - concrete blonde
jenny was a friend of mine - the killers
pardon me - incubus
shut your mouth - garbage
everlong - foo fighters
sorta fairytale (demo) - tori amos

neverstill

famous last words - my chemical romance
long way to happy - pink
endless dream - conjure one
zero point - tori amos
without you i'm nothing - placebo
cannonball - damien rice
song for holly - esthero
paris - bt
mechanical animals - marilyn manson
animal - pearl jam
deadwood - garbage
hyperballad - bjork
disenchanted - my chemical romance

true love

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

man hands and adams apples

breathe in

on another site, someone whom i respect made an argument that essentially started out with the statement 'this is why i love ann coulter'. actually the name of the post is why i love gay bashers and his point was how many times their hatred backfires and inspires people to rethink their own prejudices.

of course, since i am darth emo, i had to see the dark side.

here is my rant of a response: (written in one fluid stream in about 6 minutes)

the grim reality of ann coulter is that her remarks weren't entirely accidental. with the race for the presidency already in full swing what better way to make the sheeple look away from the drunken puppetmastery that has killed so many of their brave and obedient sons and daughters than to pick at the scabs of their hemorraged insecurties.

i know i sound like the looming shadow of darth emo, but for everyone who stands up and realizes the inhumanity of the neocon crusade against a segment of society who are simply asking everyone to destigmatize an alternate expression of love there are those bizarro world born inbreds who think, 'first that black guy that bounces a ball for a living and now the hot chick with the adams apple... wooeeee roscoe thats a call for our fag bashin sticks, we can cover up that tape of your sister and the donkey with somethin' else.'

it is reverse psychology used in the most insidious way. by making hate a public slander that is universally reacted to with disgust and disgrace, especially from someone, such as tim hardaway, that is supposed to be a role model, the reactionary zealots see that as a limitation to their freedoms and essentially becomes the proverbial feather tickling the toe of the sleeping giant.

ignorance in any form is viral, and multiplies faster than you can say ozark teen pregnancy. and like nuclear fission research in third world countries, ignorance inevitably acts as the calvary generals saber, a seemingly bright beacon that only leads to despair.

we can, like you, hope that this time more people wake up and smell the rotting white sheets they've warn to protect their private prejudices (or for some their private shame) they arise from the long sleep of supposed moral socialism and defend their ideals from this corporate sponsored second coming of blind imperialism.

i've said before on my own blog that i'm bitter, so did you expect any less?




here is the original post. eatsumtoast

if you don't have a membership to the site, or you are a cootie filled girl that can't register, or i fucked up on the link let me know.

breath out

thats it, resume your various levels of self abuse.

nebulize

jonatha brooke - glass half empty

hijacking the sun

breathe in

i've been thinking about lucifer lately. i've cruised the sites of philosophical and theosophical luciferians, the mindless opposition of the religious right, and the historical essays by entymoligical scholars. i've seen a progression from proper noun, to adjective, to concept, back to proper noun as history dictates the black and white of religion and secular science. the word itself, in essence, is light. its reflected planetary positions, the lamp of the suns, the origin of the stars, and a fallen shadow that plots agains all morality. lucifer is a word of power, no doubt, as ancient as yhwh or baal, zeus or osiris. it has been transfigured into a literary figure, from biblical interpretations to milton, and most recently a comic book. say lucifer and you trigger a reaction, an ancestral memory or a modern moral crusade. objectively, it can be said that on certain levels, we all strive toward a luciferian existence, and maybe thats why they hate him so much.

breath out

i want to be divine light, regardless of who i piss off.

nebulize

my chemical romance - i don't love you

heart on my sleeve.... fido on my collar

breathe in

one of the best concepts in the gluttonous yet so deliciously disgusting world of television right now can be summed up in one word.

bullshit!

penn and teller are now on season five of their cable series that examines and exposes common misconceptions and all out ignorance in regards to subjects ranging from modern academics to the occult. in terms even a president could understand, they examine the ways in which cultural norms and our current moral paradigm have limited, and ultimately stifled, our ability to perceive certain issues logically and objectively.

one of their best examples, and one that personally reaffirmed things that i had always suspected, was a show centered around animal rights, and specifically peta. if i remember correctly, there was a lot of dead flesh abused in any number of ways, all legal, during the course of that one. the show more than implies but doesn't flat out say that most of the founding and/or high ranking members of the organization admittedly have no problem with the loss of human life in contrast to that of any other creature in the animal kingdom, and by doing so also explores the psychology of guilt and self hatred that permeates them. public protest and celebrity endorsement obfuscates a complicated and almost militaristic heirarchy that brings to mind the psychotic and sociopathic rabidity of the religious right.

