my thoughts on everything
This is all the Insanity that has Escaped The Confines of My Cranium. Includes (but not limited to) Fiction, Non Fiction, Personal Shit, Short Stories, Poems, Pictorials (for Now), Ongoing Stories, Sociology, History, Cannibalism, Song Lyrics, and More.
Deep in the heart of Texas where his evil lives
A mask forged from the skin of victims bodies
A house of horrors built by damnation alone
Countless corpses lying about in decay
He’s the angel of death
the saw is family
unquenchable cannibalistic carnage
endless death
forever
(The Theme the Story is inspired and based upon in the character and horror movie icon Leatherface from the original 1974 Texas Chainsaw Massacre)
I’m a firm believer in the fact that sometimes creativity, thoughts, and even emotions come from places completely outside of us. I struggled with this for many years during my drug addiction. I felt all the thoughts that blew by on the wind, that other people were having but never my own. I could not feel my own I was blocked, so naturally I thought all the good, bad, and ugly around me were me. There is a lot more bad and ugly apparent to the naked eye.
It is very good to say that the vast majority of the time now I can differentiate between the two. However when the thoughts are simple, pure, and genuine I do not really try and think, “Well where the hell did that one come from?”. We all like to believe that every good thought, intention, or deed comes directly from within us but sometimes it does not. Sometimes it is from an angel.
I believe in a lot of things. Most people that consider themselves religious would probably cringe when told all the different bits and pieces that my inner knowledge feels to be true. Most non-religious people might even feel the same way. I am who I am. There is one thing that I do believe. That is in angels.
Not in a traditional king james bible sort of way however. Angels can be dead or alive to me. Some peoples pure presence alone or amazing aspects in people that well frankly suck. I consider an angel to be inspirational. Some people can only retain that inspiration for short periods.
I admit I have had a few conversations in my life where I have completely shocked myself by some of the things I have said. Even while being the complete paradox of it. Talking about how great life is while considering suicide; talking someone out of using drugs while I was doing them on the other end of the phone line; the list goes on and on. Some may say hypocrisy . I say angel.
Am I calling myself an angel? Hell to the no. Touched by one? Much more likely.
Many of us believe in ghosts and entities that haunt, so why couldn’t there be angels?
We all have our gifts. Whatever moves you and drives you.
If you know what it is go after it wholeheartedly but do not succumb to the first inkling of failure.
If it is another person, then I really hope for your sake you are their sound producer, their roadie, their secretary, or perhaps if you like cigars their intern. Otherwise you will be disappointed when all the roses die. All roses die it is only their scent that lingers. Sometimes the scent is not enough.
When people leave us too soon, whether through death or any variety of factors we always question ourselves. Here is a little poem I’ve always liked.
People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.
When you figure out which it is, you know exactly what to do.
When someone is in your life for a REASON,
it is usually to meet a need
you have expressed outwardly or inwardly.
They have come to assist you through a difficulty,
to provide you with guidance and support,
to aid you physically, emotionally, or spiritually.
They may seem like a godsend, and they are.
They are there for the reason you need them to be.
Then, without any wrong doing on your part
or at an inconvenient time,
this person will say or do something
to bring the relationship to an end.
Sometimes they die. Sometimes they walk away.
Sometimes they act up or out and force you to take a stand.
What we must realize is that our need has been met,
our desire fulfilled; their work is done.
The prayer you sent up has been answered
and it is now time to move on.
When people come into your life for a SEASON,
it is because your turn has come to share, grow, or learn.
They may bring you an experience of peace or make you laugh.
They may teach you something you have never done.
They usually give you an unbelievable amount of joy.
Believe it! It is real! But, only for a season.
LIFETIME relationships teach you lifetime lessons;
those things you must build upon
in order to have a solid emotional foundation.
Your job is to accept the lesson,
love the person/people (anyway);
and put what you have learned to use in all
other relationships and areas of your life.
It is said that love is blind but friendship is clairvoyant. (Author Unknown)
So while we are generally confused, saddened, and distraught when old things end, we must move forward. The train can only go forward and not back. Sure we can pause to reminisce. Just don’t get stuck in the quicksand. Our friends, new and old, would not want us to be stagnant. I would rather be mobile and saddened, then like the great wall of china and mildly happy.
