Sick

A monster among men,
you’re as bad as they come, even worse.
The very thought of you disgusts me to the point of almost severe convulsions.
I fucking hate the very fibers of your being.
The Great Deceiver, the Father of Lies himself, wouldn’t go as low to sink to your level, your sins make the most blasphemous soul cringe.
You vow to protect the weak and (oh so) naïve, only for them to befall the object of your sickness, only for them to become your prey.
So unsuspecting are they, those who you vowed to educate and send out into the real world, steadfast and strong.
Disintegrated under the force of your deception, the betrayal and violence will be an everlasting scar on their conscience, the uncertainty is the deepest cut.
I should know, so unsuspecting,
so vulnerable and weak, I never saw you coming.

I should have known.

Venomous contempt is the
razor that severs the nerves that
cause the act of feeling.
Cold-blooded action is the
manipulation that severs the
nerves that cause the act of control.
What is to become of those you hurt?
Their innocence was put on display, stolen by the likes of your perversions.
Innocence that would never
be taken by your God, let alone the Fallen Angel himself.
Such desires are that of the sins that no one seems to recognize, swept under the rug by the hypocrites and the zealous.
Pray to your God all you please…
It’s only a matter of time before
the disease climbs its way back up,
screaming at the bars of your cage.

I fucking hate everything you are.

© Copyright September 2012

Fahrenheit 36 (And Only Getting ‘Worse’)

Something tells me I’m not like ordinary girls. Normal girls hyperventilate over the newest fashion and everything shoes…Yes, I am stereotyping my own sex, but I could care less. The truth isn’t considered stereotypical…Where most females splurge on things of that nature, I find myself standing in an entirely different classification. I splurge on items of paper and bindings, consisting of thoughts and experiences by designers of the written word.

Books.

In June, I wrote that I had a number of books, my thoughts on what the world would be like without them and what I myself would do without them. Recently, I realized that I might have a slight obsession. Slight could possibly be an understatement. I stated that I had 31 books. That statement is now a flat-out lie. I now own 36.

36 books.

I’m seriously considering buying a book shelf like my mom has been saying I should for a while. Every time she walks into my bedroom, actually. What can I say? Books have been my safe haven since I was fourteen. Books were my escape from cruel assholes at school, whatever pressure breaking the glass that just happened to be my skin, anything and everything. Books were always there for me. Books and music. But we won’t go into music because I’ve made that obsession clear many times over again and I have no intention of stopping anytime soon.

Better cut to the chase before I become slightly distracted and go off topic.

The five books that I added to my grand collection are as follows:

Bret Easton Ellis’ The Rules of Attraction, his very first novel Less Than Zero and its sequel Imperial Bedrooms…I fell in love with Mr. Ellis’ unique style of writing when I first read American Psycho. It was one of the first stepping-stones in my incredible journey through the land of all things written. I remember reading it like it was yesterday. My fourteen year old mind couldn’t quite comprehend certain aspects of the novel, and wasn’t really shocked by the amount of violence. Now that I’m older, it’s more than safe to say that I understand every aspect and while some of the violence does make me cringe, I’m not shocked by any of it…What the hell does that say about me as a person?… I’ve been in love with his style and I don’t see that changing.

Hunter S. Thompson’s Hell’s Angels: The Strange And Terrible Saga Of The Outlaw Motorcycle Gangs, an interesting and brutal account of a year spent riding with the infamous Hell’s Angels M.C…I fell head-over-heels for Thompson’s trademark Gonzo journalism two years ago when I received Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas for Christmas. My adoration for his signature style only grew stronger when I read The Rum Diary this spring…Yes, as I said in the paragraph above about Mr. Ellis, the same can be said for Mr. Thompson and his style of writing. I don’t see myself falling out of love with his Gonzo journalism any time soon.

