Anthony Wintering, Ruiner of Life/Freedom©

Thanks Dave!
Someone once asked "if your life was a book, who would read it?" It ends up being indirect if you'd ask me, because most would have trouble reading 'stream of consciousness' fables consisting mostly of broken thoughts written in chicken scratch with an inkless pen and metaphysical diagrams of nothingness on a page already decaying from time. I have more sense than to write pages made to be discarded.
Here is the previous "About Me:"
- I'm not an asshole, I'm a Machiavellian, misanthropic cynic modeling as an analytical soothsayer. I'm the nerdy antithesis of Thoreau and the physical incantation of Thus Spoke Zarathustra. I am Anthony Wintering, the Black Wings of Melancholy, the flowers Baudelaire watched bloom on the corpse of Aesop's fables.
- I've emerged as a bitter recluse recently, so you can feel free to wander the streets without security or speak ill of me again. I'm back to where I should be; making love to pages inscribed with ancient wisdom and storylines, staying warm, and living a life free of your poisons, false gods, and ridiculous bullshit. I don't expect to come back, nor be taken alive by 1 or 1000 men.
- Either toughen your mental skin or eat a dick if you're having problems with me being a stubborn fuckhead. Don't add me if you're not expecting me to probably insult you or criticize you.
- Music in and of itself does not reflect individuality. But if my music and writing is artsy, then I'm pissed I can't make fun of most sketchy myspace girls anymore. My roots are in extreme music, but I'm as eclectic as they come and love plenty of symphony, opera, ambience, hip-hop, etc. Narrowing me down as an elitest fan of extreme music only makes me laugh. I don't care if you don't dig whatever, but generaliztions (i.e. "all country sucks" kids never listen to Johnny Cash apparently, but praise him...just as some children just hear Jay-Z and automatically get a hatred for rap music) are lately helping showcase the stereotypical. And knowing your genres in the slightest will help you in a conversation, FYI.
- I hate compulsive liars and TRUE thieves, chances are if you're one of those two things I'll probably have an extreme dislike for you. I may lie to you just to see your response and test your limits. I love fucking and experimenting with people. And yes, those actually are two different things.
- I have plenty of enemies, false friends, and people who spread false comments and situations involving me, but I love the fact that I'm the center of attention to these people think, and drama is just plain fun. Anyone who believes everything that comes out of the common individual's mouth is sure to have a great story about me. You either hate me or love me, there is no grey area. Even some who hate me love me, and some who love me hate me. Que confusion.
- Most of my art and music is not located on myspace to be commodified by you fucks. To answer random questions lately, I started blogging in '02. I had a huge dprofiles.com account. That site went down, and I moved here. I had so much stuff there, but it all went down.
- I'm a true, true nerd. When it comes to being a nerd, I can probably stand with the best. Not that you could tell by seeing me. I play tons of video games. I read plenty of books. I write tons of poetry and stories. *points over to more things in the "interest section" of the page* If you cannot deal with the fact that I know more than you (or more about RPGs than you) in a selected field, then deal with it. I never said I was a genius, but logic begets experience.
- I'm not christian, I'm Agnostic Luciferion with slight Nihilistic tendencies who happens to be a Discordian Pope. That doesn't mean I "worship satan" either, it just means you're an idiot.
- I don't do drugs. I hate how cool you think you are putting a beer pong picture or anything with the caption "WASTED!", because you're a fucking tool. But I'm not drawing X's on my hands, making claims like XNOPOISONSX, or anything of the sort.
- If you're going to add me to your lists and I've never met you, don't be surprised if I ask you why. If you ask to be my friend, you may have to go through some strange ritualistic event. I hope you can handle it, out-of-staters (ESPECIALLY FUCKING CALIFORNIANS!)
- Oh, and sorry, but I'm not every fucking myspace guy you know, I don't live my life by whatever my dick wants, I'm not as fucking shallow as you or half as pathetic as you. Pardon me if I don't scum up on you when you send me a message.
- Before any of you fucks send me any sort of hate mail, click here , here , and here.
...along with that, recycle "misanthrope" ad nauseum, and there you are. Homo-sapiens enclose me in their sphere because of similar body features, but I am anything but the average being. Possibily one of the few neo-sapians. I realize the overwhelming arrogance, but simply brush it off, and if evidence is required to make such claims, simply find a television and locate your local news. There will be very few stereo-typical male attitudes I will fall into. I don't solve problems with my fists, I don't enjoy sports, I don't fuck everything that moves, I don't think things are "gay", and I think you're fucking pathetic. Music is not me, I am not music, I am noise. I was born in the wrong century, I should have forged swords in Japan or swung an axe into your ancestor's heads. Rome wasn't built in a day because I was not in charge of the slaves. My name is obvious, or anonymous (but viper would have been such a better name). I have a million voices that prattle on about nonsensicle topics which will never change (and, you're reading it, apparently), growing audibly in hatred by the moment, but the tongue refuses the characteristics of a whip, so at most, you'll recieve verbal lashings. My life can be plotted out on a timeline by "what book was he reading" or "what records did he listen to." I hide in a room designed as a cave, or a cave designed as a room, I'm really unable to make distinctions anymore. I cover my wall in promotional posters of bands I've helped/done work for because I hate white, asylum walls. Extremely strange sounds emit from this room daily that cannot be described in sanity. Beautiful days are gloomy, rainy days. My CD and record collection borders on intolerable, for there is no more room and insatiable interest. If you want to complete my life, buy me an Ipod, or donate to my ridiculous book/CD/record/game/dvd collection. As a discordian pope, expect rhetoric. As a master of rhetoric, expect discord. (Reality is the original rorschach!) I read ultimately too much anymore, I stay reclusive too much, and my care has dwindled down to inhuman levels. The ultimate irony and symptom of misanthropy is how endeared my hatred has become overtime, how my vulgarity and brashness has been ironed crassly into crude charm, and how my scowl invokes smiles without reaction, and in the rare circumstance an individual does take me seriously, he refuses to act, as if my offense was inferior to the work of some greater fool.
For further information, please consult your pineal gland.