Confesions of a Smut Lord

Banging on the Gong

Thu, 06 Nov 2008 10:08:40 GMT

I figure it's time to give some folks the heads up. A good number of people already know, but we are planning a House Warming party on the 15th of Nov. That's right people, a party. If you want to be clued into where I'm living now, toss me a line. Festivities will probably start around 8 or 9 (well except for me, they'll probably start when I wake up in the morning ;) ). Bring booze, bring good times, you all know the drill. Parking is at a premium, so if possible, carpool.

End of Line.

Fair Warning

Thu, 22 Mar 2007 03:29:08 GMT

Fair warning has been issued. Though typically I plan with more foreknowledge in mind, a semi-emergency has been declared. Our friend Ben may in fact be landing in tampa on friday evening. Which engages us to declare a definitive party action. This friday therefore is now officially enacted as a party at our place. All comers are welcome considering you know the directions, whether you are directly contacted or not. Bash this friday, I repeat... bash this friday. Bring some booze. Travel down. Enjoy the festivities. Friday... I repeat, friday is the night. Much boozerific goodness. That is all.

This ends the test of the emergency Dyschordian broadcast system.

RSVP for crash space.

Accountability

Fri, 22 Dec 2006 07:32:50 GMT

Alright, so what is so fucked up about the human race that people just can't handle their own shit, huh? Everyone wants to be friends, everyone wants to be happy and no one wants drama. Well I have a sad and sorry lesson for any who happen to glance eyes on this: Drama IS life. To go through a life without drama is to go through a life without ever being happy or sad about anything. Oh sure, you can say I'm over defining the word but what I'm really doing is simplifying things. Everyone wants to be happy. Everyone wants to get along. All that really needs to happen is for people to take responsibility for their own bullshit. It's the one thing that keeps this little town from being a friendly place and it's completely retarded. Instead of people taking care of their own shit, they bleed angst onto pages, or create situations where lines need to be drawn. Not because people will cause problems with other people, but because people will cause problems with themselves when presented with other people. That is some entry level bullshit I just simply can't get over. Why people do it is a whole different story, but it's simply that it's done that fucking burns me. Because lines are drawn, other people are forced to draw lines. Forced to do things that they may not want to do for the sake of the majority or for precedence or for a good fucking time. Whatever. So I have to ask, how does this not create drama? Sure it doesn't create drama at a specific event in time but the drawing of these lines, some pointed conversations and the effects of that instant ripple through the next six months of your life. It's more ignorant than getting suckered out of a quarter for a dime and two nickels just because there's more of them.

Now this might seem odd coming from me, considering anyone who's paid attention to me at all knows that I'm all about drawing lines. But c'mon people, there's a lot better things in the world to draw lines on. Draw lines about what you believe in. Draw lines about yourself. Don't draw lines because people can't take care of their own bullshit. On either side of the fence.

There are people on my list who will probably understand the above listed situation, as there will be people who won't. It saddens me that I'm forced to draw a line of my own, to simply choose to have no part in it. There are people coming down this weekend that I would have liked to have seen or wanted to see me. I was up until recently considering re-evaluating my weekend plans and sticking around. Unfortunately this is no longer the case. Perhaps I'll catch the next party though, who knows. It depends on what kind of lines are drawn I guess. Considering we children obviously still need lines. Some growing up is in order. On all fronts. That's about it.

--- End of Line.

Oh, and I almost forgot.

Merry Christmas.

8 Films to Die For

Sun, 12 Nov 2006 22:16:47 GMT

I'm hitting up the horror fest this coming weekend in Tampa. Anyone else up for it? So far the list is two or three. If you're thinking you're going to head, drop me a line and maybe we can organize.

Countdown to the Revolution

--- End of Line

Check this out

Sat, 28 Oct 2006 05:41:42 GMT

You will thank me.

http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=1332277832

The Deathticle!

Confession

Tue, 10 Oct 2006 06:37:38 GMT

Forgive me father for I have sinned, it’s been 30 years, 4 months, 30 days, fifteen hours and four minutes since my last confession. During this time I’ve done many things I should probably repent, but I think I’d especially like to concentrate on the last few months. Over the last few months:

I’ve realized my greatest strength is in convincing myself that I have the strength to get through things

I’ve realized that I haven’t always been a good friend, kept in touch, taken care of business or been that rock for people I’ve been in the past.