As for the poem, I truly believe that friendship is clairvoyant. One of my friends, who I would talk to generally everyday, would always call me at unusual hours. 6PM here, none at all there, 3AM here, 1PM, midnight, you get the picture. 90 percent of this time I could pinpoint within 30 minutes when he would call. I get urges for the same songs as others at the same times. It is uncanny. The list is endless.
So anyway I would like to thank the angel(s) that made this writing possible. I could not have done it on my own.
Do you ever feel an unknown, other worldly presences pushing you forward? I know I do. Otherwise I’d be writing about lesbians.
The first time I heard “Bite It You Scum” by G.G. Allin and The Murder Junkies, I was standing in the dungeon-like basement of The Barfly Lounge somewhere in the bowels of Philadelphia’s less then desirable south side, which was the only venue that would host a G.G. Allin and The Murder Junkies show. I was with my two work partners in crime Mike (a photographer) and Chuck ( Event liaison) who had found out about the concert the previous month while visiting Chuck’s sister who lived on South Street in Philly. This was the pre-internet era so the only way for unsigned bands to promote their shows was papering every free surface with flyers up and down the street. They also relied heavily on the power of word of mouth. It was one of those flyers, tacked to a telephone pole, that Chuck saw as he was walking down the street on his way to buy a pack of cigarettes. We decided it was a show that was a once in a life time chance not to be missed. So Chuck had approached our editor Vincent V. at “Grind Spine” magazine where all three of us were currently working while taking some time off before college.
We had made the hour long drive over to Philly from Gitsville NJ in Chuck’s car which in all due favor was a complete junker. The driver’s door shook so bad you thought at any second it would pop open. The speedometer was not to be trusted. There was a hole in the floor board. The radio only got one AM station, and the car seemed to have a front head light that was eternally out. When we arrived at the bar there was no appropriate parking so we had to park on the street four blocks away and walk. The corners were inhabited by hookers and drug dealers. The streets were lined with litter and more than a few homeless panhandlers. This was the type of neighborhood that if you drove through it you wouldn’t stop at red lights. Finally, we got back to the bar unscathed and in one piece, and then the door man (who looked to actually be a local biker) barely glanced at ID’s before letting us in with the stern warning “You guys don’t start any shit and I won’t have to beat the shit out of you.”
After such nice parting words from the doorman, the three of us shuffled single file through the narrow doorway of the bar. The Barfly Lounge was a small and rather cramped 500 square feet with an L shaped bar to the left. The right side of the room hosted a motley crew of tools, chairs, and wobbly tables. The only apparent patrons in the bar looked like a small group of local regulars from the surrounding neighborhood most sitting hunched over at the bar, a beer clutched tightly in one hand, and either a lit cigarette or shot glass in the other. The lighting in the bar was well beyond dim as the few spare lights that hung from the ceiling were enveloped in a thick pungent cloud of smoke that hovered like a smog cloud over Los Angeles. The thing I will remember most about The Barfly till the day I die was the overwhelmingly putrid stench, a vile smelling mix of stale beer, body odor, cigarette smoke and what we all assumed to be vomit.
