Villain Appeal

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People yearn to be seen for who they are – to suffer, scream and cry before someone else. They want to be seen naked, stripped of all their masks. They desperately yearn for someone who understands them.

This is why there’s nothing sexier than the image of a villainous character who reflects the darkness inside.  It fosters the illusion that “this person can understand my darkness” and admiration that “this person is honest in ways I cannot be.” Also the fantasy: “I could save tis person… I could make them change for me.”  The dark, lost, fucked up monster. “My love would save him.” This titillates the human ego.

Nudity

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This is my message to the heartless manipulators who try to shame me for my honesty and my open romance with natural beauty and love. My nudity- whether it be physical or psychological – is only offensive to those who have something to hide. My nudity burns their eyes and makes them feel exposed, so they try to cover me up and make me shrink away like they do, so they can cower safely behind their masks. When that doesn’t work they create rumors and stories around the meaning of my nudity, trying to cover it up with fantasies. “She wants me, she cheats on her husband, she’s a whore, it’s a scheme!” Yet I remain naked, open, honest and true, in all of my beauty, suffering and errors: I remain true. Psychological nudity, physical nudity, emotional nudity, mental nudity.. I am what I am, and I am here to stay. Murder me, and I will haunt you in another form. Murder all the lovers in the world, and the monsters in your head will strip you naked in your nightmares. My nudity is a force of nature, and it is not going ANYWHERE. Your only chance against me is to free yourself from your lies before the fire of truth burns you alive.

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“Kali’s nudity has a similar meaning. In many instances she is described as garbed in space or sky clad. In her absolute, primordial nakedness she is free from all covering of illusion. She is Nature (Prakriti in Sanskrit), stripped of ‘clothes’. It symbolizes that she is completely beyond name and form, completely beyond the effects of maya (illusion). Her nudity is said to represent totally illumined consciousness, unaffected by maya. Kali is the bright fire of truth, which cannot be hidden by the clothes of ignorance. Such truth simply burns them away.”

Innocence

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I did not fall from grace.
I clawed my way through my own inner hell and traveled so deep beyond its core that I caught glimpses of the other side.
I had wonderful, loving parents.
But I was not innocent, idealistic or good. My hope, innocence and goodness had to be earned, if ever I was to discover them at all.
What about you?

Flaws

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I don’t think of people as having flaws. I think of every quality a person has as potential.
Let’s suppose you start with being a very receptive person. Your worst potential then is to lose your own voice completely; whereas a possible best potential is to channel and navigate the energies of the world.
Any quality someone has, has potential to be their best or worst.

I’ve always said, my best AND worst quality is my passion. My passion can go to the realm of manic obsession, singularity of focus at the expense of all else.. or it can get channeled in a way that inspires others.

I’m a vampire at my worst and a vessel at my best.
Is that a flaw? No. Is it an asset? No.
It’s whatever I make it.
But trying to be something else..to embody something that isnt naturally “me” … is.. not going to work.

I think it’s best to discover what makes you “you” and then channel it.
And in channeling it, there will be mistakes, there will be glory, there will be pain…
but as long as there’s growth, it is worth it. Nothing worth having comes easy. Nothing worth DOING or BEING comes easy.
I have always been very hyper aware of whats wrong with me as in, what other people can’t accept or can’t love; but I also feel like I’d be fine if only I was on my home planet.
But, I’m not.. so the best I can do is bring memories of my home planet to Earth, to help others discover themselves, to communicate, to give them ..whatever it gives them. Hope, escape, introspection…whatever.
Not everyone will care or notice. But I can only share my own truth.
What more can anyone do?

When people start thinking in terms of “flaws” vs. “assets,” what they’re really doing is plugging in to what others want or expect them to be.
When they think of themselves as “potential” or “energy” ….
then perhaps there’s a chance of learning what to do with that energy.

“Flaws” is a myth that society has drilled into us.
Something is only a flaw if you let it destroy you.

Illusion

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Does it really matter if the inner self is an illusion?

It could be argued that love is an illusion, or life is an illusion. The difference between dream and reality, making love and fucking, friendship and acquaintance – lies wherever you decide to believe in it. The moment you stop believing it, it is no longer real.

The same goes for identity.  Some people may be driven to spend their whole lives figuring out who they are, because it’s a compulsion to do so, even if they admit that origin and identity are constructs that exist because we decide to believe in them, give credence to them and invest in them. Others might give this construct less credence. 

But, I don’t understand what the point is, in dismantling the construct. To me, it doesn’t matter if something is objectively ‘real’ or not. I’m subjective, and if I have to make one ‘objectively true’ statement about myself, it’s that I’ll never be objective or unbiased. Nobody can ever be. And to me, doubting the very source of my passions and feelings is unnatural and unproductive. I’m naturally driven to take my feelings at face value, and dissect the patterns behind them. And I don’t see how that makes me worse than someone who doesn’t invest in their self or identity.

I don’t disagree that self is an illusion – I just wonder at what point it’s productive to fold my mind over and over upon itself to dismantle my passions. When I say productive, I mean toward personal growth; I don’t mean “achievement-oriented” or “inducing concrete results.”

