Mini-Profile
“If you want to be remembered, either write things worth reading or do things worth writing.” -no idea
“Dream as if you’ll live forever, live as if you’ll die today.” -James Dean
‘A worse evil is not that of evil men but the indifference of good men!’ -boondock saints
“I discovered a lonesomeness so profound it seemed impossible to come out of.” -Daltry Calhoun
“Can you spare a smoke for another lunatic?” -the man with a cat and tv remote in his belly.
I’ve decided that the best way to describe myself is to let you read snippets from my journal, now you can decide.
May, 2006
She wasn’t scared though. Not of you. She merely trembled with every step you took closer, closer to her vile mind. Closer to her nightmares, delusions. No, not because she was scared. Because she knew that the ghosts that haunted her abandoned mansion of a mind would eat you alive. The demons would devour your soul because immortality takes time.
09 July, 2007
Perhaps I meant to write something beautiful. Perhaps I’ve been afraid I wouldn’t. that’s why I stopped writing. Every night I look in my bedside drawer and then close it, terrified as if demons might jump out from these pages. Pages of nothing. Of leaves from trees centuries old. Pages, parchment. The gods fear pages. Words bind them. Words use their tongues like quills, slapping ink across the page. The accent changing from Lugh to Baste to Tiamat. Tiamat writhes beneath the dark waters within my fingertips.
31 July, 2007
I’m just kneeling here. My knees bare against this carpet floor, feet above some distant earth. I’m just grabbing at my hair, some hope for a mothering familiar touch. I’m just writing in small unknown words, attempting to make sense of this foreign guiltless world. You are a thousand miles away, (she doesn’t know to whom she speaks). You are the infinite light that might filter through the pained glass had I not blanketed the windows. The walls are painted with paper so that my blood will peel away. The midday darkness feeds my self righteous reclusion.
13 August, 2007
Sweat rolls down her neck, drips down her forehead, caressing her profile like ants do on trees. It was literally hotter than hell out. Flames might as-well have sparked from the black asphalt that she dragged her leather boots across.
11 September, 2007
The wicked is unknowable and the good so very predictable. Warmth lets the ink flow. My words so much easier, excruciating. Transmuting, reducing. A figure of speech, we all like to take part in the humor yet the sense remains that it’s a pecking party. Blood and guts, persona upon ego, I can see through you, your soul is like smothered coals, embers burning but no flame ignited. My soul is like ashes. And blown into the wind I become dust. Simply, dust. fear revels in the space as vast as your mind. Some things sparkle and glitter in the light. I dream that I am the virgin Mary, but my wrists are slit, and my eyes too dark. If fairy tales are lies, my eyes devour. Tombs last longer that any body incarcerated. Poetic.
13 September, 2007
If you asked a poet, what is love? He might say: love is what life is made of.
If you asked a minimalist, they might say: love is.
Children play everyday, like love is. Grace is holy. Pirates never hesitate. If death be fate.
If you asked a poet, what is life like? What would they say? Maybe that life is like a poem, so many nonsensical words and no meaning, or hidden, or is there one. Or that life is like a river, always flowing, even over the jags and rocks and crags, and over long falls. Or maybe purely that life is like love.
The minimalist might simply say: life is.
And that’s the only explanation I need.
04 January, 2008
Red is the color of passion, the goddess, and blood. Deep twirling luscious life that demands screaming, heart throbbing love.
But today turquoise is my favorite. Because after three years of searching I have finally found the perfect second hand, hand rolled, polished, and strung, dirt cheap turquoise necklace. My very own. And I love it most now because it’s healing chameleon green reminds me of her aquatic blue eye, and perhaps something like a hint of rosemary on the wind, a memory dangling from her olive oil skin.
I would like to be held by the bows of a weeping willow tree.
08 July, 2008
Granted I was naïve and put myself there… we don’t ask to be raped. We don’t say “I’m going to sleep now but please don’t hesitate to fuck me while I’m certainly not conscious. Please shove your dick down my throat between sessions of fucking me so hard that perhaps I will taste the blood in the morning. Please…. They never asked me about that did they? Would they care if I had said how utterly powerless I feel? On a more superficial level, would they be capable of grasping these occurrences and their affects on my behavior? Most definitely not. For that reason I feel hopeless, powerless and totally recklessly drunk on damaging myself. I know that they, you will never understand but my outward actions of obvious abuse towards myself should be sign enough, an outward expression of my pain on the inside.
03 September, 2008
“I eat stars for breakfast,” Sofia says.
I don’t eat breakfast. I eat gasps of lifeless air. I eat music notes that breath no sound. I eat the souls of infant children that have passed away. I’m eating myself away from the inside out.
I bought a blood red ukulele. I play the sounds of my soul scratching away at its cage. The screeching is incessant and enthralling. It’s coal black around the edges with plastic ivory pegs to tune the road.
“I eat sorrow for breakfast,” I say.
12 September, 2008
I have nothing to say to you.
-End Journal-
Perhaps this gives you some insight into my soul… perhaps.
Where did you grow up?
on the edge
Where do you live now?
in it
What is the highest level of education you have attained?
insane assylum
What subjects did/do you enjoy the most at school?
anthropology, art, philosophy, creative writing,
What's your favorite sport or sports?
snowboarding, skate boarding, kickboxing, salsa & tango dancing.
What kinds of jobs have you held? Industries too!
pet stores/animal shelters, usaf, modeling, victim advocate.
What hobbies are you into?
guns & knives, writing, people watching.
What causes are you concerned about today?
sexual assault/rape victims, the revolution,
If you claim a political party affliation, which is it?
they're all jacked
Which religion (if any) do you follow?
mostly agnostic, buddhist on a good day
Gypsy Pirate has 9 Friends – Here are 9 of them
AKA
Gypsy Pearl, Gypsy Hatter, The Hatter.