Furor et Rabies

Reponse to His Unholiness's little questionnaire

2007-09-27T17:23:36Z

</div>1. Do you have a tattoo?
Yes. The Scarface symbol with the words "Scarred for Life" under it on my right arm. I intend to have many more.

2. How old are you?
I'm twenty, going on twenty-one in January.

3. Are you single or taken?
I'm single by choice. I do however have two lovers.

4. Fish?
Absolutely hate the smell and the taste. If it comes from the sea, it's not for me.

5. Do you dream in color?
In surround sound too. My dreams feel very real, unfortunately I only remember a precious few.

6. Ever seen a corpse?
Yes.

7. Hipsters or Hillbillies?
I don't wear skirts and I'm not sure what Hillbillies are. But anything is better than a skirt so I'll go with the Hillbillies.

8. How did we meet?
Online, three, four years ago? Something like that. I found your website through a search engine and I wrote you a ridiculously long love letter.

9. What's your philosophy on life and death?
I spent my teenage years between four walls and I think I've just learned to live. I observed the world and I know how it works. I think I know too much and it's making me a very miserable person. But I'm more open than I used to be. Life to me is a subjective sensual experience and I intend to make the most of it. Death is a great big question mark. It's the only thing in this world that is absolute to me; it comes for everybody. I also associate it with autumn, which is my favorite time of the year. Inspiration comes more easily, my mood is more stable and the weather here is just divine. I still can't make peace with the fact that my life as I know it will suddenly end someday. Death itself doesn't scare me but I'm very afraid of dying. The minutes that precede death. I'm not a believer. I'm afraid of dying alone and painfully. I keep telling myself that I'll order a gun and hide it somewhere for when I'm old and angrier and undersexed. Most people think of it as a very suicidal and morbid thing, I think of it as the best death there is. I'd rather die by my own hand when I'm ready for it.

10. If you could do anything with me, and have no one know, what would it be?
I would gladly do a lot of things to and with you and I wouldn't care if the entire world knew. But if it had to be a secret I guess it'd have to be something illegal. I don't know, plot a murder? A very mean prank against a common enemy? Something like that.

11. Do you trust the police?
I actually do trust the Canadian police. But probably because I've had nothing but good encounters with them.

12. Do you like musicals?
I do. My favorite so far are Oliver!, The Lion King and The Phantom of the Opera. I did enjoy The Sound of Music. *blush*

13. What is your fondest memory of me?
I think it has to be the first time I heard your voice. I'm very sound-oriented. I remember putting my ear against the speaker and twitching like a dying lamb.

14. If you could change anything about yourself what would it be?
I'd like to be taller. I was told I'd be at least six foot by the age of eighteen. I'm twenty and I'm about five nine. I have this ridiculous tendency to feel extremely uncomfortable around girls who are taller than me. It insults me for some reason. I don't know why, I can't explain it. But I'm obsessed with it, I think about my height a lot. I know I fucked up somewhere. It must have been my bad diet and my lifestyle in my teenage years.

15. Would you cheat?
As in, cheat on a boyfriend or a girlfriend? Never. I'd be very receptive to an open relationship but if it was established that we were a monogamous couple, I would never ever cheat on my partner. It's against my personal values.

16. What are you wearing?
LOL. My answers to that question are always very boring. I'm the antihero of sexy. Seriously. Baggy army pants and a black bra.

17. Have you ever peed in a pool?
Yes. And I was very good at putting the blame on someone else.

18. Would you hide evidence for me if I asked you to?
Without hesitation.

19. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together?
Oh shit. I suck at this. Watch your favorite movie, eat your favorite meal, listen to your favorite songs? I'd gladly suck your dick if you let me. (I know you're not particularly into that but I'm told it's one of my greatest talents.) Then I suppose I'd hold you and play with your hair and tell you how beautiful and brilliant you are in your ear for a very long time until you were tired of it and I wouldn't move until you were gone. And after that I would still be holding you.