I’ve realized that no matter how long ago wounds closed up, they’re always easy to re-open.

I’ve realized that I’m directionless out of apathy. I just don’t care enough to be driven anymore. I lack the muse.

I’ve realized that still after a very long time I do not consider myself human, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

I’ve realized a lot. I still have so far to go. Even with no end in sight though, I’d scrape my bedraggled corpse of a soul one shuffled zombie step at a time. Because I’ll never quit. Ever. I can’t. It’s just not in me.

I’ve realized that I may suffer no greater sin than being denied tomorrow.

I’ve realized that I’ve never really been sorry for anything.

---

This confession was brought to you buy the light of the moon and the dance of the wind. From the fumes of alcohol and the ever revealing knife that is the dark.

Never forgive those that don’t seek absolution. I can’t be sorry, I can just be Me.

Diary of a Madman

Tue, 26 Sep 2006 19:21:40 GMT

I've always held a great fondness for the dark. Night is probably my favorite time of our typical 24 hour cycle. My favorite thing to do alone in the night is drive. It like many other things presents me with a feeling of dichotomy. Your headlights focus your world. The road behind you is nothingness unless there's another car is behind you, anchoring where you've been in a beacon of light. The road ahead of you is defined, but you always find yourself looking to the edges of that light, as if by straining you could see just a bit farther. The dark always makes you wonder what's out there. That part of our brain that's still lost in the stone age is chilled at the thought of the unknown, but at the same time I feel like it brings whatever is illuminated into super focus. Where beyond the light the world is unknown, within it reality becomes defined. It's one place where I feel that I can safely narrow my view. Everything is peripheral except that event horizon where it's not quite light or dark. Regardless of what I'm moving towards, it always gives me the sense of moving towards some new adventure. Maybe some day it will.

Twist me up in twilight, so that I can feel the caress of the sun and the lips of the moon.

That's about it for now. Just more thoughts.

(The rest of them are on Myspace. Got tired of carbon copying for a while. If you want the rest, feel free to read there.)

Dominion of the Asphalt Line

Tue, 25 Apr 2006 17:17:07 GMT

Today, I begin a trek north. Tuesday I will be visiting my family (See: The Boondocks) but wednesday I will arrive in Gainesville. I'm going to spend the majority of my day lazing around, but I thought I should mention that I will be at Bowling with Larry (See: The Bruce) and the gang. Anyone who wants to chill and share some conversational space with my persons is best likely to catch me there. That and there's good bowling. Me? I don't bowl I play pool, but I go there because the people that hang at the Cosmic League rock. So people need to show up. support your local black light bowling culture (They really need the support, so Alley Gators can actually GET some blacklights, heh). Alley Gators (Used to be Palm Lanes, it's behind the Sonny's on Waldo road), I think the bowling thing starts at 9:30. Information has been passed. My presence is imminent.

An unsubtle revision

Sun, 23 Apr 2006 03:06:32 GMT

Earlier today I received my umpteenth gripe that I haven’t posted anything new to bitch about. So I sat down and took a look at everything going on around me and picked out something I thought I could successfully rant on about, with several colorful four letter words here and there just to make me happy with myself. Go figure, the second I tried to put it down on a document it vanished. What the fuck is that about? Has my inability to translate the images in my head to document or paper become so strong that I can’t even successfully (if not artfully) bitch about something that gets under my skin? I wonder what the next evolutionary step this incredible clusterfuck I’d like to call my brain is going to take next. Am I no longer going to be able to write a memo? The next time I try to write down the date on something am I going to be able to remember what day it is? It’s un-fucking believable. So for the time being I’ve decided to say: Death to the written word. Text, I abjure you. You are no longer part of my world. From now on I’ll communicate in dingbats or pictures. If someone wants to hear something creative from me, they can spark it and hear it on the spot. I’ll talk to myself when I have something I need to get out of my head, or put on puppet shows. I deny you and seek you no longer you incredibly elusive series of words. Eventually, I think maybe my head will explode. If I don’t write things down to expel them from a conscious stream of thought to something conversational, there’s a wonder if they will pile up. Eventually the pile will become bigger than my head and then well… Boom. If there’s a big bang anywhere in my near future, I’m sure you’ll be able to hear about it on the 9 o’clock news. Under the heading “Man’s head mysteriously explodes while contemplating Tampa traffic” or some such nonsense. So for now the written rants cease, until my next literary evolution or someone gives me something really interesting to bitch about.

