I don't want it to be stelazine time.
Then again, I'd rather not deal with the consequences of removing some rude twit's eyeball with a plastic spoon.
More later.
Maybe.
And I thought I had anger issues.
Fuck.
Look here.
*Update 6/28/05*
Never mind. Creepy fucker is gone.
I like the taste of the smell of perfume and the rich refulgence (yes, refulgence) of the way the perfume scores through my senses.
They all have different patterns.
Amarige or Chloe or Chanel no. 5 are my favourites, at the moment. Sometimes Oscar De La Renta or Stella or Chanel's Allure will hit my top three.
I like perfumes. I really like them.
I just added up tattoo time.
I think it's been about 27 hours total so far.
0_o
Wow.
Masochistic me.
This past Sunday, my tattoo session was one of the easiest to sit for to date.
I sat for well over three hours and was able to find that weird little mind zone where one may say, "That doesn't hurt!"
And believe it.
It was nifty cool stuff.
We've about 2 1/2 weeks until the tattoo show, and we reeeeaaaalllllyyyy want to get ready in time.
I hope that two to three sessions will be good.
I really do.
I'd like to choose a different word. Idiot sounds so ... like what I call other stupid people.
CRECHE!
Creche, creche it's fucking CRECHE!
Not Chreech or creech.
FUCK!
Ashes of the CRECHE!
*pant pant*
Gads. I am more convinced every single minute that that woman is nothing more than a
self-absorbed, shuffling
thundercunt.
I hate migraines. I am going to bed.
Too many migraines lately.
It's starting to worry me a lil bit.
"That if life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade.
"And then find someone who life has given vodka and have a party."
One of the comics on the Blue Collar Comedy Tour.
Amen, brother. Amen.
I'd forgotten just how much outlining hurts.
I can handle the colouring in, even tons of shades in the same spot, much better than I can outlining. It hurts like a sonofabitch.
I chewed a hole in my stuffy toy.
But, on the plus side of the account book, only the turtle remains to be outlined, and the rest is going to be colouring. *grin*
Gads, I truly hope we'll be ready mid-July, which is when the tattoo convention got moved to.
Going to be going in for a bit every week in the hopes of getting my arse and back ready to show to a few thousand folks.
Holy fuck.
I hope it won't be that many.
0.o
My goodness gracious me.
Your IQ Is 130 |
Your Logical Intelligence is Above Average Your Verbal Intelligence is Genius Your Mathematical Intelligence is Genius Your General Knowledge is Genius |
This song has always touched a tender spot inside me. I think Don McLean had a lovely flash of insight into this painting.
I can't ever look at Van Gogh's painting without this lovely, sad, devotion of a song going through my head.
If I could figure how to make it on my profile I'd do it in a heartbeat.
*******************************************
"Vincent (Starry, Starry Night)"
by Don McLean
Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and grey
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul
Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colours on the snowy linen land
Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen
They did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now
Starry, starry night
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds and violet haze
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue
Colours changing hue
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artists' loving hand
Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen
They did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now
For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left inside
On that starry, starry night
You took your life as lovers often do
But I could have told you Vincent
This world was never meant
for one as beautiful as you
Starry, starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget
Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn of bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow
Now I think I know
What you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen
They're not listening still
Perhaps they never will...
Ever notice how Edge from WWE (soap opera for men) greatly resembles a cracked-out ferret?
I decided to go with a piece of artwork for my avatar.
I wanted a change, and initially wanted something with blood. You know, a sexy silhouette, dressed in rivulets - that kind of thing.
I did what was probably not the most intelligent thing and searched "blood pictures" and "women blood pictures" on google. I do not recommend anyone ever do this.
...
Some things stain.
...
I've seen some fairly traumatic and awful things in my short time here on earth, but the existing stains on my mind really didn't need any company.
Picture after picture of crime scene and accident scene.
I learned that other people's intestines really do look amazingly like my own. The memory replayed of me holding my own guts, and a cold sweat broke out.
Then I found a page that ... man it was terrible.
It was children.
Awful, wracking crime scenes with children.
I wondered how many times these pictures had been viewed with fascination and morbid curiosity.
I wondered if anyone, of the million or so hits this website had, cried for the children or wondered if they'd caught the sick fucker who dismembered the girl in the pretty yellow sundress.
Her mouth was clean - sparkling white teeth. She took care of her teeth and someone cut off her head.
I wondered if anyone, of the million or so hits this website had, ached for the early ending of these babies and children and young teens.
Some things stain.
I had to look at each child's face. I felt compelled.
I said a prayer to whatever deity cared to hear that the ones who did this not go unpunished in some way. Some fashion. Whether it be by the law, vigilante parents, coyotes, runaway trains, natural disasters. Whatever. However.
Not necessarily justice, as justice is too ... kind sometimes.
But vengeance, and not vengeance, necessarily, by human hands - chiefly because torture, I think, dehumanizes the person who administers it.
But something, by all the odd gods of the galaxy.
Something.
I did the little I could do. I cried and ached and prayed for every one of those bairns. If they could go through it, I could look and pray. It seemed like the goddamned least thing I could do.
Some things stain.
When people post polls, do they even bother spell checking?
... Never mind. Forget I asked. Many many many people don't even bother spell checking their own damned profiles.
*sigh* Polls #170 and #190, by chaz. There are so many out there ...
STOP THE NEAR HUMANITY!
Misspellings of the night.
#190
"since you have coem to the rave has your personality changed at all?
Started by: chaz
May 28 2005
1) Yes I have become darker and lust for blood 21 19.44%
2) No I always was dard and drink blood 77 71.3%
3)Ahhhh Ahhhh help me I'm going insane 0 0%
4) I have to ask my mommy 10 9.26%
Total Votes: 108"
#170
"What type of magiks do you practise?
Started by: chaz
May 18 2005
1) white mnagik 30 12.71%
2) black magik 37 15.68%
3) gray magik 18 7.63%
4) Babylonia rite 1 0.42%
5) Egyptian rite 15 6.36%
6) Kabalistc magic 2 0.85%
7) None of your fucking business 133 56.36%
Total Votes: 236"
*************************************
At least they weren't about sex. And they had something to do with either vampires or the preter/supernatural.
I just wish folks would spell check more often.
Ok, I'd settle for at least sometimes.
Mnagik indeed.
*thinks dard thoughts*
You know, tonight's tattoo session hurt more than most of them have of late.
Maybe I'm ovulating.
My skin just seemed hyper sensitive today. Fuck, there was even a small part of it that tickled.
I am doing that emotional backing away thing I do when people start to get close. I get scared so I hermit crab or become a shit so they'll go ahead and go first so I won't have to be hurt more later if they die or leave.
I really don't like it when I do this.
It's just so gods-be-damned difficult to not do this. *sigh*
I am trying. I am trying to get away from the shell. I am tryng to get away from the shell and shoot the fucking commitmentphobe that lives in my head.
Shoot it.
I'd like to sleep.
I really would.
*sigh*
I can't even focus well enough to go read someone's journal that I really enjoy reading.
I'll read it tomorrow.
Oh. And I never did hear any other message from the random twit from the May 29 journal entry.
Guess he has a one track mind and only wants to talk about feeding.
Silly twit.
There are tons of other conversational topics.
And another thing ...
If he hasn't the confidence in himself to know what his plusses and minuses are, enough balls to tell real, honest to goodness bits of himself in a place where the people he wants to attract may *read* them, why the hell would someone want to feed on such tasteless energy?
I like strong food.
Bah.
COMMENTS
-