The last (not the absolute last) and only book I’ve finished so far, is one I found by accident. I know I say that I find some things by accident all the time, and it is a genuine accident every time. It’s not like I knew I would discover that Slipknot/Stone Sour lead singer Corey Taylor had written a book…Yes, you read right…I was surprised, extremely interested and seriously excited when I found that Mr. Taylor’s work, Seven Deadly Sins: Settling The Argument Between Born Bad And Damaged Good, was on Barnes & Noble’s website. I was searching the frontman because curiosity struck and I wondered what year he was born, (causing me to discover the existence of said book). I’d watched Slipknot’s video for their song “Snuff” for the first time, and was curious, yo. Yes, my inner Jesse Pinkman just came out. I apologize for the slight distraction.

I’d like to say that the same statements I made about Mr. Ellis and Mr. Thompson can also be said for Mr. Taylor, but they cannot. I had never read anything written by Mr. Taylor, with the exception of Slipknot and Stone Sour lyrics of course, but that’s different…Yes, lyrics are indeed words written but there is a difference between words written in a song and a 252 page book. Sure, the person writing both is the same but there is so much more to a person than the songs they play or the lyrics they write…

I could go on about how I came to listen to both Slipknot and Stone Sour and all that jazz, but that would make the post even longer than it is and I’d like to write an entire piece as oppose to lumping it in with a post that talks of said bands’ lead singer. It would just make sense and be a more beautiful thing.

…Now that I’ve established that I shall sooner or later write a post about Slipknot and Stone Sour (which I was actually thinking about writing anyway), I will continue with the topic at hand…I really think I have a problem sometimes, going off of topic and such…I was unsure what to expect when I began to read Seven Deadly Sins because this was Mr. Taylor’s first book and I think it’s safe to say no one knows what to expect when an author writes their first book…And what a great first book it was.

I know some people would be so bold to say that the only reason I purchased the book is because I’m a Slipknot and Stone Sour fan, which I am, but that isn’t the case. I’m always curious about other peoples’ thoughts/opinions on different topics and this is just an example of that. I won’t go into too much detail, but as the name suggests, it is about the Seven Deadly Sins, and Mr. Taylor’s view on how they are indeed not sins at all, but just a part of every human being. While I will say no more (concerning the content of the book), I will say this: I have a massive amount of respect for Mr. Taylor as a person. Seven Deadly Sins is the first book in a very long time, if not the first, to make me come close to crying my eyes out, while still making me laugh my ass off. It is by far the most refreshing piece I’ve read in a long time, and I’m seriously in love with Mr. Taylor’s brutal honesty and sharp wit, as well as his fearlessly uncensored accounts…Why can’t all writers be like that?

….

I do apologize.

….

I found myself distracted, watching Nine Inch Nails videos and Marilyn Manson interviews on YouTube, when I should be completing this post…In all honesty, Mr. Ellis, Mr. Thompson and Mr. Taylor are outstanding writers, each with their own style and venom. I’m unsure as to what else needs to be said. I can go on gushing all day about how I respect both Mr. Ellis and Mr. Thompson as writers, and Mr. Taylor as a musician and writer, but I don’t want to be repetitive. Not today. I do know, however, it’s definitely safe to say that I am not like ordinary girls, and that I indeed have an obsession with books, devouring and savoring every word, sentence and paragraph…And honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Individuality is a dying breed…Don’t you think it’s time to revive it?

Amber

Screaming from the impulsive and forceful sharpness in my skull, I fall back hitting and fearing, expecting blood.
Inching closer, face-deep, knee-deep, body-deep in the ever-despicable sensation that comes with the numbness of my vice.
Aching skin, aching muscles, sore and bruised afflictions from the trenches of all too-familiar pardons.
Brought on by the desire and pleasure enticed in every golden beauty encased in glass, just waiting to be devoured and savored, until the next round makes its way back a thousand more times.

I’ve felt this conclusion a thousand times over, every act a different scene, the selfish consequence of cause & effect is unmistakable.
Every instance is met with the same promise of never again, every promise being broken
by the irreversible likes of my human body.
There is nothing more sweetly than the fruits our labors that are spent on what we truly enjoy.
The aftermath of winding week that will play itself out with differences each time, only to feel that swirling commotion in our heads and the bitter tang on our lips.
There will never be anything simpler.

© Copyright September 2012