“The show is in the basement. The door is in the back, next to the restroom.” said the bartender in a deep gravely voice reminiscent of Tom Waits. We slowly made our way to the back of the bar trying to see where we were going in order to avoid tripping or worse, falling onto the cesspit of a floor, and as we walked by a few of the weary down trodden customers lifted their heads just enough to stare at us as we passed. The door to the basement was a hideous dark green and had a thick greasy coat of nicotine . We cautiously proceeded down the bare concrete stairs I couldn’t help thinking that I had seen plenty of horror movies that started like this. We entered the gloomy basement which smelled so heavily of mold and mildew you had to wonder how being in this environment could negatively affect your respiratory system. We had come to far to turn back. The only light in the dank basement were the stage lights which were actually quite intense with a white light that almost felt like when you stared into the sun as a kid. Rusty exposed pipes hung from the ceiling several had been patched with duct tape and were in various stages of deterioration. There were only a handful of people lingering around waiting for the show to start in growing impatience. There was a thin lanky man about six foot two who looked like he weighed 160 pounds soaking wet and was no doubt a junkie, but he was a junkie selling 16 ounce cans of Budweiser for $3.00 a piece out of a couple of dirty igloo coolers at his feet to fund his heroin habit. Suddenly the The Murder Junkies (G.G. Allin’s last backing band before his death in 1993) wandered lazily onto the stage where the bassist and guitarist plugged in their instruments and did a quick tune up. The drummer came out completely naked fully having earned the nickname Dino The Naked Drummer (who played naked so while drumming his clothes wouldn’t chafe his skin) and sat down behind the drums looking a bit lost as usual. It was then I became aware as I was watching the cliches and stragglers about fifty people or so had piled into the basement behind us, but were standing at the back of the room the farthest they could from the stage. The band all of a sudden launched full tilt into one of their signature songs “Bite It You Scum” and the crowd went feral. A young man who identified himself as Unk asked if we had been to a G.G. Allin show before and we said no we hadn’t. Unk went on to tell us he had found the safest place to be at G.G. Allin shows and that was behind him. No sooner had Unk finished speaking than the man referred to as the most spectacular degenerate in rock-n-roll history took the stage.
The following newspaper article was published in the Podunk County Chronicle on December 9th 1913 on the 25th anniversary of T.R. McCoy’s disappearance.
T.R.McCoy was one of the most controversial figures in American history that you’ve never heard of. T.R. McCoy was an anthropologists, successful sociologist, and the pioneering founder of the scientific field of cryptozoology, who one cold winter night after leaving a fundraiser for his next expedition (to the tropical islands in the Arctic Circle) heavily drunk and aggravated, vanished leaving only his left black leather glove upon the stair of the Naturalist Park on December 9th, 1888.
During his prolific and troubled carrier T.R.McCoy won several Nobel prizes for pioneering the field of cryptozoology in 1818, and for advancements in the field of sociology (in 1817, 1821 and 1833)
T.R.McCoy also had a plethora of criminal court cases for example the multiple charges of exploitation and detriment to the indigenous tribes people he studied. Once T.R.McCoy disappeared from the face of the earth; the flood gates for conspiracy theorists were opened. People formulated theories such as: The Vatican had him assassinated. Could it have been, that one of his 17 ex-wives/mistresses killed him in a crime of passion unable to tolerate his penchant for womanizing? Was it that T.R.McCoy faked his own death to escape from public controversy and legal prosecution? Did McCoy run off to one of his exotic locations and was eaten by vengeful cannibals whose ancestors McCoy swindled into becoming cheap slave labor. Others hypothesized McCoy fell victim to a revenge bent supernatural specter from beyond the grave seeking retribution. Some said it was an alien abduction, but at the same time others wondered if McCoy himself was in fact an alien or perhaps a human-alien hybrid. Some in the general community believe McCoy, through his advanced knowledge of physics and the time space continuum, opened a portal to escape the chaos of his career and the turmoils of his personal life by entering another unknown dimension. Some other people think McCoy was employed by a government agency working on top secret project (McCoy was working with the military but the all the files are still to this day remain classified) and simply knew to much so he was effectively “Taken Out”
The more likely reality is that a fellow competitor (and there were plenty) murdered him out of jealously or retribution for McCoy destroying their careers, as he was known to do if for any reason big or small if he disliked you. More probable causes for McCoy’s disappearance also include being killed by a nefarious person from the criminal underworld due to an outstanding gambling debt. McCoy was a notorious gambler who would bet on anything just to make a wager. McCoy could have just as easily dropped his glove as he staggered down the park stairs intoxicated (as his penchant for drink was legendary), stumbled off into the park, and accidentally fell into the Elli river that runs through the park.
No body was ever found even after an extensive 93 day search. In the end we can only speculate and must be ready to acknowledge the fact that the world may never know what really happened to T.R.McCoy the man, the myth, the monster.