It's been fun.

Struck a Nerve

Sat, 07 Jan 2006 06:40:25 GMT

My apologies to anyone who has a sincere like of lj-cuts. I don't use them. If you don't want to hear my bullshit, you shouldn't have tagged me to your list ;)

So without further babbling:

To some of the people that know me here, the news of my resignation in mid December came as a bit of a shock. This is mostly due to the fact that my job is a relatively dreamy job. There are very few people whom I associate with that wouldn’t jump at an opportunity to do what I’ve done over the past two years or so. My choice of career was made mostly by accident, partially by luck, with a dash of people skills thrown into the mix. Most people at first glance wouldn’t consider me a ‘people’ person. Truth to the fact I have very little tolerance for dealing with people on menial levels. The three weeks I spent as a toll operator would prove truth to that statement. Where I excel for whatever reasons is in gaining people’s trust and loyalty. I would like to think I negotiate far better than I make friends but that would be a falsehood. Instead I turn those people I negotiate with into my friends. I’m able to get what I need from them because they want to give it to me. So I was lucky, I got the dream job.

Everyone bitches about their jobs. There are always problems, hassles; challenges to overcome that in both the short and long term seem completely not worth the effort put into them. We stress, we jitter and we bitch when time grants us the opportunity to blow off steam. It allows us to avoid aiming that cannon of disdain and bile at the people who write our paychecks. I bitch like everybody else, though it typically turns more into jokes with funny accents and mock gestures. Making fun of something helps me feel better about it. Unfortunately all the jokes in the world would have eventually paled to the amount of bullshit that came attached to my place of employment. Suffice it to say; it all boils down to a few things: A complete lack of appreciation, inadequate compensation and the instigation of paranoia.

End all and be all? I did not work for nice people. I was under the employ of people who considered me or anyone else under their payroll nothing more than mindless cretins, to use up and toss away like a freshly squeezed lemon. This may sound perfectly normal to some of you. To that I would say, you don’t know the people I worked for. When making the decision to separate from them I was constantly plagued by questions, but none of them had to do with money or what I would do when the deed was done. I realized at some point that I had been beaten down. That they owned me, and I was terrified of their displeasure. That when they said jump, I would not only jump but I would leap an extra bound simply to make sure I cleared the distance. Those were the very thoughts that provoked my decision. I had never before felt brought that low by anyone. My pride would never allow it and once realized my pride would not let it continue. So I straightened my spine, nudged up my chin and gave them the big Fuck you.

The next hurdle came when I started digging into how I let myself be pushed into that position. How could I willingly succumb to their variety of control tactics? Granted they were effective, but once apparent they were remarkably simple minded and lacked a certain Machiavellian elegance. Even so far as three years ago, I would have never fallen into a trap like that. I have far too much pride to bow to someone telling me I’ve done wrong when I feel in the right. The fact that I’ve been able to do that and keep steady employment amazes me, but I’ve always been able to keep my head high and be confident that I could conquer anything before me without risking any sense of self. In hindsight I see that as both valiant and naïve. Anything you do involving community puts your sense of self at risk. There’s always a chance that something will homogenize; you’ll pick up a habit or you’ll lose use of some certain line of thinking. There’s a difference between putting that self at risk and sacrificing it on the alter of materialism. The latter is what I became guilty of. I had become so busy trying to distract myself from the reality of displeasure at my place in life, that those things I surrounded myself with became more important than my pride and my sense of self. Eventually I pressed myself into a position where I had to keep the job if I wanted to keep my lifestyle. I kept that lifestyle with more than a few great internal sacrifices on that alter.

Does this mean I’ll break all my toys, deflate my ball and go home? Absolutely not, I’m a techno-geek through and through. I’ll always love my gadgets and ‘new things’. I’ve realized however that I don’t need them. My things are not the sum of my self.