peta, following the lead of cults such as scientology, uses celebrities to normalize extremist methodology. its seems that just behind exploitative pictures of a near naked pamela anderson, just behind the shadow left by her synthetic almost bionic mammaries lurk the even more shady spectres of eco-terrorism and obsessive animaphiles. (i think i just made up a word there, but it sounds smart and you know what i mean.) countless crimes have all but been linked to the so called charitable organization, with card carrying members arrested in such illegal and just plain reactionary actions such as freeing animals from testing labs or posting threats agains prominent researchers.

so you can tell that i think that peta can go to hell.

that doesn't mean that i don't like animals. far from it actually. but i am also an advocate of the philosophy that anything, whether it be substance or idea, in excess is inherently wrong.

although marginally aligned with some of the ideals of peta, the humane society, an organization that can't afford to pay on their way out hollywood c and d listers enough money to supply their coke habits for the next month to do full page ad in vogue or cosmo, has been working on an investigation that peta, with its admitted media manipulation expertise, has yet to really publicize at all.

http://apnews.myway.com/article/20070223/D8NFFQL81.html

the explanation, and this is really just my opinion, is that over the past few years peta has lost relevance and acceptance by the national and even international communites. this has been the result of peta member involvement in non urgent issues that tie up congress and generally piss off those of us that feel i would much rather take care of family than walk in the footsteps of "god the great and terrible"

so because i don't want to type anymore, more to come

i shoot with my mind

in 1943, eddie slovik decided that the war flat out scared him, and that if he was ordered to go on the front lines he would rather run away than die a certain death as cannonfodder. he expressed this to his commanding officer, and when denied did so to the officer above that, and so on from what we know.

ordered to be a part of the front lines in a surely losing battle, eddie ran. in 1944 eddie was discovered in the french woods, rather shellshocked and frightened for his life.

"All the men I knew and trained with have been killed." These were his words to the loyalist that found him. "I'm lonely.... The shells seem to come closer all the time and I can't stand them."

The soldier that discovered him convinced him that if he turned himself in that the U.S. Army (hallowed be thy name) would forgive his trespasses and after a courtmarshall send him, albeit dishonorably, home.

Soon after slovik was granted the dubious distinction as being the last person in our nation's history to be convicted and executed of desertion.

i empathize with eddie, not as he was but as he is now, as he sits with the dark specters of herod, nero, hirohito, or winston churchill in the shadows of darkened greatness. dissent with a higher purpose, darkness in pursuit of a somewhat loftier strain either through madness, conformity, or dictation summed up in an act of bold cowardice in the midst of worldwide conflict.

in the stories of the serialized graphic novel the sandman the moral that is prevalant is that each person, each intellectual entity, has the freedom to say no, and inevitably the freedom to give in, to give it all away. nero, through the insanities of the roman state and the incestuous royals he was innoculated with, publicized his scandals as much for the education of the public as for his own self immolation. hirohito admitted the weakness of his society in the face of a western tsunami of alien cultural norms that ultimately would overpower him unless he joined with them to slow them to a gentle ebb and flow. herod protected his sovereignity, and thereby his kingdom, by supressing a bloodthirsty blessed heritage that had once decimated the populace of his kingdom and was prophesized to do so once again, to no avail. churchill made deals with devils and false prophets to secure a way of life for future generations at the cost of a near genocide and a slaughter of innocents.

eddie spoke up so we can now. his supposed cowardice has become our strength, his treachery our dogma. his name doesn't echo as those others, and some may even label those as evil. but he did a similar service. he provided us with direction on how, or how not to, use our voices to fight back.

eddie has been lost to history, although his name will be remembered by those of us that know the truth, those of us that have sacrificed the status quo to make a point, to be an example.

mind you all, this is the same backwards thinking that got me almost kicked out of college.

in summation, my heroes are those that have broken the mold, for better or worse, whose actions have actually made it possible for me to write these words. i don't want to descend into madness like nero or herod, or wallow in egomania like churchill or hirohito, i want to learn from their darkness and strive to live in twilight.

