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Prompt #5 - My Greatest Fear [01 Aug 2007|09:05pm] [ mood | amused ] [ music | Bottom-Tool-Undertow ] Oh, I have all the usual fears. Invalidation of my reality, that I'll wake up tomorrow and be a teenager heading off to high school again, that no one will hear what I want to say or sing, and that I'll slip in the shower and be paralyzed for the rest of my life. I don't suppose anything is my greatest fear above all of them. Every now and then, something grips me and I am terrified, until I really think about the probability of it happening. Really though, the big fears that gripped me in my teens are all over now. Death, disease, accident, embarrassment, public humiliation, and loss... well, I've seen most of that. Obviously I'm not dead. However, I don't struggle with any major fear or denial of it. I've seen it. Up close and personal. I've lost my first and most intense love. I've lost cars, homes, music, manuscripts... Computers have crashed. My world has fallen apart. I've been consumed by drugs and alcohol and come out of that with only a few scars you'll ever see. What's to be afraid of, now? I've been through that phase that sends other creative types into a massive downward spiral. That mid to late twenties thing. The "THIS is all there is" realization that serves to send such fantastic people into the abyss so young. Yeah, once you've grappled those big things, what is there to really hold onto so tightly to spend your every waking moment quaking in fear? post comment

Prompt 4 - Song that Describes Me and Why [31 Jul 2007|09:11pm] [ mood | morose ] [ music | Romeo And Julie, Andante Non Tanto Quasi Moderato - Allegro Giusto - Moderato Assai-Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky-Symphony No. 5 Romeo & Juliet ] Oh, goodness, you'd think I'd be chomping at the bit for this one, wouldn't you? I am a fiend for music. It is my life. It is me. It is all I have in the world, at times. It is love. It is life. Some people turn to god or goddess. I just need a few instruments strumming out a melody, a harmony, something a little discordant, sometimes. I need music like others need heroin or cocaine. It is my bliss and my need. I suppose I could sum it all up with Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet, especially in Symphony Number Five. It has all the elements that I have found within myself. I am more than the men that surround me. I won't go with just one facet of myself to share with my readers. There really is a great deal to me. I take great pride in all the things that people will and will not know about me throughout my life. I am pulled apart and brought back together by this Symphony. I only wish I ever had the genius Tchaikovsky had. I will not know that sort of everlasting legacy in my music, but I hope to transport one or two people into another world with modern music of my own design. It is when I hear this song, in particular, that I know that I must stick around in the world for a while longer, and listen once more. It is music that keeps me alive. It is my religion. Daniell Dennett couldn't be more of a genius for using it as his metaphor for religion in Breaking the Spell. It is definitely the only thing that brings me Home. And yes, this was Sienna's favorite composer. post comment

Prompt 3 - Thoughts on Love [31 Jul 2007|08:40pm] [ mood | morose ] [ music | Vessel-Nine Inch Nails-Year Zero ] Love, the great, everlasting torture of hope. Those soft creatures of the opposite sex. Or perhaps the dabbling I have done in the realm of my own sex should have offered up some kind of thesis here on which I could expound, here. However, no. There is no solution to love. Except perhaps a personal, final solution. *smirks* I ache to know someone in such an intimate and complete way that she would be me and I would be her. I am skeptical that this sort of thing is more than utter nonsense, though. The odds are not stacked in my favor for experiencing the sort of bleeding into someone else and then having her (or him?) bleed back into me. Only this odd distraction that fills me with sexual needs over which I don't have much control. Only the breaking of my heart when Ariel leaves for San Jose for months. We've slept with others outside the relationship. We made this decision long before it was a nice, little internet subculture. We both just knew this wasn't the way human beings really operated. But to pretend that the stories I've written don't come from that wish that lives deep down under the materialistic philosophy... well, I'd be a moron to think anyone is fooled by my cynicism. And do I tell you who taught me that there might be more than the selfish seeking comfort and a warm body? Do I tell you how I lost her when I was young? Do I tell you that I wish for her so much that perhaps it is this wish that makes me think she's back in the flesh, and seeking me out? No, probably not yet. I shouldn't admit to these things. Oh, but they are there. Hell, if I could dig her from the ground, mostly rotted away and have her with me like that, I'd do it. *whispers "Sienna"* post comment

