I made my first song tonight. First completely finished song I've ever done: proxyHELL - A New City
Also, the subsequent remix: proxyHELL - A New City (Slave City Remix)
Hope you like it.
Also, the subsequent remix: proxyHELL - A New City (Slave City Remix)
Hope you like it.
He spoke of strange things, things that made no sense at all, and yet somehow rang true. He told me that giants pushed the rocks that made the waves, but we couldnt see them because we were on the wrong harmony, and that we are blind to the universe as it really is. He went on for a long time about how the perceived spectrum of light changes on a mass scale, every 175,000,000 years, and that we were not the first intelligent beings to claim this planet as their own. He told me that the moon was created by the third empire, and that we are the 15th empire. I can only assume he meant humans, but he didnt elaborate as to what the Fifteenth Empire pertained to, and I didnt asked.
All the while, I caught no gleam of insanity in his eyes, no raving at all. He was quite calm and collected, and none of this seemed even slightly unusual to him. He told me of a great spider that wove the fabrics of reality like its own web, and occasionally feasted on those foolish enough to get caught. My mind reeled, as I tried to make sense of it all. He lavishly interwove tenses and time in such ways that sometimes after hed break in speaking, I hadnt been sure if the story he told was about himself, or me, but I had practically lived it.
And always I felt he was flitting around the edges allowing me to see a small portion of the truth, and then dancing me away in another direction before I knew too much. I felt that if I fully understood what he was saying, my mind would simply explode from the sudden influx of information; more importantly, I felt he knew it as well, and was taking me to the very limit I could handle. At times his eyes seemed like some starry, inky fluid, not like human eyes at all, but cardboard cut-outs revealing the horrid truth beneath. They were flat and empty, like they werent in sync with the geometry of the world.
He would smile and my fear would be gone, and I think that was probably good, because I remember being very frightened. In fact, I was terrified, because I didnt know how I had gotten there, and I wasnt dreaming, this was real, THIS WAS REAL, JESUS CHRIST THIS WAS REALLY HAPPENING
Im sorry.
So I write this in the language of dreams because that is the true language, the old language, the first and the most perfect of languages; as did my companion spoke in harsh, clipped tones that suggested not so much that he hadnt ever spoken English before, but rather that he had never used his speech organs before.
He told me that what I would remember would be tailored to his needs, and not mine, and yet he gave me the impression that his needs WERE my needs, but that didnt make sense to me then anymore than it does now. Whenever I try to remember what he looks like, I am left with two mental images. One is of a well-dressed man, very thin, with pale blond hair and a lean European look, maybe that of a Frenchman. This is what my memory tells me, but I know its false. The other image I see if almost like a cartoon its of a larger version of myself, his face comically evil, bend over a marionette, and controlling its movements. Alarming as that is, I look move deeply, the larger version of myself also has wires. Is he also being controlled? What is this? Is this real?
What was I talking about? I feel odd. Like my mind wasnt my own anymore. What is wait. Wait?
I think Im okay now. We were talking about the man I was discussing. Where did he go? Wasnt he? No, he came back around the other way. Yes. Yes, hes in there waiting for me now. I must go and see him.
He must come and see us.
All the while, I caught no gleam of insanity in his eyes, no raving at all. He was quite calm and collected, and none of this seemed even slightly unusual to him. He told me of a great spider that wove the fabrics of reality like its own web, and occasionally feasted on those foolish enough to get caught. My mind reeled, as I tried to make sense of it all. He lavishly interwove tenses and time in such ways that sometimes after hed break in speaking, I hadnt been sure if the story he told was about himself, or me, but I had practically lived it.
And always I felt he was flitting around the edges allowing me to see a small portion of the truth, and then dancing me away in another direction before I knew too much. I felt that if I fully understood what he was saying, my mind would simply explode from the sudden influx of information; more importantly, I felt he knew it as well, and was taking me to the very limit I could handle. At times his eyes seemed like some starry, inky fluid, not like human eyes at all, but cardboard cut-outs revealing the horrid truth beneath. They were flat and empty, like they werent in sync with the geometry of the world.
He would smile and my fear would be gone, and I think that was probably good, because I remember being very frightened. In fact, I was terrified, because I didnt know how I had gotten there, and I wasnt dreaming, this was real, THIS WAS REAL, JESUS CHRIST THIS WAS REALLY HAPPENING
Im sorry.