(note: this was written all in one sitting, and i'm sure that once i come back a 20 page treatise entitled 'why barbie is bad' is forthcoming, followed by 'ken's plastic adventure')

falling scars

breathe in

there are a lot of things i am angry about lately. the fact that the death of a professional athlete takes precedence in newscasts over the death of soldiers and innocents caused by an ineffectual man in a sorta round shaped room. i am mad that a school stops the educational process because two not quite star athletes, and most likely members of the elitist few lose their legs in a tragic yet karmic wreck while surely somewhere in those hallowed halls a meek child is beat because 95 percent is just not good enough. i am angry that people do not have the courage to face their fears (feers) and admit the problems that life has dealt them are indeed their fault when looked at from the angry bitter weathered trunk. i am angry at myself, for not standing up in the face of adversity and claiming the mantle that is mine, purple velvet and bloodstains and all.
breathe out

i thought this picture was fun, and just more than a little hot.

ventilate

there are random visions in the place we go for the words, for the pictures. look into the flames and i will show you 4 worlds and 1 and a thousand pinpricks. look, squire. look

_

It is quite true that I despised the youth the minute he came through the doors. I never had much tolerance for worthless flesh.

The sentries that brought him in could barely hold back their revulsion as his blood oozed over their hands and arms. The wounds looked superficial, but those of us at the tower were not accustomed to any such display of gore, and usually the mere smell of it on the breeze from the southern arcologies sent some of the initiates running for their quarters. His body was limp in their arms, his eyes only half open, drool falling in silent strings of saliva on the stones of the foyer. A gurgling sound rumbled in his throat, more than likely the first sound in a thousand years to have been spoken by meat in these halls.

I remember the glances that were exchanged, the air of worry that trailed behind the boys feet as they dragged and skipped across that ancient and holy place.

No words were spoken. Few, if any, were among the initiates in the tower. Those of us that had earned the right to act freely mostly kept to ourselves, fearing that the knowledge the tower had given us would be corrupted by the perceptions of the other gifted. Taint was a threat that was ever constant, and those few who had been to the upper levels and tasted of its gifts knew that all too well. Benjamin told me later that when he saw the boy he made a silent prayer to the Engine to protect himself from the dark taint of flesh that was invading our sanctum. I looked to my partner, a simple thing that had been discovered in the wastes near Cormania, and with the steel of my eyes commanded him to ignore the scene and concentrate on our daily work.

_

The mask was uncomfortable at times.

Alone in the reception hall he longed to rip the molded synthetic from his skin, rip the nodes that had embedded themselves in his pores right out. He didn’t care about the pain, the blood. It would just be nice to be free again.

It was iconic really. There used to be a portrait in the archives, a lone king surrounded by snakes and mists, lonely and abused on a golden throne with stone knots at the base. His head lazily is in his hands as he stares into the darkness beyond the painting, over the viewers shoulders, a future as false as the wisps of smoke that coil around his feet. He always admired that painting whenever father allowed him to wander the corridors on their trips to the lower parts of the dome.

“That is your future,” his father used to quip, smiling smugly, as much as the reactive sythsteel would let him. The mask his father wore was different. Reds and blues flashed off the surface in certain lights, and in the dark it shone a sickly pink. The technology hadn’t quite been perfected and smiles and sneers looked eerily similar. He didn’t realize until he was thirteen that he had never seen his father’s face, but he always suspected that it looked similar to the foresworn king in the portrait. It wasn’t until the funeral that he found out how right he was, and how right his father had been.

From somewhere outside there was a commotion, It didn’t matter now. Somehow, someway, he knew this day was coming, that he was coming.

The night he put on the mask he had a vision. He was older, much older. The medicrats had warned him of the side effects of the nanotechnology, of the neurological damage and of the psychoactive nature of the chemicals they introduced. He sat on his throne, overlooking his empty kingdom through the guise of his hollow office. A flock of ravens flew above the dome, their cries ringing through the arcology. The domes were cracked, he remembered that the most, and the toxins of the great and terrible outside world were seeping into his locked lost land destroying all that he and the ones before him created, the lies and deceits and all to many lives that had been carefully structured and squandered in the name of progress. One of the ravens flew toward the dome, carrying that stench on its wings, that horrible decay of change and chaos that his line had feared for so long. The ravens beak shined silver, glinting in the dying sun of the domes.

The raven was now at his door, had killed his Paiges.

The gun at his side was no comfort, he knew instinctively. None of the pitfalls or traps that he had carefully had lain out in hopes of deflecting this moment.



_

the western tower has nothing at the top. i've been there.

_

three worldsets away, i can still hear him screaming. i always wonder, each time my skin burns and my soul twists, if that scream had fooled us all, if this was his plan from the very beginning. after all, if you can't be god, at least you can be moses.

he told me he had finished the machine on a thursday. i remember it well because the police had just found the third body, this one a woman. her face was a bluish hue with deep red lines cut in the cheeks that almost stared bloodlessly back at us when we laid her out on the table. i noticed right away that she had struggled, the hematoma patterns were all too familiar. her nails were ragged, her extremities twisted and purple.

