@ndr0m3da

Hello my black hearted lovers. I’m so glad you decided to join me this evening.
Some people say you see your life flash before your eyes the last few seconds before you die. I think it’s a load of fairy tale shit because I never saw a damn thing when I died. I remember feeling numb and cold, as if I was encased in a block of ice, while hot pulses of blood escaped from my neck and pooled around my body. I can recall the sound of ragged breaths gurgling through my slashed open throat and the fading echo of footsteps in the hallway as the killer calmly walked away. I remember watching the white ceiling panels slowly fade to black as my blood pressure bottomed out and consciousness drifted away. Then I don’t remember another damn thing because I was dead.
Life gets a little interesting after you’ve died once. Some people become deeply religious, others try and live every second of their life to the fullest. As for myself, I’ve noticed that I have an insatiable appetite for scaring people and the sight of blood, fake or real, always makes me horny to the core. The doctor also advises me that I’ve developed some peculiar sexual habits, which he labels as, “unhealthy.”
I've developed a flair for hanging out in cemeteries. I love lying across a fresh grave and staring straight up at the sky through a pair of dark glasses. I wonder what the person laying below me really felt when they died. Did the see it coming? Was it as fast as a blink or were they horribly mutilated and died writing in pain and fear as their blood and intestines poured from them? Why did they get to die with some sort of grand finality and I'm fucking stuck here mopping up the filth. Were they privileged enough to go to Heaven or are their souls being tortured by demons while I'm lying there trying to decide what I want in my lettuce wrap.
It seems all I want to do is surround myself with death and horror lately. There's something about people's fascination with death that amazes me. Even after being there myself, I still want to know more about it. For some reason I feel the need to celebrate it every day as if it were Christmas. I don't think I'll ever know all of the ways a person can die, but I'll certainly die again trying to count them all.
You can always find me with a book in my hand or at least close by. I love losing myself in a good horror story or a tale of true and horrific crime. The best books are forensic medicine books if you ask me. Just when you think your day is going bad you can flip to a picture of a sorry fuck who tried to commit suicide by hanging himself and shooting himself in the head three times. I think I'm going to have to start posting crazy shit like this on my website. It's almost too good to be true.
I find myself surrounded by stacks and stacks of cheesy "B" horror DVDs. As bad as they are I find myself consuming them faster than a pregnant chick eats ice cream. The stiff acting, the comical gore effects – I can never get enough. While some of the stories definitely suck, there are an overwhelming number of great stories that could have been produced better if it weren't for cruel Hollywood politics and stingy financiers. Oh well, Death will visit them in the end and I know they will get what's coming to them.
I guess I could answer all of that typical bio crap about what my turn-ons are and what I want do with my life, but what's the point of conforming to that game? I'll get more fans; I'll get more attention? I could honestly give a fuck. The truth is I love to roll around in blood whether the camera is on or off. I'm not looking for a guy and if I were I would just go out and take one off the shelf. What gets me off? What really gets me off besides carving up my body with a surgical instrument or pouring hot wax on my pussy while I'm watching an Argento flick? I don't even know. What I do know is that if I cut off all of my skin, I wouldn't have any more skin to cut and then all the fun in my sex life would be taken away.
Learn more about me in the XXX Horror film Slaughter Disc
@$