I sit here on my sofa with emotions brimming, things I haven’t felt in years. Thoughts are pouring in like a broken tap, filling my mind with everything and me unable to stop it. All I want to do is scream this out into the night to purge this from me but it won’t go. It hangs on to all the inadequacies and faults digging at them and laughing in my mind telling me things I know untrue, I try not to listen but it is masking in my voice sounding like me and filling me with rage against myself. 

Cut it out

The thoughts brew and start digging deeper all I want is them to get the fuck out, leave my mind. My nerves take over and start to involuntary shake my body. My nails dig into the fabric of the sofa trying to gain control over myself through strength as if a physical action can stop an emotional action.

Cut It The Fuck Out

“Breathe” That is what they say to do in this situation as if they know what this feels like. “Just Breathe” I can see the fuckers looking at me, trying to cover the scared and yet uncaring look in their eyes and their voice, their voice is hollow as if the are talking to a wall. Though they say “What’s wrong? Are you ok?” All I hear is “I don’t give a fuck” All they truly care about is the drama they eat it like candy, never sustaining their appetite for it.

Cut the pain out 

People say they care, some do but not many. Some just want to use you as a fashion. Human pain the newest line in consumer fashion. They want to pump their ego, make themselves look good to others. Nothing is real in the world anymore to much judgement and ego clouding it all up. Humanity is a disease and we are the dumbest type of disease. Smart diseases don’t kill one another, they don’t make you do these things or feel these things. All we are doing is killing each other to boost our ego’s. This is just sad.

I’d like to start this little rant with the subject of judgmental sexuality. Now to fully understand this rant I will have to flashback to a previous topic in which a person brought up: 

I was welcoming a person when approached on the topic of my sexual preference, which by no means is a topic to be discussed without knowing a person firstly. I allowed such a topic to go unhindered due to the fact I, unlike some, am secure. The person said she was just checking to make sure and didn’t “ want ‘fake people’ to pretend to be pan and just ruin the title” 

I would firstly like to ask the question: Since when the fuck do we need sexuality police? 

secondly: Since when the fuck is it now a title? Is it like Lord John now?  I thought we all were over this label bullshit. 

In a perfect world I’d like to ask her who the fuck she is checking to see if people are real in their sexuality and what business it is of hers to pass judgement. Do I get a cookie if I’m a good boy? Do I get a ribbon with a certificate saying Congrats you passed the sexuality test? Is it multiple choice or do I fill in the fucking little circles with pencil marks? 

I’d like to bring a piece of info to the table for all here; I thought this was common knowledge but from the above I guess not: 

We don’t need your approval to be who we are so fuck off! If you have a problem with us get away from us. We don’t need to hear your views on us, we are not here to be put under the magnifying glass. Just let us live, let us be who we are. 

End of rant. Have a nice day!

PS, if someone does this to you in person: tell them to fuck off with a smile :) 

I have always been a fan of gothic art, the well placed skull on ones wax dripped desk in a dark room, or the sepia photography of early 1900’s cemeteries, and even the huge pictures of Romanian castles but now it seems the term “gothic art” has lost its spontaneity and has become massively mainstream. If you look up “gothic art” now you will find pics of Batman and computer graphics of lighted cities and picture of gals whom photoshoped the hell out of pictures with neon colors and added feature effects. Now this might just be me but this is not “gothic art”. The origin of gothic art was devoloped in France in the 12th century and was noted by the architectural settings of the buildings [also humorously now known as skydiver hell due to the large spikes protruding from the roofs] now somewhere in the latest century it has been developed into a different meaning which is [or was] Art based on morbid and dark subjects such as the post mortem photography done in the 30’s or as some remember the romantic gothic photography from the 90’s. Unbeknownst to me at some point the term took another curve and became less morbid and more fashion, as if it is the new thing to be “gothic”. To me Gothic was never a fashion statement but rather a mindset of an individual. To reiterate this;  one who shares creative thoughts on the morbid and dark side of things rather it be poetry,painting,writing, so on and so on. I may be speaking to deaf ears on this small rant but I dislike seeing a path in which I appreciate deteriorating into mainstream media and becoming societies new “look at me” statement. But alas, I will always hunt for the now rare true “gothic art” in hopes of stimulating my thought patterns outside today’s repressed normality. Thank you for reading this now more than short rant on a dying art.  

You walk through life watching others in their happy dysfunctional lives, wanting a piece of that smile that feeling they have when their eyes meet. As you walk along your path you start to become disconnected from it all, wants turn to pain, pain in knowing you may never get to share that one second of pure untouched bliss with a soul such as yours that will explore your mind not only in the light of the fire but in the shadows of the darkness, never fleeing never becoming scared of the true you. You fall deeper in the darkness the flame starts to die, that spark that people talk about the thing that makes life worth living is dying, your heart is drying up into a husk of scar and muscle. Then she comes along and protects your fire with her shirt guarding it from the wind that seeks to extinguish it. She looks in your eyes, tears form in her eyes and a scream bellows from your scar covered muscle, it beats and causes a feeling in your chest that makes your body shake your voice turns to a mumble, words cannot be expressed, hands shake. Her voice makes your mind shatter all windows, swing all doors open and scream for her to enter and explore with open arms, she comes in and explores without judgement. You open up your entire being to her and she examines it with love and care. She touches your skin and the world sets on fire, time stops. Words are said and set in stone as the darkness is lifted, blinding light appears like fireworks in the sky, neon decadence fills your senses and all that is and ever will be is us. Waves crash mountains crumble, seas dry up as we sit lost in one another always.