So with all that in mind, I spoke the words and voted my thoughts on the way my ex-employers treat people with the only thing that gave me any leverage. My feet.

There’s a time for everything. Act appropriately. Don’t hesitate. Be yourself. Fuck anyone who tells you otherwise. Point them my way; I have a few words for them.

5 AM

Fri, 06 Jan 2006 06:38:52 GMT

There’s a lot to be said for 5 O’clock in the morning. I can’t say for sure what that is, but it’s definitely something. Especially on nights like last night. It’s just cold enough to see your breath, with a fog that makes everything hazy beyond 30 feet. The atmosphere being similar to a bated breath, like this little urban meadow (because let’s face it, Gainesville isn’t exactly an urban jungle) is waiting for something. It engenders certain feelings in a being; something primordial and superstitious. You’ll hold your breath while walking past a cemetery, in fear of losing your soul. Every silhouette is a looming figure just standing there, waiting for you to approach. 5 am is when the will o’ the wisp wanders through the small patches of wood. A time that makes you start at the random call of an owl, until you realize how pretty it sounds. Other than the occasional passing car, everything is silent except for your footsteps, which seem magnified by the surrounding quiet. That small bit of time before dawn, when even traffic goes away here and everything just stops. It’s a time for beginnings, or for a new story to be told.

That being said, it’s time for my new story to begin. Last night I came to the decision that I’ll be shoving off from this little coil that calls itself Gainesville. I’ve made some very good friends here, and this is a beautiful place. The words however have run out. The stories have been told and it’s time for me to move on and slough off the pattern. It’s not a decision I make without great thought and more than a little bit of remorse. The place is nice and I’m sure I will miss it occasionally but the biggest tug at what passes for a heart in my chest comes with leaving all the interesting people I’ve met in my time here. This place is a melting pot for conformism and individuality. It spawns some of the worst and best people I’ve ever had the regret and privilege to interact with.

There’ve definitely been more good times than bad. Some pretty amazing experiences, truth to tell. Thanks to all of you who’ve made this place worthwhile.

That’s about all I have to say right now, but I’m sure there’ll be more to follow.

sky sign

Mon, 04 Jul 2005 04:32:19 GMT

Sometimes I wish that I could just sit and look at the sky. Nothing else. No work, no play, just nothing but sitting there and looking at the sky. Every time you look up there, the moment is always different. You can always pick out something beautiful, even if it’s in shades of gray.

Thing is, this is synonymous with life. Our path on this planet is typically ever-winding. Sometimes there’s a straight in the road, but it never typically lasts long and definitely not forever. Savor all those moments, and not just the good ones. Every moment in your lives is precious. Sitting there and wondering what you’re going to do tonight is just as important as that which you decide to do. There really isn’t any risk too daring to have them. Good and bad, they’re jewels in our lives that teach us, comfort us, hurt us and pleasure us. Don’t fear these moments too greatly. It’s that fear that those moments might sour or just be bad from the beginning, which will keep you from living at all. Fear is a great survival mechanism for the body, but it often doesn’t do the heart and soul very much good. Letting fear govern your choice of moments and you set yourself to weigh everything by careful scales. Doing that leads only to a tepid existence, where though carefully structured is still nothing more than a house of cards. Fear keeps you safe, but it keeps you fragile.

The more you have, the richer you are. Do not let fear bind you. Do not let pain bring you long to your knees. Tears they dry, wounds they heal and you are always stronger for it. That knowledge you carry away with you is just as valuable as every smile you’ve ever had.

I guess in closing, I’m not quite sure where I’m going with this. Except to say that I always see so many people around me that are broken who simply wait for the next person to come along that can fix them. They can’t fix you. No one can. That person is simply a swath of gauze on a wound you’re never going to let heal. Expecting or hoping for them to fix you demeans anything you could ever feel for them. Only you can fix yourself. Only you can take those risks. Only you can have those moments.

If you can’t jump off the cliff, I won’t feel sorry for you. I’ll just wait and meet you at the bottom. Don’t fear the pain too much, lest you risk losing that which the pain would be felt for.