So I write this in the language of dreams because that is the true language, the old language, the first and the most perfect of languages; as did my companion spoke in harsh, clipped tones that suggested not so much that he hadnt ever spoken English before, but rather that he had never used his speech organs before.
He told me that what I would remember would be tailored to his needs, and not mine, and yet he gave me the impression that his needs WERE my needs, but that didnt make sense to me then anymore than it does now. Whenever I try to remember what he looks like, I am left with two mental images. One is of a well-dressed man, very thin, with pale blond hair and a lean European look, maybe that of a Frenchman. This is what my memory tells me, but I know its false. The other image I see if almost like a cartoon its of a larger version of myself, his face comically evil, bend over a marionette, and controlling its movements. Alarming as that is, I look move deeply, the larger version of myself also has wires. Is he also being controlled? What is this? Is this real?
What was I talking about? I feel odd. Like my mind wasnt my own anymore. What is wait. Wait?
I think Im okay now. We were talking about the man I was discussing. Where did he go? Wasnt he? No, he came back around the other way. Yes. Yes, hes in there waiting for me now. I must go and see him.
He must come and see us.
When I told you I get off on pain
You should know I didn't mean my own
Twist my arm, turn the screw
I'll make you pay with blood and bone
You should know I didn't mean my own
Twist my arm, turn the screw
I'll make you pay with blood and bone
Note to self: invest in electronic candy that screams while you eat it... will be next big trend, could make millions
Note to self: don't leave notes to self out where anybody can just read them, like you usually do, dummy
Note to self: don't leave notes to self out where anybody can just read them, like you usually do, dummy
Moving in my new place in Palmyra, PA tomorrow afternoon. I'm very psyched.
That's all. I never promised to be verbose in this journal, but I figured it was about time for an update. I also updated my profile and favorite girls. I need to upload a new profile pic, but I really don't have time for that right now.
PS: Hey SG staff: the site keeps getting better and better. I'm glad I didn't cancel my membership a few months back! Nixion will be in my dreams tonight.
That's all. I never promised to be verbose in this journal, but I figured it was about time for an update. I also updated my profile and favorite girls. I need to upload a new profile pic, but I really don't have time for that right now.
PS: Hey SG staff: the site keeps getting better and better. I'm glad I didn't cancel my membership a few months back! Nixion will be in my dreams tonight.
"When the sun is up / and the day is new / and I'll have new ideas for you / and you'll have things you'll want to talk about / I will too!"
Those cheerful lyrics have been floating through my brain like a broken record for the last hour since I woke up, confused and mildly headachey, at 2:30 AM this morning. I have no idea why they're there, but they are, and the only way to excorsise them is to write about it.
I think about Heaven and Hell entirely too much, and there is a thought attached to those lyrics for me this lonely morning: what is Fred Roger's version of Heaven like? Undoubtedly, that's where he is; aside from the fact that I believe that one sends him or herself to his own Heaven or Hell, a place of his or her own invention, I simply cannot imagine the idea of Fred "Mr" Rogers in any other place. Not him. No chance.
Me, on the other hand? A week ago, I would have described a place of rest and peace; a farm. Just a farm. Nothing flashy or glorious... just a few dozen country acres and some animals. Quiet. A warm fire and a cold fridge, well stocked with my favorite beers. Maybe a few good books.
But lately, I've been thinking more about Hell than is necessarily healthy, even for me. I've caught myself up in it, and a few nights ago. had a nightmare about a sort of Hell on Earth. Nothing too clear - mostly vague notions of being stalked, of having no place to hide. Wild, insane (but clearly intelligent), unnatural beasts constantly on the prowl, looking to get me and anybody like me. And I was a like a child again... small and defenseless, unable to protect myself.
I remember, in this dream, being soaked in some sort of flammable liquid, and KNOWING a flash of flame was coming, and would surely consume me... but I was unable to stop it from happening. And then I woke up, feeling bound for the lake of fire, which is interesting, because I don't even believe in such a place.
(after several minutes of sitting at my desk, thinking)
What is it I am really so afraid of? Why do I feel I'm destined to be punished?
Those cheerful lyrics have been floating through my brain like a broken record for the last hour since I woke up, confused and mildly headachey, at 2:30 AM this morning. I have no idea why they're there, but they are, and the only way to excorsise them is to write about it.
I think about Heaven and Hell entirely too much, and there is a thought attached to those lyrics for me this lonely morning: what is Fred Roger's version of Heaven like? Undoubtedly, that's where he is; aside from the fact that I believe that one sends him or herself to his own Heaven or Hell, a place of his or her own invention, I simply cannot imagine the idea of Fred "Mr" Rogers in any other place. Not him. No chance.