20. Which do you prefer - short or long hair?
Long hair, in general.

21. What's your favorite day of the week?
Saturday.

22. What's your favorite color?
Gray. I'd pick black but, you know.

23. If you could bring back anyone that has passed, who would it be?
Marlon Brando.

24. Tell me one interesting/odd fact about you?
My sexual fantasies never implicate myself. I rarely get off thinking about things that turn me on in everyday life. I can't really explain it. It's different when I have sex but whenever I masturbate, I usually think about things I would hate happening to me. I think about guys using girls to come, rape or Muslim women having sex for the first time and not enjoying it. Stuff like that. No idea why.

25. What was your first impression of me?
At first I thought you were mad hot. Then I quickly learned that you were not only mad hot but brilliant as well.

26. Have you ever done drugs?
Only pot so far. I'd like to experiment with LSD or shrooms.

27. Will you post this so I can fill it out for you?
No, but you're more than welcome to comment on this and give me your own answers here.

Edit: I changed my mind. I wanted to make sure you could see this. I've neglected you for far too long. *smirk*

Note: This post targets one person in particular but all are
welcome to answer the questions. I'm very curious by nature.

About godhatesfags.com

2007-09-10T10:19:47Z

A lot of you are probably going to hate me and delete me for expressing my sincere thoughts regarding the Westboro Baptist Church (if you don't know what I'm talking about, I suggest you look it up on Wikipedia.org. I also recommend "The Most Hated Family In America" featured on YouTube.com.

First and foremost I'd like to openly state that I am a proud agnostic bisexual (not 50% heterosexual or 50% lesbian but 100% bisexual) and that I find the message they spread to be nothing less than reprehensible. But I've been watching a lot of videos from various sources about the Phelps family and their church and I have to admit, as much as I hate to give them credit, that their teachings and the passages they quote can indeed be found in the Bible and a lot of these passages are firm and clear and there really aren't many ways to interpret them. It is true that God (according to the Bible, or at least according to these people's understanding of it) isn't all about tolerance and love. The Bible in my opinion is one of the most violent collection of books ever made. You can't just pick the bits you like best and discard the rest. If I personally were a Christian, I would pray, honor and worship every word of the Bible and apply them to my everyday life at all times under all circumstances whether I enjoyed it or not because I would believe in them. I would probably be as vehement as they are and I certainly wouldn't ignore or reinvent anything to my advantage. Doing otherwise to me would be hypocritical and an insult to Christianity.

This is why as a Canadian, I wasn't in favor of gay marriage. To tell you the truth, I don't know why a gay person would even want to be a Christian. Nothing about the Bible as we know it would lead someone to believe that homosexuality is acceptable. Christians who preach otherwise obviously didn't read the same Bible I did. I'm writing about this assuming that every single word was carefully translated and that nothing was ever altered in any way somewhere in history. If the Bible truly reflects God's will, it should be taken seriously by those who believe in it and I don't blame them for doing so. I think it's morally objectionable for our society that fought so hard for the separation of church and state to impose its liberal, progressionist views upon the church and therefore forcing it to "evolve" with the rest of us and modify its indisputable meaning. It's not like there aren't other ways for us to become legally united. And don't you dare tell me that you want to get married to celebrate your love for each other and not your love for God. You can't get married in a church and pretend it doesn't have anything to do with Christianity. Hypocrites. You insult Christianity and you insult yourselves.

Again, it doesn't mean that I agree with them. But from a Christian perspective, I think they are right.

On a more positive note, it seems that the Westboro Baptist Church is bringing people together according to a blogger:

