About Me
Known for being a dedicated sucker of satan's penis, and a notorious slowmosexual.Just barely born in the 70's, I have always had an instinctual 6th sense for dance flo' boogie posturing and spasms, pretentious psychedelic innuendo, and a neglected post hippie alter-ego that taints my subcounscious with a melting pot of ideals and appeals, ranging from peace&love, eastern philosophy and civil disobedience, to organic food, flower and berry picking camping fantasies, and non-sportsman phisical activities like juggling and african drum jamming. Growing up in the 80's is reflected in my nostalgic love affair with post punk and comercial pop, my silly glam weak spot for ridiculous make-up and cheap tacky accesories, and an eternal flame of burning hatred towards right wing christian war mongering comunistafobic neo-conservatives. As a teen in the 90's, by default I fell for "alternative" music, as well as contemporary punkrock and an eclectic mix-tape interest in all kinds of sonic trash and treasures. This period saw both the conception, birth and evolution of my endeavors with social lubricants, mind warping agents, and consciousness placebos, in a joint effort attempt to better understand the world around me, have balls out fun, seek for that wet soap ilusion of the real thing, explore the grey areas and colors between the lines of black and white text dogma, and seem cool and edgy amongst my peers, yet unapealing and maybe even a little bit scandalous and dangerous amongst the walking dead. The new milenium resulted in what I sometimes see as an explosive diarrea, yet other times as a heavy constipation, as a result of my feasting and pigging out (with ocasional fastings) on all that accumulative nonsensical kaleidoscopic turd of sociopathic addictions, subversive perks and interpersonal extravaganzas. As I look down into the prima donna toilet that is my ego, at this moment in time all I seem to do is end up trying to flush some of that shit down to the sewers of the colective unconscious to make new space for more, and sometimes aiming that shit to hit the fan, where sometimes others get splattered with varying results. In the end I am covered with shit as well, so the attempt of unreachable ilumination transaltes into repeated flushing, and a cleansing bath where I never seem to be able to get a tight grip on that real thing wet soap, and I just end up juggling and fumbling it, yet manage not to drop it altogeteher; and so I have, thus far, avoided being assfucked by that big dark void that wants to make us its bitch, that is always looming behind us in the corners and backgrounds of this cosmic jail that is existence.
That's my poetic view of my lame ass procrastinating self, and an indulgeance of my whining social crybaby self, complaining his complicity in the crapfest and trying to blow shit out of my snorkel to get a breather. There is potential and hope, even sprinkles of love and honesty, but the chances that this sapce will ever be filled with anything amazingly extraordinary or spectacularly inspiring are slim. That is however, just one side of the story, precisely the side of the story that seems myspace-worthy. The other side brews in other forums... width="425" height="350" ..Did I mention wearing wigs and attending electro trash gigs?