W.H. Auden once said “The interests of a writer and the interests of his readers are never the same and if, on occasion, they happen to coincide, this is a lucky accident.” I believe Auden was commenting on two different points derived from the same statement. First Auden is simply explaining that what a writer finds interesting, and thusly writes about, in no way guarantees that potential reader’s will be interested in what the writer had written. Second I believe Auden was stating that even when reader’s read a written piece it doesn’t mean they will get the same meaning as other readers or even the author. People’s perceptions are as unique to the reader as their views and opinions, so no two readers will interpret one piece in the same way.
I completely, totally, and absolutely agree with Auden’s statement. If I’m not interested in a subject then I won’t ever write about it. I don’t pander in anyway, shape, or form to or for possible readers I write for an audience of one, and that one is me. I am also fully aware that not everyone will read, enjoy, or like what I have written and I welcome it all good, bad and indifferent. I know as a writer that my so called demographic will be a niche market appealing to only a few select people, but with the assistance of the internet a writer’s audience has gone global which helps niche writers find their following.
Warning The following article deals with the subject of Suicide.
If your suicidal stop reading this immediately and
PLEASE GET HELP.
If your suicidal my point is you have nothing to lose so why not seek help?
Suicide is the one regret you can’t do anything about.
COMING BACK AS SOMEONE DIFFERENT
Recently I have had a complete change in my psyche. I do not know if this is due to failed suicide attempts or perhaps a mid-life crisis. I mean, don’t most gay people die when they reach the age of say 60 if they are lucky. Most of us seem to pass on quietly into the sunset, be it as a whore or be it as an admirer of cashmere sweaters.
Anyway so there I was about one week ago in the hospital after taking a whole bottle of sleeping pills. I do not remember much of anything as I went into a complete delusional state. But when I came back from my so-called coma, nothing really mattered at that point, but in a negative way. My feelings disappeared from me.
So too has my common sense as to how to post a blog hence. I wish I didn’t have to be so cold and emotionless. The simple pleasures of food and of the flesh mean little to me at this point. Sleep brings no more comfort, as my vivid dreams haunt me. My days linger forth.
I wish I could be the person I was a month ago, but he is long dead. But he is still in there. It’s like my failed suicide didn’t kill my body. It killed some of my soul, not all of it. Most of it is dead now.
IMPORTANT: This happened many years ago, and Spacedog is very much alive and well today having wrestled his Demons under control.
-spacedog-
Along the course of one’s life they will experience a multitude of different people. Some of the individuals will have a nasty and negative affect while others will have a productive and positive influence. There lies a third personality that will knock you down into a sea of negativity only then to throw you a life preserver. I am not a person who grew up with bullies for me that third personality which influenced me to become the core of who I am through both negativity as well as positivity during my grade school years would be my father Stephen Lawrence. My father was my hero and at the same time my tormenter as I grew up.
The most positive characteristic of my father’s that helped me become the man that I have would be that he was well educated he graduated high school, college, got his masters in English, and went on to teach English at Temple University. Now one must remember a person can be well educated , but that doesn’t mean they are intelligent. My father had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge that lead him to be a prolific reader averaging up to three or four books a week. My father read up on a myriad of subjects, fiction and non fiction alike, to satisfy his intellectual curiosities. My father also became extremely interested in cooking and decided to teach himself using cooking shows as well as reading cooking books. By the end of his life he was truly an accomplished chef. My father also loved to travel. He traveled everywhere from Costa Rica to France but he never wanted to be the generalized cliche American tourist. My father taught himself Spanish, French, and Italian for the purpose of being able to converse with the locals as opposed to just being able to hail a taxi or find a bathroom.
I am proud to say that this thirst for knowledge has greatly influenced my life to this very day so much so that I used to joke that I must have been a cat in all of my previous lives. My father taught me to not only question anything and everything, but to research the facts, pertaining to a subject for myself. I’m definitely a “Must see it to believe it” person. Thanks to my father, I also share his enjoyment of learning. Whatever it may be that sparked his passion for knowledge; I am the same way. The best way I can sum up my father’s and my pursuit of knowledge is thus “No one ended up on their death bed wishing they didn’t know so much.”