I have already realized the concept of self is illusory long, long ago. I read several books by Herman Hesse and Carlos Casteneda when I was 11 or 12, and in my later teens and early 20s I deconstructed and reconstructed myself thoroughly with the use of LSD – which I used for spiritual reasons, personal growth, self-searching, artistic development and so on. I am more than aware of the simple truths like “Self is an ego construct” but I wonder what good it does me to dwell on dismantling it, rather than to express it and trust my intuitions. If there’s one thing I learned through my losses, trauma and soul searching, it’s that life has no inherent meaning – it’s up to us to give it meaning.  And having a sense of purpose is what gives my life meaning.  My sense of purpose goes beyond understanding myself- it extends to the realm of expressing myself in the most honest, bare, authentic way I experience it.  And doubting all my experiences and feelings does not help me to do that, but rather, turns in on itself and gets me nowhere. I already know life could be a dream and my sense of self could be deconstructed.. but so what? 

Each LSD trip was like cleaning out my house. Imagine putting all your stuff outside, leaving it to chance – it could be stolen, it could rain or snow. You cant get rid of the shape of your house… that’s your body, your container. All of the things inside it are your identity construct, your feelings, your aesthetic, your ideas, your values, the things you chose to define and expand yourself. So now, those things are outside and anything could happen to them. As the trip winds down over several hours, you decide which things are important or helpful and bring them back in first, and arrange them in a new way that makes more sense now that you’ve seen your container empty. You leave outside the things that are too heavy or taking up unnecessary space.

I could do this over and over and over, but I don’t find it productive at this point. My house has been arranged in a certain way that is conducive to writing music, recording my albums, writing my books, building on the constructs and choices that have emerged from my self-exploration. I could take LSD or do other things to clean it out again and leave it empty over and over, but then I will never build on it, I will never expand beyond it; I will only reflect on myself ad nauseum, like an endless, eternal hall of mirrors, and I will never simply BE with myself the way I chose to build myself, and put something out for the world, something that I CHOSE to give meaning to, something that feels like a purpose and gives me impetus to wake up every morning and keep going. Which would be the more logical and emotionally satisfying and HONEST choice? Growth is about embodying ourselves, taking action, expressing ourselves out in the world.. basically, turning the hall of mirrors outward instead of reflecting on ourselves until we’re empty and our lives are meaningless and we are utterly isolated.

Mirror

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This is what I mean when I refer to self-expression. I do my best to share my personal truth but people will not always interpret it the way it is meant. This is why I refer to artwork as a mirror. When I create it, it’s my mirror, but when someone else views it, it’s their own mirror to see as they see fit. This is why I don’t believe two people can truly understand each other, but in essence we are all the same, so if we understand what makes us human then we really understand what is essential about each other perfectly.

Darts

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My father delivered this to me – he found it in an old box, probably from when my brother and I were teenagers. I have no recollection of its existence, but the handwriting is explicitly mine.

He Tortures Me… and it Turns me On

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I’m not talking about cruelty or abuse.

I’m talking about a challenge so difficult it borders on torture. Someone so brilliant.. always twenty steps ahead. Someone who sees right through me, all the way to my core, and accepts me. Someone who never hesitates to one-up me, outwit me or call me out on my darkest, deepest flaws, with a loving smile. Someone whose cryptic challenges bring me to my metaphorical knees. Someone complicated, deep and twisted who loves this game just as much as I do. Beautiful, fulfilling, satisfying torture.

I would inspire him. My relative simplicity would be comforting to him. My admiration would motivate him. His mind would be as powerful as my passion. Inspiration. Together we could do anything.

It may be a fantasy… 

But I could never settle for less.

Let Evolution Weed them Out

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“Let evolution weed them out” you say.

Evolution certainly does.

It weeds out the dreamers, the lovers, the bleeding hearts. You can’t spill the pain from your eyes and survive. But nobody told him to keep it inside. They loved the art, the poetry, the beauty, the glamor. That’s worth loving, isn’t it? I look on his facebook page. “I’ve loved you since highschool.” “I loved you like family.” So much love, yet no hope. Everyone loves a suffering artist. You grow to expect that outpour of art. The pain never stops. The art may light a fire in your soul. But it is not made of fire. This pain is an ocean. The depths are endless. Endless. The art is because we can’t fit it all inside. It may come in different forms. A lingering dampness in the air, a rainstorm, a tsunami, a typhoon. Blood, sweat and tears. You drink it in for dear life and you leave us there before you drown. After all, you need to survive. Build something that “lasts” because, of course, that’s what matters to you. You can count on us to be there, any day, any night, with another poem, another song, another expressive, sad-eyed selfie. That is what you love. What we feed. We nourish what you kill inside yourself. You don’t care where it comes from, but only that it is there. The minute we stop bleeding before you, we are lost in the abyss, condemned to compete against the undead survivors. Yet it is so much more fulfilling to express it in the form of beauty. Then at least you love us, truly, if only for an instant. Anyone will cry for a muse.

We don’t need money, mansions or fame. All we want is to be loved for who we really are… but nobody can even see who we really are. We pour it into art, music and poetry, and that is all you see. Yet, we cannot blame you. We did this to ourselves.