"The Westboro Baptist Church has actually done something good. It brings liberals and conservatives together. Liberals and conservatives come together over their mutual hate for the WBC. Conservatives hate the WBC because they hate America; liberals hate the WBC because they hate gays. What cold irony. In fact, miraculously, when either side argues against the WBC, there seem to be conservatives mildly defending gays, and liberals timidly defending Bush. Now, is this because conservatives and liberals lack conviction in their beliefs? Not so. I believe that the WBC has an amazing effect on liberals and conservatives. When they look at it, they see a terrible version of themselves. Conservatives see the horrific hate-speech stemming from the WBC and see an extreme version of their own anti-gay ideas; liberals see the Bush-bashing rhetoric and see a reflection of their own words. Both sides are appalled by the WBC—not just because it opposes a set of their values, but because it reflects another set of their own values, in an extremely warped way. Liberals do not want to hate Bush and America as vehemently as the WBC. Conservatives do not want to wish horrors upon people of homosexual preference. Thus conservatives and liberals, when confronted by the WBC, tend to gravitate towards a milder, more reasonable middle ground, one in which gays are not evil and Bush is not a terrorist. And for that, and that alone, I thank the Westboro Baptist Church."

What do you think?

Edit: PS: Read the comments.

Same Old Song

2007-03-09T09:27:52Z

Dear Charles,

Life is hard. It's nothing you didn't already know. But I've never been homeless, I'm in reasonably good health, I'm surrounded by people who mean well, yet I'm not a happy person. I never was. I've lived in this building for about twelve years. My mother moved out in 2005 to live with her current boyfriend. My first roommate was a 35-year-old acquaintance who happened to be my father's ex-girlfriend. It didn't work out. She had a lot of personal issues and couldn't respect her own self-imposed budget, so I eventually kicked her out. My best friend of six years moved in with me along with my step sister shortly after. I love them both dearly, but they are creepily disorganized/untidy and unable to keep stable jobs. The lease as well as the bills are my responsibility and their slackness has cost me a severe struggle to maintain my credibility and a good name. My best friend's girlfriend has been living with us for two months and has yet to obtain a source of income. She chain-smokes and is just as messy as he is. I've confronted them many times about it, I've even put little notes all the fuck over the place when I got tired of repeating myself. Evidently I'm expecting too much from them and unfortunately, I can't bring myself to tolerate this shit for financial reasons any longer. I wrote them a very brutal, honest e-mail to tell them that they were to leave as soon as they found another home.

I am personally unemployed and depend on checks sent by the government to survive. Obviously I'm too "depressed" to play the game of life five/six/seven days a fucking week for the rest of my youth until they decide I'm obsolete and send me someplace to die alone and in silence. I try to see my psychologist at least once a week but we disagree on my diagnosis and I refuse to take pills. The idea of absorbing artificial "happiness" just to survive everyday life is horrifying to me. They can't "fix" me. I'm not "depressed". I don't like the world I live in, I don't like what I see and what I understand and no pill can make any of that ugliness go away. They'll blame pot, my music, my clothes, my parents, the stuff I write, my "disease", they'll blame absolutely fucking everything but their crackbrained motherfucking selves for what this world looks like. They'll insist that it just "feels that way" and they'll try to explain my disgust/distrust to me with medical terms like healthy/normal people should be happy by default and that I'm just being overly negative.

I spent the entirety of my teenage years between four walls, analyzing and writing and dreaming. There are so many things I didn't do. But I never felt like I was wasting my time. Wasted time that you enjoy and choose to waste is not wasted time. I chose this. I leave the house to buy food and pay my bills. I'm not afraid of people. I'm just not interested in them. I get tired of my most dearest friends after a while. My empty room feels safe and pleasant. All of this, I thought, made me a strong girl who knew herself very well, but the truth is, I'm not so sure about that anymore. I'm twenty years old, I have very little education, no motivation, no ambition, no hopes. I don't know what I want, I don't know what I want to do or where I want to be, I don't feel that I have control over myself or my environment anymore. I cry often, I lose my temper more than I used to, I catch myself praying to a god I never believed in to free me from the hate and questions and regrets that eat me alive.