A Wisp of Fingers and a Ghost in the Attic

Mon, 06 Jun 2005 16:50:59 GMT

Last night I died, and there were people who cried at my funeral. The colors were blurry and all the lines bled together, behind the veil I was forced to perceive through, but I saw them there. Standing around me in silence as a man droned on, all of them waiting to watch me mechanically lowered into the earth. They cried.

That’s how we measure things where I’m from. It’s the gauge of how much of a mark you’ve left on those around you. What effect you had on their lives, and what the loss of you from their life means. Would I cry at your funeral? That’s how I used to weigh my friends. I would look at them and think what life would be like if they were taken from me. That there was nothing I could do to stop it. What would my world be like without you? How would I feel, knowing that I could never look at you again? If the thought made me want to cry, it meant you’d touched me in some way.

I dislike these sensory dreams. Not so much people and places as there is sensation and emotion. A flood of passionate emotion left transient by a complete lack of true form. Maybe that’s the way passion is meant to be.

So in this dream I’d done it. I’d left my mark. You’d think I should have been proud, but what I was really thinking the entire time was that I wanted to go back. I wished strongly to return, even if it were just to look at them clearly one last time. To gaze upon them and remind them that all in this place is not lost. That I was gone but within them I would remain eternal. It’s in their minds and their hearts that I would live on forever, regardless of which form my spirit chose next for my being. Through the people we touch, we attain a sense of immortality. As long as they live, so too does their memory of you.

These are the kind of things my mind does when I sleep. These sensory dreams often leave me waking in a troubled state. They weigh heavily on my heart and cause me to continually rethink my perception of reality. Most of all they remind me, even though there are people on this world I may have touched deeply, that through all my evasions some of them have touched me…. And yes, I would cry at their funeral.

My beloved Dyschordians

Fri, 03 Jun 2005 18:54:17 GMT

The pope has requested a census, as he's currently unaware of the complete population of the sect. I've heard his prayers and answered (unlike some other gods I know *scoff*), so here is the list as it stands...

Pope- UnDave
Prophet- Clete

Apostles:

Penance of Dyschord - Anthony
Mouthpiece of Dyschord - Olivia
Quasitor and Scourge of Dyschord - Larry the Bruce
Beloved and Muse of Dyschord - Jen
Warmaiden of Dyschord - Michele
Artisan of Dyschord - Patricia
Lethargy of Dyschord - Blond Dave

Minions:

Laura 1 (she knows who she is)
Laura 2 (also knows who she is)
Kris
Tina
Jon
Sequoia
Kat
Kara

As a note, all followers of Apostles shall from this point be known as Acolytes of Dyschord. Those Minions who possess followers of their own will be elevated to the status of Apostle, whence their title is chosen. All followers of Dyschord are eligible for the Dyschord Benefit package as well as a keychain flogger (a symbol of their god's favor).

As a note, if I've accepted anymore minions during a state of inebriation, that have not been mentioned, please drop me a line and you shall be added to the pope's list.

Wanderlust

Mon, 23 May 2005 08:08:09 GMT

It happened again. The wanderlust, inevitably it takes me. It’s usually stronger during the on cycle of the moon. I don’t know why it happens, nor do I think I’ll come to understand it for quite some time. So I’m writing this as almost a rhetorical crucifixion. It’s a strange sensation to be driven by an unstoppable urge. You can hold it off, but not forever. Eventually like some starving man, I find myself out there. Staring at an endless sky, looking up at stars I can only ever dream about touching. Of all the things I haven’t discovered about this urge, the one thing I have is that it has a sense of inevitability. Denied too long it becomes insufferable and I find myself like a bulimic that’s gorged themselves, only my food is that of stasis.

Every time I go out I move farther and farther away from my center. Slowly winging away and constantly circling. Whether it’s like a raptor on the hunt or something circling a drain, I can’t be sure. It doesn’t feel like I’m running from anything though. There’s a constant feeling I’m watching for something. Like there’s some piece of this jigsaw puzzle that is my life, which has yet to fall into place.

