So I have done it again.. But I have to ask you... Why is it that when singing, that most people (including myself) have the most awful facial expressions. Oh well here I present my take on Johnny Cash's rendition of the classic Nine Inch Nails song: Hurt. Enjoy :)
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This bed, I'm normally alone in, but tonight is different. He's normally not here but well I guess when a friend needs a place to sleep I guess it's ok to share.
Now you see Brent is a nice guy. Lately he has been growing on me and beoming a great friend. I'm not sure if I can tell him everything but I know I can tell him a lot. Tick. Tick. Tick. Time goes by, and all I can do is think. Think. But what am I to do? This guy here in my arms, he's been so nice in many ways. Like his smell. It's human, not some synthetic smell. It's nice. Too nice. He's everything perfect. But how long ago has it been since he stopped being the threat and someone I yearn to have? What about his ex? She's my best friend. I shouldn't even be doing this. Listen. That sound is him breathing. So calm, so peaceful. How can it be? He's always so busy and stressed. There's so much to him. I would love to get to know him so much better. It can't be, we can't be. I can't keep holding onto him like this. I have to turn away from him. But he turns over and is now holding me. And it is nice. Too nice. Tick. Tick. Tick. I hate that I can't sleep, but I love that I can stay awake for this. I hate that I'll have to remember this, but I love it for the same reason. He makes noises as he sleeps. And all I can do is ponder if I am in his dreams, or if he even has dreams at all. We could be any two people in the world. Rhett and Scarlet. Brian and Justin. Any two people. But no, it is just us. Me and Brent. Brent and I. The night is lonely and cold, but not tonight. It is everything but loenly and cold. It is poetic. It is wonderful. It is tragic. It is ironic. A true contradiction. So how does my night end? In a consummation, a surrendering to the night. Carried through by the hands of time. Tick. Tick. T-i-c-k. But the only thing I could think of then was that old poetry book I was given as a kid. To that one poem, to which one line defines all I think of myself. One line for all that I am: 'Wild or tame, can you love a monster of a frightful name?' This was written for a short fiction class that I took last year. This has aspects of real events but not everything was actually as written. I did have a sleep over with a friend and there was some attraction to him, however I think it was mostly because of a bad break up that occured in the spring that year. So glad that is all over honestly. But the most important thing was that the emotional actions that happened in this piece of prose poetry didn't happen. Was So I decided to take a break from the essay that is due today... I am on the home stretch I hope! but yeah going to take a few to sort out what I have written so far and Make sure that it all proves my point. I really don't remember what that point is anymore. something on how British Theatre really hasn't changed in the course of a century but it really is a comparison between two playwrights, Shaw and Ravenhill. While listening to Strange Music... lol I found myself on Emily Strange's website. and Yes some of it is strange. But I heard some songs that I have quite enjoyed. Like wellI dont know what song this is but CareBears on Fire are pretty good! whereas Nick Cave is just... weird lol!
Oh and for those who wondered why I posted porn... I thought I already explained it... IT'S FUCKING PTERODACTYL PORN!!! It was something just SO incredibly fucked up that I couldn't leave it to the recesses of my mind to leave it to myself. And before you decide to begin thinking that I just go scoping out strange porn, no this one was brought to my attention by a friend, and it mulled in my mind to the point where I just had to see it. I am a naturally curious person and well, I am also a person who seeks revenge upon the world in strange ways for nothing and everything all at the smae time. Now I guess I will go back and start revising some of my paper now. Just so I don't have a HUGE thing to rework once I am Well it has been 5 days since my last post, but there have been things going on offline in my life. It is after all Rush Week and I have two essays and three looming exams coming up and admittedly I am AFRAID! But well I know I will do fine with at least three of my four classes this term and hopefully the fourth will do fine. But moving on as I do not want to dwell on that.
I guess what I really want to do is give everyone a moment where they realize they will never be the same again. And of course this will take some of us back to the time of the Dinosaurs. Of course in this situation it would never happen but the moment is nonetheless funny. And I also realize that this does serve an erotic purpose, but to me I feel so disillusioned. Like my childhood has suddenly grown up with me and is making a living in the porn industry. And here it is, my gift to you all: http://www.pornotube.com/channels.php?channelId=202&m=1672938 Well I guess I should just write something instead of posting photo's. Trying to keep this an evenly ecclectic mix of my talents and whatnot. Is it just me or do the get like the loudest keyboards in the library just to allow people to know that there is some major typing going on over here? Like this can get annoying. Oh well. I won't write much as I have a meeting with my prof in just under an hour to discuss my Creative Writing Thesis. I really don't know what it is going to be about and really I am so worried about it. I know everyone says to write what you know and that honestly is getting old. How many times do I have to write about growing up and writing out cliche things like: "I always knew I was different." That kind of cocky and arrogant language is enough to piss me off. Like by some twist of fate I am the only gay person who had a hard time coming to terms with his own sexuality. BAH!!!
The next thing I could write about is something very personal to me. My mom. I know I said that she passed away, but I never mention how close me and my mom were. See I find it strange how there are people who can call their mom a bitch, I could never do that. It's been hard since she passed away. And the proximity of her passing is still quite fresh. And I think dwelling on it is hard for both of us. I've had three dreams where she came to visit me. I think it's because I can't put her memory down. Stuck walking this life with me because I'm frankly still hurting. A year since she passed is coming. I don't think that's the hardest part. I think Christmas is going to be hard. Last year, we all got to spend one last Christmas with her. And this one I'll be writing about her, in past tense and it's going to be hard. That is if I can pull myself up to doing it. But then there's this. I can write up a fiction piece. Chances are I'd end up using events from real life to disguise the truth. Then is that fiction? If I will myself to write the truth and be able to hide it as fiction. Again I'll be allowing myself to live a lie. Choices are so damn difficult! All these photo's are from the summer of 2009. Was a good one. Too bad I don't have many from this summer. Dunno where they are if I do have them though. But Enjoy! |
Jack BeaverhausenI am a contradiction! An artist with eclectic taste and blunt honesty! Archives
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