[open]Family - Prompt 2 [03 Jul 2007|10:55am] [ mood | bored ] [ music | Goldfrapp/"Crystaline Green" ] My older sister, Gretchen, has two kids. I watch them live such predictable lives, and though a part of me bitterly despises the normality, I envy them. They seem to believe they belong in this world and in life without question. They all go to church, they fight the usual family fights over cars, money, and the teens' boyfriends and girlfriends. It's all so easy for them, even when it's not fun. Things always work out, and cycle back to regular problems. Her family doesn't like me very much. The kids are old enough to think I'm just some weird old guy (even if I'm not as old as their dad, I'm still old to the teens.) None of them seem interested in my life or my work. My younger brother, Stephan is only slightly older than her kids. He's just graduated high school. I watch him, and I know that he's just like me, except without the "gifted" tag. He's not joining the family life the way my sister did right out of high school. He's not really trying at college, and yet he's not going to end up in the same situation I was in. He's got a job, and seems okay with it, as long as it doesn't interfere with his daily bar hopping. I care about Stephan a lot. He's not quite a brother to me, because there are just under ten years between us. I watch him to see what I might have been like, had I not been born with my talents. He doesn't let me get close to him, though. Mom and dad are still married. They bicker sometimes. They sit quietly at the breakfast table and read newspapers. They don't show us much of themselves. They were very normal parents. They got to church when the mood strikes them. They didn't spend a lot of time thinking about it, though. They showed no interest in whether I was confirmed or not. My sister did everything exactly as instructed. My brother behind me rebelliously declared his lack of faith. I did neither. I don't know what I think about God, yet. My parents didn't really seem to have any opinions about it, either. I think they just carried on tradition more than had any real faith. I don't know. They're both extremely private. Growing up, they laid down the rules for me, put me into a tough school, and filled up my free time with activities. I didn't spend much time with them. I hate to say it, but I just don't know these people that I'm related to. I just don't know them at all. My extended family always lived across the country. We visited a couple reunions over the years, but those people are complete strangers. So, my family consisted of five people who barely knew each other. post comment

The Love of Tequila [27 Jun 2007|10:48pm] [ mood | drunk ] [ music | Ministry/"Stigmata" ] So far, my posts have been friendly enough, haven't they? Suppose it's time to put the thought that I'm "nice" into its grave. There's not a whole lot about life that doesn't seem to provoke me into rage. I just don't understand what's fucking wrong with people. This place is truly begging to be destroyed. So, I'm all drunk and bitter tonight. Slept in bed with Ariel last night. That doesn't fucking happen much. She's always off in her own world, living a life I'm not really part of. I don't even want to be part of it. Too many people. Too many fake smiles. Too much being nice for the sake of not starting fights. She hates it when I start fights. I don't often end up in physical conflict, but sometimes the debates turn into arguments, and sometimes the arguments turn into fights. I've been spit upon, and I've dumped my beer on someone's head over some stupid thing or other. Ariel and I... we need time apart from each other. I can't say we're in love. We're somewhere along the lines of a love affair, but we're certainly not in love, anymore. She gets frustrated with me because I need to be inside my own little world so much. I can understand that. It doesn't mean I'm going to give up writing and music. And video games. And she hates anime and manga. With. A. Passion. I had a bunch of pictures of naked girls - all anime characters - in various sexual positions and acts. They weren't all that erotic, but they were downright hilarious to see. I just failed to delete them after downloading them. So now, yeah, she hates anything that even hints at Japanese insipiration. Hell, even though she had a schoolgirl crush on Tom Cruise, I don't think she ever once wanted to see The Last Samurai either. Well, these things... they build up over time. And she stays in an apartment up north, in San Jose, where she's from. Her family doesn't seem to think much of me, either. They're not sure my smut novels are much better than Hustler stories with a twist. So be it. I didn't start writing this stuff for them. Anyway, yeah, me and Ariel are sometimes at each other's throats. Last night, we were not. I was drunk, like I am now. I really took advantage of the situation. I let the wildness get a little out of hand. We roleplayed, and we bit each other. Marks everywhere today. The entire time, though, all I could think of was that same unfamiliar face at the back of my mind. Somehow, it's as if the secret, vulnerable side of me can't really let go and make it all the way to orgasm without thinking about the lonely girl that lives somewhere deep inside me. Maybe I'm just a sap, after all. Sometimes I really think there's something to it. Something outside of just conjuring up this vision because I'm bored with Ariel. Sometimes I actually believe this is real. Looking in on this confusing world that lives inside my head, I've seen a few things that disturb me about it. I can't imagine why I've made all of this up. And that's when I hold on to her the hardest. I need it like nothing on earth. It is the one thing that keeps me going, especially when Ariel has gone upstate, and I'm here, drunk and bored. In there, though, she's mine. Totally. Not the way anyone real would be. Completely at my mercy, made specifically for me, and with no other purpose than for my own needs. I guess it's just that I want that domination. I want to control. I want to be recognized as God in at least one person's life. At least during sex. That wish only comes through sometimes. But it's enough to remind me that I am anything but nice and a true Romantic, even though I played at being one for nearly four years. Ariel once asked me why our story never turned out like the ones I write. I just looked at her and said, "Because this is the real world, and I have no say in it. No say as to how you're going to react and respond and it's a tug of war between us. These characters always end up submitting to fate and other things that don't happen in the real world. Arguments about a light that was left on all night don't exist in that world. They do here, though." She never asked me anything like that again. Anyway, I was going to describe this girl I made up. I'd describe how much it hurts to know that the things that go on in this little world never seem to come true. I could describe theories I've had about who it is, and who it is not... but I'm probably too drunk to do much good with words, tonight. Maybe I'll talk about that stuff some other time. Not tonight. post comment

