"Michael Coates": DoctorMikey@hotmail.com
Me: doctorjeanrosepana@yahoo.com
Me: lollllllllllll
Me: oh man
Me: hahahahahha
"Michael Coates": HAHA WHAT THE FUCK
Damn, haha. The only other people who would understand are Jon and Michael.
Anyway, I'm finally getting into the kind of music that actually has artistic meaning. Not just all sex, smut, scum, and cum. Last week, I downloaded LMFAO's album, "Party Rock", just to see what else they got. And seriously? Is that it? Naked women by pools and drinking all the time?
Shit, I'll party, but I need some intellectual stimulation. Or at least the kind of strings that pull at ya through music.
It's definitely time to redo my music library.
So far, I'm discovering that I'm attracted to older bands. Like Zeppelin, Maiden, and Hendrix. A little bit of Nirvana, a little bit of Skid Row. I'm sucha fan of guitar skill and great bass. Mostly bass. Or just deep, aggressive riffs.
If music could paint, my taste in music would look like a woman with black hair, black leather motorcycle jacket, in a favorite pair of fit dark jeans and blood red stilettos. Driving through a desert sunset into a city moonrise, in a black Mercedes. With a crucifix on the nape of her neck and eyes behind aviators.
Geez, I've been feeling so "FUCK YOU" since yesterday.
Stream of consciousness...go! WARNING: IT'S POETIC AND DOESN'T MAKE SENSE. MY AUDIENCE CHANGES A FEW TIMES. WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO READ THIS. DO YOU EVEN READ MY BLOG??
I kindda feel like I'm slipping deeper into this dark oblivion. I see black and white and am stuck in the grey. On days like these, I'm as black as night. AND NIGHT IS AS BLACK AS MY SOUL hahahaa. I don't know, I think it's a lot of things. My first love turning Atheist because I made him so. What?! Then meeting him at a Christian event. WHAT??? Or maybe it's seeing everyone again. Or not being able to see them ever again. It could be being star-crossed in faith or lack thereof. Romeo and Juliet were star-crossed, but why is it when we think of Romeo and Juliet, we think of a love immortal? Mortality... isn't that a choice? My immortal beloved doesn't see me in the same way. A part of me wants to run. A part of me wants to do it all over again. And a part of me wants to follow him into the dark. To Hell and back, and stand in front of God and say, "I told you so, silly. Now kiss me." Or maybe we won't even make it back? Maybe we'd be alone together, growing old and tired of each other, in the dark. That could be a form of Hell. With all I feel is the texture of his hands, face, hair. Satan wouldn't be so merciful, but I'd be grateful to die at least in that way. It's different. It's deep, it's true, it's worked for, it's honorable. It's passionate. It's love, it's lust. It's sex-driven sometimes always. I hate that. I wish it weren't so. But we feed off the flesh. I guess that makes us things of the night. Strangers in the night. It turned out so right for strangers in the night. One of my favorite Sinatra songs. See? Music. Music also tears us apart. But it brings us together like no one else. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm not yet well refined in my taste, and I take full responsibility. There's so much rubbish out there, I'm sorry I didn't see it before. Are you sorry that you didn't see me before? Before everything? And now? Are you sorry that you still don't see me now? Maybe it just takes a little warming up to, that's all. For both you and me. I forget your brokenness everyday, your betrayal and your voluntary blindfold. But I see beauty in your eyes, a wonderful abyss waiting to be unraveled, ravished, and raptured if you just let me. If I just let me. If I believed God would let me. He would, to let me learn if I was right or wrong. If I was wrong, He'd send someone or something to guide me back to the light. Or not. He'd let me learn to come back on my own. You must wonder why I speak of God as if He's alive. Or even existent. It's not part of my religion to do so, I just do it. I can't see Him. If I saw Him, I might die. Or age a thousand years. But when it comes to my heart, I live by faith and not by sight. I don't have to see you everyday to know I love you. I don't have to touch your face, hold your hand, or hear your voice to feel that you love me. I believe you do because I've seen what it can do. Poetry, song, drawings, photos. Love cannot be physically manifested, although one can say it has, when you were born. There's so much I want to say, but there's so much I can't say in fear that you won't want any of it. But it's a part of me. Wouldn't not having me completely be the same as not having me at all? If one can't come to love the loves of another's life... what does that mean? How can two be one when they are expected to coexist? You can't coexist as one, you coexist as two. But one day.... no, some days, I wish we were one. Not in flesh. Or faith. But at heart. We're not one, but we're so close. So close to the light. So close to the dark. Fear of the dark.... fear of the dark... I fear the dark I'm being pushed in. I'm in the dark if I'm not in your light. I'd sooner wake up to your face than the sun over the sea. The dark will disappear if only you'd choose me. I think that's the problem with a lot of people nowadays. They can't get over themselves unless someone's getting over them. Or they can't get over themselves unless they believed it was something that could be done. So many questions, yet one devotion stands against the current. No one knows me like He knows me. And no one knows me like he knows me. I won't settle for anything less but I'm afraid I may be carrying too much. It's sifting away like sand. One grain, every last ounce of belief. Of faith. In me. At least in me. One issue I have with you is that you don't see me for me, only the idea of me. One issue I have with him is that he sees me, but is disgusted with my ideas. I want someone who sees me for me, my heart and soul and mind, and embraces me with confidence that I can only bring joy and well-fortune. He doesn't have to pick a side, just pick me over his lost direction. Maybe it's not meant to be. Maybe I'm not meant to be here, and this is not my purpose. But this sure as Hell is my desire. Maybe I should lay down my desire for the greater turnout? Maybe.... I should lay it all out on the line. Out of my hands. Out of my will. That I need not worry about things that will unfold themselves. That I should continue to live and let it bloom, blossom, and wither beautifully. There is beauty in death, as there is beauty in dying. It feels good to die. And when I do, I hope I see you on the other side. And if I don't... I'll come find you. I'll come for you.
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