Art, music and poetry. It’s all I will ever be. It’s all he ever was and now, it is all that remains. If he were not embodying his pain… what would anyone remember? If he were not gorgeous, blond, body builder, surrounded in music and vibrant paintings, covered in beautiful tattoos of his own making.. would any of these women even care that he is dead? Nobody will ever know. He died young and everyone will remember the beauty. That is art. It’s all we sufferers are good for. Reminding the undead of the soul they have beaten to death in order to survive. Scraping up any corner of humanity to hold a mirror to the world and show them what they truly are. Beauty, pain and longing. Nothing and everything. Life and death.

You fight to survive and we fight to live. Thus, you will survive, and we… we will live. Enjoy the mirror while you can. Evolution will handle us.

~ For Dave Berlingeri. RIP ~

My Ideal Partner

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I’m not attracted to what society generally finds attractive in terms of personality. Looks plays a part in that too but I will get to that.

Example 1: I need a guy who is friends with his rage. I want to taste his anger and I want him to taste mine. That does not mean picking petty fights. I do want respect and patience, but I can’t stand it when people do not feel their own emotions. That said there’s also a balance – I have a zero-tolerance policy for violence. In my experience, someone comfortable with his rage is less likely to be violent. People who bottle it up might get violent at unexpected times.

Example 2: I am drawn to men with sad eyes. I love that release of emotion. I don’t like things that are fake and contained, and I don’t like people who are dead inside, unable to feel their own pain.

Example 3: I’m not attracted to politeness, though it has its place, like at dinners with stuffy family members (not my family though, we like to laugh and argue). Out of all the people I’ve been most crazy about, any one of them would tell me when my logic makes no sense, what I’m wearing doesn’t look that great, my plot was too predictable in my book, or my song was too long. I need honesty, and I don’t want my toes sucked. I am all for praise, but I won’t buy it unless I see that it’s honest and earned.

Example 4: I don’t want him to be too polished, or to expect that out of me. I love obsessive eating habits and workouts, but I can’t stand superficial status symbols. I am ‘so carnal it’s spiritual’ and I need someone who can appreciate that. Although I can clean up nice, it’s very hard for me to pretend to be classy and prudish on a regular basis.

Example 5: I don’t like men who are overly sociable or involved with a social life. I need someone who sees through a lot of superficial bullshit, like social expectations, television, propaganda politics and drama between other humans. I want him to be more into himself than other people.

Example 6: I don’t want to be overloaded with attention. I need space to do my hobbies. If I can’t sit comfortably in a room with a guy ignoring each other on our separate laptops, I will not fall for him.

Now, what I do want.

My descriptions might sound like I am into rude emo assholes, but that is absolutely not the case. In fact, the guys i have fallen hard for, most people would call adorable and innocent. I fall for the sweet ones, the ones with tons of compassion, huge hearts and lots of feelings. Yet this is why I emphasize honest expression: it’s impossible to know compassion without knowing one’s own darker side too.

I need someone who loves animals, feels connected to his true nature, who loves his fantasies, who ravages his thoughts whole. I need someone alive, who appreciates life. It can come in the form of sex, being in nature, art, questioning the meaning of things, trying to understand physics, hunting their own meat, building their own home or a myriad of other things. I don’t care what his passion is as long as it breathes life into him.

So, my fascination with Native American culture might make sense then. I love the connectivity to the Earth, the openness to nature. I love the concept that they use every part of the animals they hunt and appreciate what they are consuming. I love that sensitivity. I love crying flutes and wild tribal drums and warrior dances that express darkness. There are ideas about releasing rage. I love the connectivity with our true nature and everything that makes us human and animal.

Everything is symbolic. Nothing is just looks.

That said I am very attuned to beauty and what it evokes in my mind. A strong jaw feels manly to me. Big lips are sensuous and inviting, like he could caress me or devour me. I love big hands, how they feel. I love how a certain body type fits against mine. I love how motion expresses who people are, in general, and I am attuned to how a man moves. I love long hair, an extension of one’s wildness. I love any expression of honest sadness, fear, shame, rage or hope. I love expressive eyes. I love life.

I was resurrected from the undead about a decade ago. I was a vampire once myself, feeding on the blood and innocence of the living. I hungered for life even then, but I could only find it outside of myself. I could drink it in, but I could not give it back. I know too well that it is not a state you can rescue someone from. Someone has to make that choice, on their own, and resurrect themselves by the very light of their own dreams. Of course, others can inspire and help along the way – but life has to come from within.

Anyone who is dead inside cannot understand me. Nobody can understand me in full because they have not been where I’ve been, but at least the living can understand me now. I don’t want to date most of the human species because most of them do not taste life the way I do. They do not feel the rhythm of the world, the depth of their pain, the fire of their appetite. They resent me for being too sensitive, for bleeding, for having blood at all.

I have serious blocks against making myself vulnerable to rejection, so I need to be with someone who inherently understands this, without too much ado, because he is the same way. If I am not seen, and loved, for who I am, I would rather be alone.