I fell in love for the first time in years in November but the relationship didn't last very long. He'd just moved out of his ex-girlfriend's place, took the apartment three floors lower and talked about hanging himself. A common friend thought it'd be a good idea to match us up. The said friend gave me his phone number, I called him, we talked for about twenty minutes. Initially I just wanted to make sure he was all right. He called back about ten minutes later, asked for my e-mail address and we talked every night for about two weeks. We connected very well. We understood each other in ways his ex couldn't comprehend and it amazed him. We were faceless strangers to each other but we quickly developed strong feelings. I'd never sent a picture of myself to anyone before. I was pleasantly surprised when he seemed to think I was attractive. And when he sent me his picture, I think I forgot to breathe for a minute or two. I'd seen it somewhere online before and liked it so much I saved it and used it to inspire one of the main characters in my latest novel. I couldn't believe I was talking to him, it was all too good to be true. He lived two hours and a half away and asked me, every single day until we met, to just jump on a bus and go meet him. Then he decided to come to me.

Before he got here I was so nervous I threw up. We talked for about an hour before I almost begged him to smoke a joint with me because I couldn't tolerate the chaos I felt inside just looking at him. It made me feel a lot more relaxed and the minute he lay next to me, we kissed. It was awfully forward of me, I didn't recognize myself. He couldn't stop blushing and hesitating and I was shaking the whole damned time. I'd never wanted anyone as much as I wanted him that night. It felt surreal when he finally crawled on top of me; his skin so warm, his hair like a curtain of black in his face, the curve of his back, his jawline, his hands like spiders, his breath, everything. He was perfect. Even better than in my dreams. The pressure was exquisite. I just wanted to touch him. We tried to have sex, but he was so, so dreadfully excited and nervous that it just didn't work. And I was lying there thinking I'd done something wrong, feeling awkward and undesirable and literally asking him to stop fucking with me and to just fuck me already because I thought I was going to die if he didn't. He kept saying, "don't say that, you're making it worse" and he was hard hard hard, facing me and then away and touching me between blushes and boyish little laughs.

The day after, without a thought in my head, I just left with him. We got high and drunk one night with his roommate, watched a movie, listened to some old Laibach, and eventually we excused ourselves to go to bed and that's when the magic happened. We both felt relaxed and confident. I was so wet he just glided in and for a second it was like the entire world had just paused to hear the only thing I managed to say in what had to be the most pure, mind-erasing moment of my life : "Oh, God..." It was so good. We kissed the same way, moved the same way. It felt a lot like dancing. We came together. It was the beginning of countless overwhelming sessions, some of which were unprotected. It was a very new and stupid card for me to play and we're lucky we got away with it without negative consequences. But I don't regret any of it. He made me feel beautiful and wanted and I couldn't get enough of it. I got back home and left again barely a week later and stayed at his place for another seven days. It went on like that for several weeks.

He met my mother and her boyfriend, they loved him and he loved them. I met his ex, became good friends with her. I went to her New Year's party, got along famously with everyone. He kissed me in public, which he never does according to her. He told me "I love you" more often in two months than he did with her in three years. She said that I was the one he needed, that she was glad he'd picked me. She was impressed with the way I patiently dealt with his insecurities and loved all of him, unconditionally, because and not in spite of. He wanted us to officialize our couple. I was in heaven. Then something happened, I'm not sure what. He started talking with the guy I was fucking before him and began to feel very inadequate. I tried to explain to him that as wonderful as the guy in question was, I just wasn't in love with him. From there, things got complicated.

His paranoia sometimes infuriated me. He felt that he wasn't interesting enough so he shut himself in the world behind his eyes. I often felt that I was bothering him and I ran to the other guy for an attentive ear, which made things even worse. We were reading each other all wrong, we felt that the things that had originally brought us together were gone because of outside influences and we decided to end the relationship. I was devastated. I couldn't stop thinking that I'd knocked many walls down to let him in and that it was all for nothing. But in reality he made me realize that I wanted and needed to belong to someone and I thank him for that. He met another woman at his birthday party (two days after my own) and they're together now. I heard that it's not going very well, that she isn't nearly as patient as I was and that she already wants out. I wish them the best. Meanwhile I'm still seeing mister perfect and I feel very privileged to have him.

We still talk, we're good friends, he believes that I'll never be outmatched in the bedroom and I'm afraid I'll never find that kind of compatibility again. Sometimes I wonder if I'm truly capable of feeling something stronger than vehement lust. I cried for about a week and then poof, nothing. I don't get it. I miss the sex, that I can't deny. I let his body become an extension of my own and now that it's gone I feel like half a woman.