'i brought the camera' tim called from the door. the detectives would want every inch on file. ashley still was having trouble calibrating the scanner, and i hadn't seen jonas in hours. we were like a hive, the murder and mayhem sent to us from the powers that be three floors above our nectar, the blind woman that overlooked market street our queen. yet in reality it wasn't really that exciting. it wasn't like the tv shows or the cheap paperbacks. you don't walk away from the comforts of your soulmate felix and don a set of scrubs transforming into a criminal investigating genius. most of the time you don't even get to see what your three hours of dissection and worship amount to until they leak it onto the internet or it comes up on a roundtable on court tv. hell, for 14 hours a day, we're lucky if we get to leave the room.

i remember this well. i remember too much.

i was getting the audio ready, and ashley had signaled that the scanner was up in between bites of a philly when jonas burst through the door from the file rooms he called home. "it's finished!" he proclaimed, a crooked madmans smile stretching from ear to ear.

we didn't pay attention. we should have.

_

did you see it? did you see the day the world died?

.......


nebulize

smashing pumpkins - eye

the devil was an idea

breathe in

i've been hibernating. not just from the outside world, but from the internal world i've created online and beyond. is it guilt? not really. is it remorse? not quite. is it shame? always, but not this time.

i just have actually enjoyed being alone, a separatist of sorts. i immerse myself in my work, thankless as it is. i play with logic puzzles and soduko, crosswords and acrostics. plus, kitty ate two of the cords that connect me to the outside world.

i was on another blog, which i wish i could reference but can't because the lords of this site are scared of outside influence, that talked about an experiment with occult ideas gone wrong, scientific mutilations blamed on danish aliens and freemasons, that made me think of my own cultural experiments, and their blackened cheek backfires.

am i that horrible?

it is a question i ask all the time. i examine my deeds and illusions and wonder if that is what the mirror of society perceives me as, some newtime crowley with his head in his hands. i have my own devils dictionary, my own wonder and wimsy. who are you? it comes late at night like this, yellow roads and ruby slippers all bundled up.

i think of the number 3, and how it haunts me. 3 years, the constant of my pain, 3 mouths, the motivation.

breathe out

and i babble like this.

a reflective glance is much better than a full body mirror of a lifetime of grief.


nebulize

boom boom satellites - on the painted desert

heretical aspirations and chemical peels

breathe in

a blogger wrote this about 2000 years ago, and it still just makes so much sense....

Deuteronomy 13

Worshiping Other Gods

1 If a prophet, or one who foretells by dreams, appears among you and announces to you a miraculous sign or wonder,

2 and if the sign or wonder of which he has spoken takes place, and he says, "Let us follow other gods" (gods you have not known) "and let us worship them,"

3 you must not listen to the words of that prophet or dreamer. The LORD your God is testing you to find out whether you love him with all your heart and with all your soul.

4 It is the LORD your God you must follow, and him you must revere. Keep his commands and obey him; serve him and hold fast to him.

5 That prophet or dreamer must be put to death, because he preached rebellion against the LORD your God, who brought you out of Egypt and redeemed you from the land of slavery; he has tried to turn you from the way the LORD your God commanded you to follow. You must purge the evil from among you.

2007 - a year in review

breathe in

the polls are in folks, and in summary, george w. doesn't look so good.

unsolicited touching : 24%

sexual harrassment: 29 %

violence as an answer: 54%

silence as a feerful phantom 63%

random discomfort 45%

lips and eyes 19%

happy new arm in the down ward spiral.

oblivion looks almost pink....

3 years

breathe in

wild mood swings. listened to this song and just, genuinely, started crying.



it might be the snow. it might be that time of the month. but it's sad.

i've been thinking about him lately. stupid, i know. something that is so historically and fundamentally wrong shouldn't be lingering, especially nearly 3 years after the last episode. and i still walk down the street, see him riding in cars, staring through shaded windows, sitting in darkened shadows.

i know now that its not him that i want, not that collection of knives and briars that cut so deep and nestled under my skin for the past thirty millenia. i know that i just long for that feeling of wonder and warmth that for just a moment made me bright and ascendant. i know i am just afraid that never again will i be that whole.

not even whiskey is making me feel better.

breathe out

the politics of snow are interesting. the politics of who benefits and who loses, the politics of sleeping smiles and empty stares.

politics is empty.

nebulize

pink - who knew

crying at airports

breathe in

fantastic tantamount to nothing

breathe out

skies of clearest crystal

nebulize

garbage - happy home

did you ever wonder why old fashioned's are made with bitters?