Unfortunately the worst personality trait of my father was his terrible and intimidating temper. My father would loudly criticize the other party and then he could/would hold a grudge for up to and including decades. My father was also fond of his own version of the cold shoulder. He started the usual way of just coldly ignoring the person he was angry with, but periodically he would walk past the person he had taken issue with and glare at them with intense contempt and unparalleled disgust. He would maintain this icy stare until he was recognized at which point after a minute or so of unholy silence he simply would walk away not saying a single word. My father could get himself so enraged that even the most honest heartfelt apology would accomplish nothing. The issue was only considered resolved when my father was satisfied with the current state of affairs. Then and only then was the argument over. With my father it was never his fault for anything. It was always someone else complicating his life with nonsense, and this served as a constant and all encompassing excuse for his tremendous temper. My father was born with the proverbial chip on his shoulder and nurtured a “The world vs. Me” attitude.
I’m sad to say that I inherited in many ways my father’s abominable anger. I can be criticizing to the point of cruelty, but unlike my father I do not indulge in the cold shoulder concept. Instead of being cold I come in hot and only get hotter as my anger feeds upon itself growing more enraged with each passing minute. Unlike my father who was above insult and profanity I am most certainly not. When angry I swear like a sailor with Tourettes and have no trouble lowering myself to the low level of hurling insults upon one’s character. I, like my father, will only be satisfied when I feel the issue has reached its end and then in my mind it is actually over. Yet through all of this my father’s ill temper has also helped me become a better person in the end. I’m fully aware that my temper greatly mimics my father’s, but once I turned thirty I realized I don’t want or need to be like my father when anger rears its combative face. I started (and still am) working on my anger issues and how I can /could learn to control them before I totally become unhinged to say the least. Now to give credit where credit is due my father attempted and succeeded greatly to control his own anger, but he didn’t start this so called transformation of character until he turned 61. Part of my realization has been, if he could change at 61 then I have the opportunity to not only change my ways, but to do it with a thirty year advantage.
Another major influence my father had on me was his fear of illness as my father was a consummate hypochondriac. My father never had just a common cold he always had cancer. Thats to say my when my father got sick he would immediately go to the worst case scenario and then act accordingly. My father convinced himself he got sicker more often, for longer periods of time, and had the most severe symptoms out of anyone he knew who may have contracted the cold thus far. My father also made a point of making it abundantly clear that he was suffering each and every time he got sick as if he expected that at any given moment he would end up an invalid on his death bed due to his current horrendous state of heath. I possess the same brand of hypochondria with a few exceptions.
Growing up with my father instilled an intense instinct to remain healthy. If my wife or coworker for example were coming down with a cold/flu I automatically go into decontamination mode. I will start to take excessive amounts of vitamins, spray down communal areas with thick clouds of Lysol disinfectant, obsessively wash my hands, and avoid the infected person as much as humanly possible. When I do contract a cold I too assume the worst and begin to compulsively monitor my symptoms for signs of improvement constantly until my previous good health is restored in full.
I think the most admirable thing about my father was his incredibly strong work ethic. When my father took on a task/job or had a specific goal he wanted to achieve nothing short of death could stop him from accomplishing task/job or completing his goal. My father never procrastinated, delayed or did anything half way, for my father it truly was all or nothing. My father gave a hundred percent while staying intently focused on the work at hand, and if the job in the end wasn’t a hundred percent then the job was a total and complete failure. My father knew failure was unavoidable and he none the less detested it.
My father’s incredible work ethic is more than likely the strongest influence my father had on me growing up. When I have a task/job or goal to accomplish I too have to give it a hundred percent or nothing. I won’t let anything get in my way either and will not stop working from the beginning to the end relentlessly. With that said the influence of my father’s work ethic has a definite up side, but it also for me has a detrimental downside as well. I have unintentionally become the most ferocious perfectionist which causes me to be extremely hard on myself. I am most critical of myself above anyone else to the point which I beat myself up over the littlest things making mountains out of mole hills as the saying goes. I at some point along the road decide that nothing so far is any good and I can convince myself the entire project is flawed thus rendering it a futile waste of time and effort.