Me, on the other hand? A week ago, I would have described a place of rest and peace; a farm. Just a farm. Nothing flashy or glorious... just a few dozen country acres and some animals. Quiet. A warm fire and a cold fridge, well stocked with my favorite beers. Maybe a few good books.
But lately, I've been thinking more about Hell than is necessarily healthy, even for me. I've caught myself up in it, and a few nights ago. had a nightmare about a sort of Hell on Earth. Nothing too clear - mostly vague notions of being stalked, of having no place to hide. Wild, insane (but clearly intelligent), unnatural beasts constantly on the prowl, looking to get me and anybody like me. And I was a like a child again... small and defenseless, unable to protect myself.
I remember, in this dream, being soaked in some sort of flammable liquid, and KNOWING a flash of flame was coming, and would surely consume me... but I was unable to stop it from happening. And then I woke up, feeling bound for the lake of fire, which is interesting, because I don't even believe in such a place.
(after several minutes of sitting at my desk, thinking)
What is it I am really so afraid of? Why do I feel I'm destined to be punished?
You know what one of the sexiest things in the world is? A strategically placed tattoo. Oh yeah. See, that's the kind of thing that can change an otherwise average or above-average girl into a goddess in my book. I have three places that really get me going.
First is the small of the back. A small, tasteful spiral or a tribal or a line of flowers (I love you. Jessica)... damn.
Secondly, and I think this may surprise you, is a band around the arm or the ankle. Either one, but for some reason, not both, I'm particular, and hard to please... just ask my wife.
And finally - and this is the one that turns me into a thirteen year old boy who just discovered his parent's left the Playboy channel unscrambled - is a sweet little tat just above the pubic mound, and just below the belly button. It doesn't hurt if she has a flat tummy and maybe a piercing or two (I think you know where the second one should be)... shaved or simply trimmed, the whole picture is most definitely greater than the sum of its' parts, and the end result is something like art.
Well, I may not know anything about art, but I know what I like.
First is the small of the back. A small, tasteful spiral or a tribal or a line of flowers (I love you. Jessica)... damn.
Secondly, and I think this may surprise you, is a band around the arm or the ankle. Either one, but for some reason, not both, I'm particular, and hard to please... just ask my wife.
And finally - and this is the one that turns me into a thirteen year old boy who just discovered his parent's left the Playboy channel unscrambled - is a sweet little tat just above the pubic mound, and just below the belly button. It doesn't hurt if she has a flat tummy and maybe a piercing or two (I think you know where the second one should be)... shaved or simply trimmed, the whole picture is most definitely greater than the sum of its' parts, and the end result is something like art.
Well, I may not know anything about art, but I know what I like.
Have you ever actually sat down and thought about Grimace? You know, Grimace from the McDonald's commericals? Just the the fuck is Grimace, anyway? I mean, all the other characters in McDonaldland are clearly explained. A clown. A bird. Anthropomorhic food items. A burglar. All makes at least a little sense. But what about Grimace?
According to the McDonald's website:
Grimace is a big, loving, fuzzy purple fellow who is Ronald McDonald's best friend. He's sure Ronald is the world's ultimate authority on everything. While Grimace loves all McDonald's foods, he's absolutely crazy about milkshakes. Grimace is very enthusiastic and eager to try new things. His joyous spirit helps everyone overlook the fact he's a little slow and clumsy sometimes.
Okay, great. WAY TO AVOID THE QUESTION, MICKEY-DEES! WAY TO FUCKING GO!
I want to know what Grimace is, and I want to know NOW.
According to the McDonald's website:
Grimace is a big, loving, fuzzy purple fellow who is Ronald McDonald's best friend. He's sure Ronald is the world's ultimate authority on everything. While Grimace loves all McDonald's foods, he's absolutely crazy about milkshakes. Grimace is very enthusiastic and eager to try new things. His joyous spirit helps everyone overlook the fact he's a little slow and clumsy sometimes.
Okay, great. WAY TO AVOID THE QUESTION, MICKEY-DEES! WAY TO FUCKING GO!
I want to know what Grimace is, and I want to know NOW.
It's done! It's done! It's finally done! I am so charged up about this! I've finally finished the redesign of my site. Everybody drop by (the link is in my profile) and tell me what you think!