breathe in

i always did. i always wondered why anyone would mix perfectly
good bourbon with a substance that engages a gag reflex
in much of the population. regardless, during the years
i spent in the bar industry, i still would see it lauded as
a classic cocktail appreciated by true connoisseurs of
spirits and wino's everywhere. it was also interesting
to notice that anyone who ordered the drink usually wasn't
a day under 40, which leads to my next point. the mutual consensus
of anyone in my peer group who tried the concoction was like
watching rosie o'donnell fuck julian macmahon on
nip/tuck, revulsion.

comparatively most modern drinks, those that seem to be
the most popular among people in my age group, usually have
less of an obvious alcoholic taste and more artificial
or fruity flavorings(i.e. juices, soft drinks, energy
drinks etc.) even the old standard of beer has evolved,
most popular american beers having toned down the flavor
of the hops in favor of a smoother, less bitter flavor. (this
i disagree on. give me a pale ale any day over that bar tap
mass produced american swill.)

so, you may ask, why post something like this in the rants
and raves section, when you could have posted in the general
section or something like that.

and so begins the rant.

i realize that our gay forefathers, those that opened the
door for the newer generations, mine in particular, to
actually feel somewhat safe in coming to terms with their
sexuality, fought a hard struggle. they struggled for
acceptance, for respect, and for equality. some died,
some were sacrificed, some even lost their souls in the
mix and i, as well as many others, are forever grateful.

i just ask that you please stop with the bitter crap.

most of the people that write articles, questions, and
comments on the magazine pages just at a quick glance seem
to be over 40. i have no problem with most of them and have
found some insightful and amusing things. i have a problem
with the fact that a few of these frequent posters have now
lumped the younger generation as represented on this site
as a bunch of narcissistic sex obsessed materialists that
only care about cock size, body hair, and how many times
they went to the gym this week. you also glorify yourself
with holier than thou morality editorials which condemn
people for attempting to ask a simple question in order
to better understand the attitudes shared by this community.
i have seen several posts that push envelopes of morality
and could spark intelligent discussion but then are beat
down by bitter queen in the corner screaming accusations
of grotesque and idiocy. the impression given, as i see
it as being a relative newcomer, is that unless i devise
a question or a post that relates to something within a narrow
range of topics that seems to center around asking sage
advice from the wizened elders of the FRIENDS
OF DOROTHY foundation about whether i should
dump my boyfriend or that it is anathema and subject to all
manner of flames just short of the (my personal favorite)
horribly fashionable pNw3d!!!!.

now i don't expect you to like everything that i write,
and intentionally i do mean some of my opinions that i post
here and on other places around the net and in the world around
to flat out piss people off, but that does not give you license
to scream out your self-given geriatric authority from
the rooftops. every message posted on this system, and
those posting them, deserve the right to post and be heard
regardless of the vulgarity or simplicity of their sentiments
or opinions.

so please refrain from comments like the following:
'you must be one of those guys'
how do you know? you really can't make a judgment based
on 2 sentences of someone who's only persona you know
from a shrunken face pic and a headless torso.
'obviously you don't know
what you are talking about'
maybe thats why they posted in the first place. next time
educate before you insult.
'being that i am 300 years old let
me tell you
what i think'
your age doesn't matter. in all honesty that hot 21
year old you jacked off to in the chat room last night could
be 75 and have 4 small children tied up in his closet and is
looking for an accomplice. when you preface an opinion
like that all you do is make a feeble attempt to add hollow
weight to what ultimately, in my mind, becomes a hollow
statement.

now, before the shovels and torches and garden hos come
out and the mob starts to chant 'sink the psycho',
i don't mean this for everyone, just the few people
that i have seen post time after time with scathing remarks
and gross assumptions that often have been unwarranted
and unwanted. does that mean that i will block their comments?
hell no! opposition makes life interesting. it means that
i will use their bitterness induced ignorance as a weapon
against them. point out that the same man that is complaining
about how shallow someone is is the same person begging
to get a big cock up his ass, minimum 7", on his profile,
followed by the words 'no fats or femmes'.

in a world that is constantly changing and growing, growing
smaller in some cases, we should respect anything that
anyone takes the time to sit and put into text regardless
of how offensive, incorrect, asinine, or vulgar and use
it as an opportunity to grow ourselves or help another do
the same.

the point? swallow the bitters yourself, pretend like
you like it, and join the party. the bar is out of bitters
and a twist of lime really doesn't do anything to the
flavor, other than make it look pretty. find a new vice,
a new flavor, and come and join the party.

this bar doesn't make a drink called old fashioned
anymore