Once again we can see life is far from being simply black and white. In fact most of life falls into an enormous grey area. While it is true there will be specifically negative influences such as bullies or bad bosses, also there will be positive ones such as siblings or significant others. Most people you encounter will have a mixed influence upon your life and character. There will be some good along with some bad. It all comes down to the following: no matter who or what the influence may be, remember you can take what you like from the situation and leave all the rest behind.
I guess some people just can’t help themselves. Some people just spurt all kinds of lies out of their mouths. I am guilty as well, heck I was caught in a tiny little lie tonight. Some people can lie about much more though. Some lies people tell are funny. Others are mean and there are even a few people that tell the lie even more then they tell the truth.
I once met a rather attractive man. He was from somewhere out on Long Island, I’m not exactly sure where at though. He was 25. So I met him in the city and he wanted to take me out to dinner. OK, why not I thought? He told me he was Donald Trump’s personal assistant. I was young. I was vain. I was thinking cha-ching. I was _________ (fill in your favorite negative word to describe me).
So he comes to Jersey to pick me up. He was driving a Ford Escort. A small little red flag went off in my head. I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just cheap with his cars or maybe the beamer was in the shop.
So we go out to eat. We start driving down the road towards nothing in particular and are just talking. He pulls into the mall. I hate the goddamn mall. So I tell him and we leave the mall. It is at this moment that he tells me how much he likes Wendy’s and asks me where there is one. Not my idea of a “date” (I suppose this was a date?) I thought at least Fridays. So we end up at Wendy’s.
He buys me whatever I wanted but then he gets two things from the dollar menu and that was it. Red flag number two I thought. Hmmmmm maybe he could be anorexic? The other half of me was still trying to defend him.
So then we get to the movies. He wants to see nothing in particular and whenever I suggest a movie, he claims he already saw it and it was lame. So we rent a movie. Red flag number 3? Oh he must be a strong man with strong opinions.
So we go and watch the movie. I go in the door, he comes in the window. We watch. He keeps complimenting me. He wants something. What does he want? Oh wait, me? But the little flags go up and my pants don’t. So he leaves after that.
About two weeks later, I go back to New York. I’m having a pretty good time, meeting people, dancing (yes I once danced), and I see someone cute. So we start talking and I tell him I’m dating someone but it isn’t really that serious. I like to talk too much so I describe the guy. He gets a distraught look on his face.”Does he work for Donald Trump?”, cute boy asks me. “Yeah he told me that.” I reply.
Turns out he really was 35 years old, worked at the Dunkin Donuts, lived with the parents and not in the penthouse, was HIV positive, had lied to cute boy, and also infected him.
All shreds of decency for this man completely died. I wanted to throw up, I wanted to scream, I wanted to key this man’s car or worse. Then I saw cute boy and I hugged him. He didn’t deserve all this. I didn’t. No one else did.
Shady man had a decent personality and looked good but everything about him was a lie. His whole being was a lie. The few positives about him were bludgeoned. Thankfully shady man was an exception to the rule.
People still can’t help but lie. The age lie is way too common. The ages of 18,21, 29, and 39 still sends off bells and whistles in my head. 18 because I used to say that when I was 14 or 15, the rest because people like to hold on to their 20s or 30s like there is going to be some catatonic occurrence if they were actually 30 or 40.
I am 30 and damn proud. I gave the whole lets pick a random number in the 20s and be that a thought, but it quickly died there. I like to keep my lies simple. Things like: “I have to go my sister just put our rabbit in the microwave or AAAAAAHHHH I just let a squirrel in the house or my dad is attacking my mom with a meat cleaver.” Those work much better for me.
All I can really say to the true liars is this. Watch out cuz spacedog is gonna go into gay commando mode when he finds out. Anyone who’s gone out with me for drinks in Pennsy knows about this mode. Beware.
-spacedog-
The question of, in ones mind, what makes up a person’s ideally perfect partner is as old as humanity itself. The journey to find ones soul mate is the undying quest of every human past, present, and future has or will endure. The deeply ingrained desire to find the one person, on an entire planet of people that you were destined to be with keeps people perseverant and imprisoned. Once again I find myself facing the eternal question of what would comprise my ideal partner in and for life.
