Okay, Frost, you sass-bag! I'll write a new one:

Ladies and gentlemen, I am done being intellectual on this site. This is no longer the place where I will put my art, in any form. Maybe I will. Who knows. But my main squeeze for doling out things I have in my heart and on my mind, is now my FACEBOOK PAGE! Hahahaha! That's right! Facebook! Am I lame? Probably. But I'd rather hear what all me little loved ones have to say about my poetry, songs, videos, and thoughts than a bunch of internet acquaintances... Don't get my wrong! I still love you! But the odds of getting any pussy from someone a million miles away because they think I'm smart are weaksauce. Haha! Just kidding! We all know I conquer pussy from all over the Universe.

But seriously...

Here's a taste of what you're missing

Tales about my trip to California!


The trying out of facial hair!


Hanging out with Steve Buscemi!


Liver damage!


Punk rock roadtrips all over the Northwest!


Weddings!


Teaching children about nature!


Bails galore!


Zombification!


Being well fed!


Highfives!


More liver damage!


Sodomy!


Pondering all of life's Tram-related-mysteries!


Intentionally lame MySpace-like photos!


Family bonding!


Dress-up baking!


Crabs!


Secret hobbies such as hairdressing!


Sing-a-longs!


Silly signs!


Mohawks!


Bass!


Pigtails!


Mark Hamill!


Reggae!


Punk!


Ska!


Poverty!


Hearts-in-a-jar!


A couple hundred girlfriends!




























Baby animals!


Flava Flav!


More liver abuse!


And lot's and lot's of being wiggly!



How was that?

Incentive enough?

No?!

Well how about some random creative writing:

"These Godless Hours"

Well I've been in this very same position more times than I can count, and it's about time I wrote about it.

An ocean of little offline icons on all my little communication devices... It's dark out and I can count to what hour it is on one hand... I can go for a walk, or a quiet skate, and my existence would be null. I can do anything I want, right fucking now, and nobody would ever know it was me.

Thank God I'm a good person, because if I were fucked up enough to victimize anyone, now would be that time.

I could calmly and quietly try all the front-doors of my neighbourhood until I find one that's unlocked. I know which of you cocksuckers have dogs, because nobody seems to know how to keep canine's in line these days. I could waltz right in, take what I want, clean out your fridge, hold a knife up to your throat, plastic-wrap your toilet seat, rearrange your trinkets and doo-dads...

That bright-white glow eminating from your basement window, I can take advantage of that computer you leave on all night long every night. I can confuse any relationship with any random person in your life with an e-mail.

Hell, I can even provide you with a more stress-free lifestyle via feng-shui at these Godless hours. You'd never know the reason you know longer have headaches was by my hand, because some kid decided to fuck with your living-room decor while you were balls-deep in R.E.M.

High-Top Chuck Taylors are instant-ninja. Add common sense, a vigilant eye to detail, and a pair of Chuck Taylors (a pair of broken-in Dickies won't hurt either), and you'll never hear me coming. I'm almost six-and-a-half feet tall, and two-and-a-half bills (that's urban for "two-hundred pounds" (funny, Canada is all metric-metric-metric, but we so commonly use the imperial "pounds"... Hm.)), but I'm a fucking shadow.

Hell, the vessel I use to transport myself around this town is as silent as I am when I want it to be. With the right bearings and wheels, I can travel three kilometres in a matter of minutes without making a noise any louder or identifiable than the gentle yawn of your refrigerator at these very same moments.

About six times this very day, I was recognized by people I don't remember. That doesn't happen when the sun is this far away from me. The only biped creatures I encounter are drunks, junkies, and the extremely stressed out. (The ones that are not bipeds, usually are nocturnal and trying to snuff the domesticated neighbourhood critters. My neighbours have no idea that I'm the reason most of their kitties are still alive, because I find coyotes, opossums and raccoons fun to ridicule and terrorize and chase.) The drunks you find more often than any, the junkies are usually hidden but frequent, and the heartbroken, the insomniac, the depressed, the stressed... They are few and very far between, but I see them. I recognize the gait. Depression has a designated posture that is also synonymous with the feeling. Did you know that?

Depending on how interesting they seem, sometimes I'll observe. Very few things bless me with self-reassurance as the common drunk in suburbia. A very, very large percentage of people you encounter in Maple Ridge at the wee hours of the morning dwell on either self-pity or superiority. That means when encounter drunks between the age of sixteen to their mid-twenties at this time, you can almost guarantee that they'll be doing one of two things. Not to be sexist, but gender plays a great role in this...

Males, drunk, aged (approximately) between 16 and 26 years, between the times of 9pm and 3am: Testosteroned to the max. Looking for a fight.