I do my best thinking while on the move. It doesn’t matter whether I’m walking, driving, flying, floating or falling. In motion is where my brain finds that semblance of solace, that lets thought become fluid. Tonight that flow of thought brought me to this knack I have for acknowledgement. That I have this ability, which borders on the nature of a sociopath, to disconnect myself from situations or people when I feel it’s necessary. For a very long time it’s just been something I would do. I can’t say for sure any longer, why precisely I do it. The only two conclusions I’ve ever been able to come to are either I’m afraid that someone will get close enough to hurt me, or that I’m still too afraid to get too close to anyone due to the hurtful nature I used to be predisposed to.

Plenty of people I know currently view me as a pretty decent human being. I suppose I’ve become such out of necessity. I was unhappy with what and who I had become. That monster is still in me though. I’m still that horrible thing. I’m still capable of atrocity, but so is anyone. If so, then why does it still bother me so much? Is it that even though humanity is capable of horrible things, that maybe because I have done some of those horrible things while they haven’t makes me wary? I have no answer for that. The only thing I can say to it is that when I look at myself in a mirror I see something completely different from everyone else. I typically just don’t talk about it. I disconnect myself from it. When pressed on the issue, I’ll avoid the topic. Because that’s not who I want to be anymore, nor is it who I am. Who am I now? I can’t quite answer that question either.

I acknowledge my past; I relish my present and look forward to my future. The best is yet to come, and when the ride is over I’ll get out of the car and move on. Until then though, I’ll enjoy my little pockets of stasis. Until that wanderlust takes me again, like it does almost every night.

Why do I drive? Might as well ask; why do I live. It’s just something that has to be done.

The thoughts as usual, were a lot clearer when I was on the road. What’s left here before you is a pale imitation of what slipped through my fingers only moments after getting out of the car. It’s a start however. This is the most cohesive sense of thought I’ve ever been left with, after a drive. That’s it. Meeting adjourned.

A rigid pile of insurgence

Fri, 29 Apr 2005 12:15:12 GMT

A note. My little social experiment in Myspace doesn't seem to be working too well for me. This is due in part to whenever I seem to find something to rant about, I have to write it in Word... which ofcourse gives me time to dull down and edit my statements, instead of leaving it in glorific (Gore-ific?) bad grammar and untouched. The reason being, everytime I think of something I want to spit out onto a page, where's Myspace? It's down. What a pity that. Oh well, I'll rant later. Definately. I think I'm just going to transfer all my serious rants here, for people to look at and shiver.

Wed, 05 Jan 2005 20:17:52 GMT

Twist me up and tie me away
Forget the envy wrought by my embrace
Trust not the lamentation of my intent

I’m beyond you

Sit there with your idle mind
Bent away by infirmity of the soul
Spirit bleached away by complacency

The articulate machinations of conformity

I refuse your insight
Deny your wisdom
Refuse to entreat your solace

I sleep in a world awake

Blasphemy between hidden lines
I won’t fall prey to your apathetic gestation
To wake and see that life is a lie

Keep Dreaming

Transient Logic

Mon, 03 Jan 2005 19:10:51 GMT

Sometimes re-inventing yourself is difficult. Constantly striving for originality is just another more lax style of conformity. Even non-conformism is locked in a pattern, considering all things have cycles. All of that of course is bullshit next to the fact that every iota of spirituality is nothing but creative fiction, planned by us - for us, so that we feel better about our sometimes meager existence.

I Tried to label myself once. I'm not saying I break the pattern, just that I don't think I can look in the mirror and fit myself into a square on a rubiks cube. Once I was a writer, now I don't even put a pen on paper. At one time I was a Rebel and a Deviant, but was I that way because it was who I was or that it's what kept people interested. A while ago I was a voice people listened to coming out of a speaker at 2 am, talking about the virtues of Gary Numan and the ideology behind how bass cycling feels when it's done right. Now, I'm what my friends call a Porn Lord. Which I suppose pleases them fine, considering the majority of my friends, heh. There are perks to managing an Adult Novelty store. The hours can suck, the owners can suck, but the pay is usually good and the discount is rockin'. Gotta wonder though what I'm going to be next? Is this going to get old and then I'll become something else? Or am I going to grow up, keep the money and become a respectable (or well... so not respectable) adult. I'm sure I'll figure it out sometime.