Now almost all men automatically put physical appearance as the number one trait that they seek in a woman first and foremost. I personally do not. In fact physical appearance comes in dead last on my list. There are a singular of physical trait that I would prefer and those would that my partner and an inch or two shorter than me or as tall as me would also suffice. I’m not one of those macho guys that feel the need to tower over their partner like King goddamn Kong . What I mean is I don’t want to be walking down the street with my partner, and have some idle idiot come up to tell me what a pretty daughter I have. The so called height requirement is not written in stone as I consider all women to be attractive no matter what society dictates. Its all about what I and only I think. I don’t give a rat’s ass about what society says I don’t cow down to advertising dictating the way people should look. Its a futile endeavor that servers more over to make people fell like shit about themselves feeding on basic human insecurities. Bottom line some cliches are cliches because their true and with that said beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Emotionally I look for two primary traits in a woman the first is that she is a passionate. As I am an artist, I appreciate and admire passion for anything in any form. I’m not talking specifically talking not just about physical passion (though I like physical passion as much as the next person), but passion in all its forms. It could be a passion for sports, reading, biking,music, B movies or whatever personal passion fuels that emotional component. I think it goes without saying that my ideal woman would be loving which is the key emotional trait I believe everyone man or woman in the world truly is seeking. No one wants to be with someone who doesn’t actually love them (or act in a loving manner) like someone who marries for money or social status for example.
When it comes to the intellect I would want (or need is a more accurate word I suppose) to be with a woman who has above average intelligence. Just a reminder to readers Intelligence and Educated are to separate animals, you can be quite intelligent without being educated. It does not matter how attractive or loving a woman is if I can’t have an intelligent conversation with her. I enjoy learning about an extremely diverse range of subjects (Buddhism, Troma Movies/independent cinema, and psychological warfare to name a few) If I’m with someone who doesn’t care, understand or can’t intellectually keep up then I know the relationship is going to be a rather ferocious failure.
The personality of my ideal partner would have to be positive as I’m a natural born pessimist, and need a partner who can counteract me negativity with their positivity. She would also need to be out going because I’m an introvert who tends to shun society as a whole, and again I’d need my partner to help provide a healthy balance between the world and myself. She must be accepting, open minded to new things and ideas as I am, and patient as I am an emotionally driven artist which means I can make life complicated, chaotic and be a bit overwhelming. My mother wrote my Wife a letter before we got married letting her know that she was glad my Wife could see my big heart underneath all the candy coated craziness as “I’m not an easy person to live with.” I do not deny it in the least as I’m fully aware I’m difficult to deal with or live with let alone marry. This is why I tell people my wife is my far better half with the patience of a saint with a heart of pure gold (which she needs to handle my daily frantic mood swings along with my constant loud ranting and raving endlessly.)
I truly do believe and feel extremely optimistic that any person has beyond excellent chances of meeting their ideal partner as long as they can be perseverant. Finding your ideal partner can take time, as its a process through trial and error. It can take years even decades, but it can be done as long as a person doesn’t become depressed and abandon all hope during the process. I’m not going to sugar coat shit it can be a grueling task finding ones ideal partner, and its no wonder that people can feel hopeless at times. But if you keep your eyes open and remain head strong through the inevitable failed relationships I fully believe anyone will find their ideal partner (in the end no matter what may occur along the way.) I was one of those people who gave up searching and fell into a sea of self pity, but as soon as I stopped obsessing about finding my ideal partner or if this person actually existed only then I found the my ideal partner. Thus its not only possible to find your ideal partner, but to find an ideal partner with every and all traits physically, emotionally, intellectually, and with the personality you desire as long as you don’t succumb to feelings of failure.
The characteristics I value the most in an ideal partner are intelligence as well as personality, as I can’t be with a woman who is not on my intellectual level because we simply wouldn’t have anything meaningful to talk or debate about, and that is something I can’t do without. Personality is the second characteristic I can’t make any exceptions on because I need someone who’s personality is the exact opposite of mine. I’ve been in relationships with women who’s personalities mirrored mine (which one would think would be perfect but its not) ,and each of those relationships in spite of the fact I thought I had found my ideal partner failed due to the fact we were too much alike. I need my ideal partners personality to be outgoing, accepting, open minded and loving or I know that the relationship is doomed from the start.
