Nudity

By | Musings | No Comments

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“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

By | Musings | No Comments

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?

Mirror

By | Musings | No Comments

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

By | Musings | No Comments

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

By | Musings | No Comments

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

By | Musings | No Comments

“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

By | Musings | No Comments

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.

I Don’t Believe in Love Anymore

By | Musings | No Comments

I don’t believe in love anymore.

Much like God is a personal experience, I acknowledge that Love is a personal experience.
If you believe in God, then, God is real to you. And I accept that you may be right.
Likewise, if you believe in Love, it is real to you.

Love may exist for others.
And I don’t doubt that your love is true.
I believe you. I believe it is real because you name it, you embrace it, you own it and you believe it.
It is simply the most sacred thing on Earth and it remains sacred in my eyes as well.

But, I do not believe I can be loved.
I can be admired, seduced, chased, adored… but not loved.
The moment I love someone back, they can’t handle my passion.

I am like a wildfire. Everyone watches from their windows as it consumes the faraway mountaintops. Their minds are filled with dreams and fears as they stare in awe at the beautiful chaos before them. But if that fire comes too close to their home, they will go to any length to put it out.

I have suffered a lot in my life. I’ve had my heart broken beyond belief, twice in the past. I lost my voice, my passion, my everything. I lost my autonomy. But through all my losses, I still believed in love. I still believed that one day, I would find love.

I cannot believe it anymore. I can be admired, and men can obsess over me and praise me to the skies, and believe me, they do. But the moment I become vulnerable, and I am no longer an exciting chase, they are turned off, gone. I am no longer beautiful in my honest, bare, bleeding form. My vulnerable emotions, my caring, my tears, my will to give and give, to merge, to BECOME this passion that consumes me, to be there for him when he falls, to admire him, to sing his praises… it arouses terror and hatred.

I know how to play chase-me. I can win that game every time. But I do not know how to share my true, honest, vulnerable heart without scaring men away.

Please, if you believe in love, do not let my musings implement doubt in your minds. You are not me. You can be loved. I cannot.

Consider my faith abandoned.

Logic and Passion

By | Musings | No Comments

How can you convince someone that it’s logical to choose an intensely difficult path simply because their heart pulls them toward it?

If it isn’t logical to follow my heart to the ends of the Earth, why does it feel so right? Why does it feel so wrong to do otherwise? As a human animal I have the capacity for passion, emotion, and reason. Nothing feels quite right unless all of those components align. If something feels so right, then it must be logical.

I can’t prove that my heart always leads me to the right place. But I know it does. I believe it, and trust it, and so it leads me exactly where I need to be. It’s impossible to convince anyone that this is logical. The only logic behind it is that there is no other point in being alive. What is the point of life if we let love slip from our grasp? What is the point of surviving if you aren’t living? What makes you want to get out of bed in the morning? What gets you through a hard day’s work? What is it all for?

My dreams are logical because they exist. Because my desire is more tangible than the bed I am burning in. My dreams are my reality and reality is what you make it. Life imitates art and art imitates life. My dreams are life.

When my heart sings, it screams. It howls and bleeds and burns. There is no mistaking that song. My body tells me what I feel and my feelings tell me what I am.

Somehow, some way, I follow my heart and beat the odds senseless. Someone who is fit to be my partner would do the same. If his heart burns for me, it would be logical to seize me at any cost. I am far from perfect, but I am irreplaceable.

Enough

By | Musings | No Comments

I thought I would feel like ‘enough’ when I finished my album, but then I finished it and it wasn’t good enough. I was proud of myself that I did it at all, and that I fought the good fight, but the quality and expression couldn’t measure up to what I heard in my head. The next one will be closer, I told myself. And this is the cycle with all of my work that I will continue for the rest of my life. The day my work is enough is the day I’ll stop working and then I will lay down like Yoda on his death bed, smile, and merge with the cosmos.