Brilliant Beginnings - Who am I? [25 Jun 2007|12:08pm] [ mood | contemplative ] [ music | "Half Day Closing"/Portishead ] From here, you'll see me in a guise I share not often with everyone else. Be warned that occasionally I'll address issues that will seem familiar. Treat it all lightheartedly, and I'm sure we'll all get along just fine. This summer brings to mind the second year I spent in college. I did not finish that year. Someone in my family suggested I go all year long and get my college life finished as quickly as possible. That just burned me out much more quickly than it should have done. I dropped out when I was offered the chance to write for a living. I didn't worry all that much about my reputation or masculinity. I was writing under a name that was not my own. What did I care about those strange social hierarchies, anyway? I don't really fit in with many of them, even now. Let alone, back then. You'll notice that I'm treading water when it comes to describing my fiction. It should be Romance, but that genre is dominated by women, and my publishers were careful not to suggest that's all my writing is. However, I designed it with the Romance Writers of America's definition always in mind. The hero and heroine always manage to overcome the odds and end up together. I'm a sucker for a happy ending. That made horror impossible to write. At least the sort that actually scares people. I'm not entirely loyal to the genre, and the genre is not entirely loyal to me. The male point of view is welcome, I'm told, but should I slack into the more crass superficiality of a stereotypical man, I'd lose any audience I ever had. My novels always surround a mystery. They always involve the supernatural, and they could be thrillers, if there weren't such an obvious main plot of a love affair that is not quite perfect until the end. Most male writers who venture into love stories wind up in the more crass erotica that suits their own needs. I never wrote for my own masturbation material, though. In fact, I think I was always trying to be some sort of modern Byron, and to somehow manifest my own genre altogether. One that was definitely not predictable, but always heroic. I don't think I succeeded very often. I was often edited and advised into predictable patterns that bored me to tears. However, I managed to throw in my own perspectives more often than not. Sometimes there were things in there that were definitely unwanted by the publishers. They mostly had the final say, except for some very key moments in my stories. I'll explore those details later, when I discuss my poetry, which was not very well-received by my publishers, at first, due to the darker nature of their themes. Ultimately, though, the books earned back the debt I accrued in publishing those slim collections. Those were far more important than the *coughs* Romance *coughs* books I wrote for everyone else. There are times I wonder if putting a picture in the last book of poetry was such a good idea - something my company wanted once they found out the single I produced had garnered a contract for at least one full album. Only a handful of people recognize me, though. This isn't fame of the caliber that gets one landed in tabloids and CNN over the slightest deviation in my daily routine. Thank goodness for that, right? No one's reporting my latest haircut every twenty minutes on MTV or anything. I am simply an artist burdened by words and by music. I say "burdened" because it's with me at all times. My closest companions are my books and my CDs. I have but few friends. I have an older sister that I don't know very well and a brother that is nearly ten years younger than me. I only ever knew that I was the odd man out in most settings. The artist, misunderstood genius... or something along those lines. I don't know about the "genius" part as much as the misunderstood part. I know that the "gifted" tag has haunted my every waking step throughout school. People expect more. No... they DEMAND more from the gifted children. There is little room for play once tagged "gifted" and I envied my siblings their freedom. Their destinies weren't as "important" as mine, it was implied. The road of superiority is not one I would recommend to anyone else, though. Normality seems to have many advantages to "gifted", no matter how many times people claimed that I was the one with the "advantages." There, that's me. Tortured by my supposed gifts. Probably just mad enough to be entertaining, too. I'm a man in my late twenties, with a little money and a little time on my hands. I'm also searching for something. I may never find it. It is either to fill this void in my soul, or it is to make peace with the void in my soul - whichever comes first, I guess. post comment

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