So in the end its my belief that everyone not only has an ideal partner with the specific desired characteristics, but that anyone in time will find their ideal partner no matter where they may be. Just like anything, as long as you don’t give up or break down and settle for second best, you will succeed in your quest for your perfect partner as I did.
First I would like to personally thank all the readers for the kind comments, compliments, enthusiasm and support, I truly do appreciate it. I am just sorry that due to a recent and RESOLVED technical issue the current comment section were lost.
While there is a handful of readers who find the time and attention put into each and every article, and I am also fully aware that the quite timely posting of new articles can irritate some readers as well. So I will do my best to help explain my slightly lengthy writing process and give the official f-yourblog mission statement.
f-yourblog’s Mission Statement is as follows:
I will put 100% into each and every article or I simply won’t post it.
I will NEVER produce content for contents sake.
I fully believe my readers are much smarter then the average individual and because of this I will NEVER force feed my readers meaningless,bland,boring,generic,mindless or vacantly fickle fluff.
I will be adding Pictures as well as Videos, BUT I must inform you they will only be posted as an intricate part of the article to add a new aesthetic dimension. You will never see pictures of celebrities, what I ate for lunch or some bullshit top 10 list (example-Top 10 crazy Hollyweird couples of 2000 whatever or top 12 bad haircuts of famous people etc.) Nor will you see mundane videos such as a cat trying to get into a tissue box or some poor schlub getting hit in the balls/getting fucked up doing some asinine stunt. Shit like that is why I abandoned FaceBook several years ago at this point. I have no plans to return to Facebook UNLESS I need too to help promote this site which I realize will more than likely have to be done.
If any reader has a question, inquiry or suggestions and are wondering how to reach me outside the perimeters of this Weblog please refer to the article “Smoke signals don’t cut it anymore” and thanks again for the continued interest.
The Writing Process Explained:
NEW DEVELOPMENT here at f-yourblog:
For the 1st and ONLY time I will be bringing in a contributing writer known only as Spacedog. I am doing this for 3 very simple reasons which are the following.
The first being I have been good friends with Spacedog for more years then I can accurately calculate though its been since High School, and trust me that was several centuries ago.
Second Spacedog and I have had multitudes of late night intoxicated conversations that were so entertaining that first thing when I woke up the next day, we also have been mulling over the idea of starting a podcast, but I digress for now.
The 3rd and final reason is this Self Preservation allow me to explain further. I am not ignorant to the fact especially as the weblog grows,develops and evolves it will be increasingly hard for just one person (and that person being me) can logically and realistically handle alone. I learned this from the cautionary tale of former ECW (Extreme Championship Wrestling) owner the legendary Paul Hayman. Paul tried to solely remain running his organization as it grew and thusly was responsible for every aspect of his company. Paul booked shows and talent, produced their weekly television show, all promotion of ECW and was in charge of merchandising, accounting, venues and much, much more. While this endeavor was admirable it was futile as Paul became increasing over whelmed (not once asking for help) and the pressure got to be to much ( it got to the point Paul’s health was declining significantly, remember kids STRESS DOES KILL.) and he ended up having to sell the company or close up shop once and for all. To everyones surprise, mine included, Paul sold ECW to the WWE who then ran the company into the ground eventually dismantling ECW all together.
Obviously I don’t want to end up in the same Paul Hayman Boat, BUT at the same time I don’t want a whole group of people trying to influence f-yourblog and generally mucking things up as well as getting in the way. So the only sensible solution was to take on a collaborating partner that way f-yourblog can continue to produce superior content without the aggravation or detriment. I would hate to see f-yourblog close its doors for good and am trying to keep it actively relevant and myself as sane as possible along the way. Spacedog has already sent me a giant gaggle of articles which I will reading and reviewing for content/writing standards that match those here at f-yourblog, and then periodically post them in the upcoming weeks.
Ladies and Gentlemen That is All (for now)
Sincerely,
Less Sober Head Writer and Administrator of f-yourblog.com