HI, IM
Have also been known as...
Rhys, Spug, Lofty (if we wna be nostalgic)
As time goes by
we set the stage
We Play Our Parts
and Act Our Age
But we'll Never Forget word that they say
Im Welsh, not Cornish
Welsh but Strangley not...
apparently
I come from Newport in South Wales!
I be doing a degree in Journalism at Camborne College
What makes them do it?
Video Games... Marilyn Manson?
Me
And I am a fan of
Industrial Metal Music!
My Favourite Bands are:
Deadstar Assembly
The Birthday Massacre
Psycon Nine
Celldweller
Pitchshifter
"Unto the beast an image made
of broken flesh
culled from the sharpest blade"
I am way to cynical or sarcastic for my own good!
I'm not one to mince words and I will tell you exactly what I think
I'm not one to be a sycophant
and I sure as hell won't be licking your ass for my own gains!
"I want to change my Myspace name, I wanna be AlZilla!"
-Al Graham
I have a lot of inside jokes with people
so if you don't understand something you read
or something I said
don't be disheartened, but it's probably nothing to do with you
I've found my place in the world...
And I'm comfortable with who I am
I'm the one who wears makeup and stupid clothes at gigs
and I'm the one who will skank when nobody else is skanking
I enjoy writing
I wrote this poem about my father
Yes, I'm aware of the sombre tone, but it's meant to be like that
9.9.1999
Insomnia shows on his
face as he cups his
head in his hands.
The Grown man, he sobs,
sat in the early september sun.
His fingertips black,
the inkpad clicks shut,
Guilty until proven innocent.
More intruders, they're not wanted.
The echo from the heavy
rubber soles dashing through
the back door into the autumn night
play over in his mind,
like an aging vinyl record.
Over and Over,
Again and Again
just before, the 3 men
Ransacked and tainted sentimental riches.
1 in the car,
Head under the dashboard,
2 in the house,
claiming ownership with their boney fingers.
My mother awoke by hushed whispers,
My father missing steps,
With vengence in his voice,
as he sprinted down the stairs,
Tears in his eyes,
Torment in his gut.
Years have passed,
he remains restless.
He emerges from his slumber,
Haunted by the memories.
I walk past his bedroom
door. He looks out into the
dark. Watching. Waiting.
All is at peace until tomorrow night.
I like to use big words
and usually talk utter shit
but it makes sense to me at the time!
MyGen
Profile Generator
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v702/SpugBassist/triptychs
tones.jpg
![[Rhee] profile picture](https://profilesarchive.blob.core.windows.net/pictures/482/l/4846482.jpg)