I've known about SG for about 1 year now, but I only just signed up. I love the girls on here - everyone is so FUCKING HOT!!! I adore the freakiness, the frankness, the fetishes, and the fucking kinky fantasies of all of the self-confident and self-indulgent temptresses of SG. I would love to be an SG myself = everyone exudes such fucking confidence and a "get busy living or get busy dying" sort of attitude. All you girls FUCKING RAWK!!! (By the way, I love to use way too many exclamation marks).

I'm so high out of my damn head right now, I feel like the room is spinning. I think I'll go tackle something creative. I've been working on a painting for my friend's birthday, and it's been turning out soo damn rad! It's packed with aliens and jellyfish and skulls and eyeballs and atoms and a beautiful, mesmerizing woman whose eyes fixate on yours relentlessly. I love it! I'll see if I can post a photo of it online when I'm done.

Anyways, off to finish watching I, Robot. It's so fucking fun to watch it stoned off my ass with my roommate. I shall leave you with a couple of quotes I think embody my krazy perspective on life for today:

"You must be the change you wish to see in the world."
- Ghandi

"To laugh often and much, to win the respect of intelligent people and the affection of children, to earn the appreciation of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends, to appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. This is to have succeeded!"
-Ralph Waldo Emerson


Here's another poem I wrote recently:

out of the depths and into the sun 3-11-05

i’d forgotten what it was like
to really see the sun, to look outside
and not feel like crawling back into bed,
burying myself in the safety of sheets
and in the repose of dreams that never
seemed to come true,
but were more like stale yawns
that stifled my smiles
as well as my hope
that things would get better

for a while i searched for answers
in all the wrong places, thinking that a pill or two
might rocket me to a world beyond the melancholy,
beyond the depths of the void
that had become my home
and felt so familiar,
like a quiet desperation
that didn’t know the meaning of self-respect
or even how to say no

i thought that life was supposed to be easy
and that love could be found
in a drug-induced haze,
in the arms of men as emotionally frozen
as any glacier,
only caring that my lips satisfied
their hard-ons and sucked
that selfish glint from their eyes

all the short-cuts i knew
only led me to danger,
and now i’m still struggling
to dig myself out of a hell
of my own making –
but each day it gets easier,
and the sun keeps shining like a beacon
in my night,
the stars like searchlights
in the depths of my void,
guiding me slowly back to safety
and to a home

that remembers my smiles

First thing you should know about me is that I'm an ART AND POETRY FANATIC. It's my therapy, my soapbox, my creative outlet, my blood, sweat, and tears, my love, my life. My poems are especially upclose and personal... and you better believe they're damn intimate. When you read my words or see one of my paintings, you are transported into the world that is lil ole me. Isn't that a scary thought?
My latest poem:

swollen sunset 4-15-05

your cruel evasion of the truth
is all i need to fuel that searing flame
that scorches what’s left of the tenderness
in my eyes, now charred brown remainders
of all that hasn’t been said,
left to ruminate beneath lowered lashes
and a smoldering glare

you once told me that i was your friend –
that i actually meant something to you –
how foolishly i believed your lies
and how easily i gave in to your lips, wicked red
like a sunset swollen with selfish desire,
enflaming the stillness of my soul with a reckless hunger
for a passion more turbulent
and volatile
than Kandinsky’s eruptions of color, little explosions
splitting apart
my solitude

your pathetic cowardice says it all –
i once assumed that all artists knew something
of the meaning of beauty
and of perfection,
but now i see that you’re neither beautiful
nor perfect –

and that i’ve been far too forgiving