The pot thing is relatively new. I didn't have anything against drugs before but I never felt the need to use them. My dad has some serious back problems and is unable to work, so he decided to make a lucrative hobby out of growing marijuana to survive. He was a source I could trust and I decided to try it. My first attempt was a total fiasco; I did it all wrong and couldn't feel a thing. I thought it was one of the many things that were wonderful for other people but nothing extraordinary for me. I was very disappointed because most things except maybe sex and music usually fail to move me and I was just starving for intensity and newness. The second joint hit me like an express train. I was in the kitchen standing in front of the counter and then suddenly I was on all fours in the living room, rocking back and forth and laughing and laughing and laughing. It felt like a dream; sometimes I had control and other times I didn't, it was like we were two in my head, fighting and trying to make sense of what was happening. I cried a lot too. Then I just wanted to lie down and feel. I've been a heavy user by human standards since. My moods are more stable, I sleep like a rock, activities seem even more interesting, everything tastes like the food of the gods, masturbation is indescribable, what's not to enjoy?

Still not happy. I was going to have my novel published this summer but I'm having serious second thoughts. I'm not sure I want to have to owe half of its success or non-success to him. Sometimes it feels like my inspiration's left me for good.

So that's what's been going on in my life lately. Nothing particularly dramatic, but then again, it's very difficult to track down what the problem is exactly. I'm just not well, inside. I wake up angry, I go to bed sad, everything I write is sterile and dark. I feel lost and hopeless.

*checks time* Heh. I'm going to go play Vice City for a little while. Man, sometimes I wish you lived closer.

Thanks for listening. *Huggle* Happy birthday

"Manson stole his image from Japanese rock stars!"

2006-03-08T20:19:38Z

I don't personally believe that Marilyn Manson has an "image", at least not one that he intentionally projects because a lot of (too much) people, especially the fans, actually, tend to misinterpret what Manson's all about; what he does and what he says and why. But to say that he's misinterpreted is to say that there's only one valid interpretation (mine) and that's not true. But I'm however convinced (because it's the way I see it, because it makes sense to me and because he said so, many times before in his own words) that Manson's primary objective is to provoke reflection and not to shock. Whether or not the observer is offended rather depends upon whether or not he gets what he's observing.

I agree that the superficial aspect of the presentation is a lot to absorb all at once. But I think that people should bear in mind that first and foremost he's expressing himself. He's trying to say something. It's not all random. And it's not about expressing himself in the most flamboyant way possible, it's about expressing himself in ways he feels are more illustrative of his thoughts depending on the point he's trying to make, even if it means it'll look flamboyant.

I'm sure a lot of people have inspired Manson before and probably will again, but I don't think he's stealing anything from anyone because nobody "owns" an idea once it's out there; other people can share the same perspective, and because, again, nothing about Manson is random.

[ 2004-03-21 ] I still find it highly amusing to see how important it is to "real goths" to separate (amputate, rather) themselves from other "goths" and certain music categories (if it sells, it's bad) just to make sure they conform (ha!) to their own absolute definition. I wonder where the authenticity is. I think that "real goths" like you try a bit too hard. Marilyn Manson never referred to himself as "goth", whatever that word means to you, and therefore can't really give you a bad name. Liking him doesn't automatically make you "goth", granted, I get your point, but hating him certainly doesn't make you any gother. If you don't like/get him, what he does, and why, for whatever reason, just say it. But if you can't elaborate, don't debate. "He's fake!" (anything can be misinterpreted) just doesn't cut it anymore, you know?

My opinion.

hyaena @ 2005-07-09T19:57:00

2005-07-09T23:56:25Z

I'm like that movie you thought was so good at a time in your life you felt misunderstood.

Because I fucking said so.

2004-08-26T20:03:02Z

Beep. Leave a message. Or don't.
You can go to hell. Or to heaven. You might as well masturbate. I don't really care.
Actually yes, I do. If you choose option four, tell me everything afterward. Or die.