Females, drunk, aged (approximately) between 15 and 25 years, between the times of 8pm and 2am: Drama. Drama. Drama. Drama. Drama.

Both of which feel the need to be loud, as a form of "peacocking". And both of which seem to gauge how much of a good time they're having by "Woooooo"-ing. They cannot seem to be enjoying themselves without first trying to convince everyone else that they are having a good time. (Oh, the club-goer's mentality!) I guess if I had no personality or character, I'd have to be obnoxious in order to convince people I exist. The self-despising and generic usually see negative attention as a plus compared to no attention.

Don't get me wrong, this happens in urban areas as well. But the amount of people minding their own fucking business compared to the suburbanites out here is much greater.

As lame as it seems, it's true: The amount of people you encounter out here at these hours seem to have more to prove than they have to give.

If they're lame, I'll skate right by them. If they seem entertaining, or interesting, I'll take on some stealth and observe.

Stealth is pretty fucking easy to exercise. Two really main key factors you must keep in mind when you want to be invisible: Avoid light displacement and facial recognition. (Do some psychology homework on these things if you want to be invisible.)

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not a "creeper" or a "prowler" or a "lurker" or a "spy". I'm just someone who loves to laugh and someone who loves to educate himself. I know what I can do, I know how to become invisible when I want to, and sometimes it's pretty damn humanizing to watch people when they think they're 100% alone.

You gotta take it all in stride, and then with a grain of salt. You can either lose faith in humanity altogether, or have said faith rekindled depending on what you see.

The same drunken jackasses who put on that big scary front and feel the need to out-do all others they feel are "competition" in a physical manner, can become the lamest of romantics in a heartbeat.

The same girls who he-said-she-said-he-said-she-said at the top of their lungs at 3am on the curb will become an emotional handrail for a friend or loved one.

God I love cellphones.

Middle-aged men at these hours are usually substance abusers or intoxicated due to temporarily abusing substances. Hearing the dress-rehearsal after dress-rehearsal for the confrontation with one's more-sober spouse upon arrival is always entertaining. Or hearing the one-on-one, confidential confessions to a drunkards convenient-at-the-moment's deity... Although mostly very fun, you gotta be careful. Even when they think they're alone, you gotta know when to back down and give a person some privacy. Some dignity.

One of the hardest things I ever had to force myself to realize... Is that sometimes you don't want to know everything.

All the while, I've discovered reggae-dub music is the best-ever soundtrack for night-time daydreams. The Slackers' album "An Afternoon In Dub" is a perfect example of this.

And if you got no music, take off your shirt or sweater or whatever extra layer you have handy, and lay it down in a field... Or at this hour, in the middle of a sidestreet road - it doesn't matter...

And look up.

There are no physical things in all of the Universe, in all of existence and infinity, than the Universe, existence and infinity itself.

The stars are stunning if you can find a place with minimal light-pollution. Hard to do around here, but you can manage pretty alright if the night is right.

Just look up.

My stars...

...They're beautiful.

But those stars, in all that possibility, all that space, all that infinty of wonder...

I want something.

What I'm hoping for...

Is someone like me.

An observer. A learner. A wonderer. A daydreamer. A shadow.

This isn't who I am during the day. Well, the majority of myself anyhow. Most of the time I'm really social and I try to help things and create and enjoy things hands-on... I've always been a learner and a dreamer... But I want another one... Someone I can share this with.

Someone who's interested. Someone who cares... Or doesn't! I'm not picky!

A warm soul, a cold soul. I don't care. I want to meet... a girl. Let's make her a girl. And I want her to share these Godless hours of the evening with me... Or morning... Someone to discuss and ponder with. Someone to talk to. A nighttime someone. Someone to share with. I don't care what kind of person they are as long as they share the same wonder and affection for the night as I do.

Due to my schedule, these evenings don't occur often for me anymore. But when I have the chance... Each time, I can't help but take a step back and look... Each time I realize how grateful I am for every little person, experience or thing, big or small, bad or good, that I know...




Oh, and you're welcome for Mittens' life.





Anyone else not afraid of the dark?








(That was the end of that random crap I wrote...)




Alright... So if any of you wanna be my internet friend... Over on my Facebook page is the place to do it! Just be sure to mention you're from SuicideGirls... Because I decline a bunch of random chumps daily... That's what being famous will do to you...

THIS IS MY FACEBOOK PROFILE! BE MY FRIEND!

Well...

That's pretty much it. Thought this post was lame? Blame Frost.

I will now end, with:

A Musicial Interpretation Of The Time I Thought My Friend Gave Me Genital Herpes!

Live. Love.

- Slut