Update And Such

well, Irene certainly fucked a lot of people. the worst part is she didn't buy dinner, give us all a kiss or even find it in her precipitory heart to use some KY.

what a cunt.

on the plus side her public relations advisor was quoted in saying the following:

"Irene has been battling through a lot of personal issues in the recent months and her actions were way out of line. also, she blames lil wayne and other hip-hop artists, like many others, for the suitable lyrics that told her to 'make it rain on dem' hoes'. she is willing to fuck off as soon as she can."

well then, that is a very adult way of going about it all. very spiffy, very spiffy indeed.

well, before that whole storm shit went down there was an issue with an un-named entity that was sighted here on C.I.T.C and it was followed by a few funny comments and other postings. yes, for the sake of entertainment, there has been backlash.

you're welcome, from the bottom of my blackened blood-pump some ridiculous cock-suckers refer to as my "heart".

in the near future i can assure you of a few things:

#1. new vulgar posts about people you can only hope to never want to meet, ever.

#2. a mini-series, which is probably poorly written, that is somewhere between 3 or 4 parts total. i will post each piece individually in the hopes to summon (yes, like in magic the gathering) some sort of suspense. if that doesn't work out, then there will still be more parts posted with the grand result being a mystery even to myself.

#3.  a revision of an earlier post that will shed a different light on some things. it will be harsh, as my being polite wasn't a welcome change from the profanity laced dribble you have come to enjoy here and there in your daily wonderings of the blogasphere.

#4. a massive use of curse words and visuals that may inspire laughter and scorn from anyone who lacks a sense of humor and the ability to get the fuck over it when the going gets tough.

(see, already with the profanity, campaign promise fulfilled).

so be patient until all the cable and power come back on, semi-loyal web junkie readers. all will be well, even if your noms have been met their demise in the confines of the global warming gas chamber that is your fridge.

Motherfucking Yours,

Dax Ian Rose

Forever Scorned

we all have secrets.

these secrets define who we have become.

Aloha From Hell

it is common knowledge that i am an avid reader. aside from harry potter and twilight, i am down to read like there is brim stone already raining down from the skies. among these books, novels and periodicals there are a handful that have become exceedingly useful to me in many ways for many reasons.

over the years the same thing reigns supreme: knowledge is power and power is deadly.

do i plan to use deadly force or wage a full blown war upon someone or a group of people? no, that is far too simple and just not my style. i like guerilla tactics and manipulation. trust me, it's so much more fun than just running over an entire family with a chevy suburban. let them systematicly turn on each other and leave the house stinking of rotted meat and sorrow.

consider being trapped in a death trap with you nearest and dearest, having to decide which of them must be bludgeoned beyond recognition only to then be devoured by the remaining persons because paranoia set in and all involved never thought to check the walls for loose bricks.

awesome, right? yeah, i'm totally watching FEARnet right now. epicly sick sit-com senario.

before i made the decision to actually make contact and fire off my textual rounds, i was taking steps five steps ahead and i did more than just some research. this includes:

reading countless pages of court transcripts

taking notes on several medical records

experimenting with lab equipment and their uses

collecting various samples

studying terrain and weather patterns

watching the scenes

waiting for long hours

planning every beautiful minute

needless to say, i make use of my time all the time.

so, you may understand what kinds of reading material i have in hand on any given day, at any given time. the likelyhood of needing any of this is slim to none, but it never hurts to be prepared for anything that may happen.

i made a small promise this evening that i wouldn't use obtained information to direct a tactical strike, it was out of respect and i do not regret it. this doesn't mean i can't use this, with all other information, at a later date and time to show that there are certain lessons that need to be taught to a select few. what i can do is say the following:

running is for your feet, not your mouth. in all reality you only know half of what you think you know and the rest can bite you in the ass any minute. it is a lovely day in the neighborhood when the roof comes crashing down on you, slowly impailing you and leaving you to bleed out while you think about all the things and people you will never see again.

Best Wishes,

Dax.

Mortuary Make-Up Sex

now that i've killed your arguement, safely go fuck yourself.

today was sexy. there was a storm and it rained like prince (sorry: artist formerly known as). today also came with a fucking hilarious "two cents" from some anonymous shit with a sense of humor bordering on the darkness of mine.

i chuckled, i laughed, i think i pee'd a little. it was good times.

thank you to everyone who has stopped in, even that pervert from indonesian who somehow found this blog by googling "choke the fuck out of her while we fuck". you are the salt of the earth, every single one of you. i do this for fun, yes it is true, but it feels nice to know that it may bring some laughs to those having a shitty day. laughter is the best medicine, however, a man's laughter is one space away from manslaughter.

a super special thanks to three people in particular:

Justin from RVA who is "SHRED WHITE AND BLUE" and said this via Facebook:

"dude, never stop writing on curiosity in the curtains.
it is strangely addictive to read to the point where it
pretty much just consumed an hour of my time just before
sending this message without knowing that time went by. haha."

and

Amanda from RVA who schooled me, again, with:

"okay, i understand the punctuation thing but you're no better considering there is no apostrophe in 'yours'."

and finally

Anonymous Poster from "Re-Traumatization" for the comment that made me pee a little. whoever you are, there is a special crippled guardian angel watching out for you too.

thats my spewage for the evening.

again, thank you all for reading and continuing to read even if you think i'm an asshole. it's okay, i already know it and accept it as my role in life.

Dax.

PS: i think a counter is in order, a "___ Days Without Crazy Bitch Attack" sign off.

Re-Traumatization

well, after a lost post and a long night of too many energy drinks and laughing at white people it's back to business as usual.

i've posted about people before and will continue to do so in the future simply because i can, will and do so enjoy it with the passion of a thousand suns. i'm a natural born teller of tales and i keep the facts straight while doing so. nothing is funnier than the truth. nothing.

after my post the other night i thought i'd give the person a head's up and i linked it to them. her reply was simple and to the point:

"Not really interested in what you have to say about me so I will not be reading this. Thanks all the same."

i was oh so proud, you know, her being a grown up about it all so i did the same thing and replied back saying this to her:

"eh, okay, fair enough. kept it clean and no names were used."

that was that, end of conversation and the evening could go on. oh that's right i'm mistaken that there was nothing left to say in that situation.

i linked, she said "no thanks", i said okay. the fucking end, right? nope. she went off the deep end, sending a paragraph (which i will reproduce for you verbatim) in some sad and feeble attempt to crucify me with hitler's entire skeletal system. to say she fail is an understatement. however, she has fueled a fire that was damn near dead...oops!

so, i shall give you the paragraph then i shall rip into her like never before.

"I dont know why you would think I'd be more interested in that one, than the other one that you wrote about me. The one you "feel no remorse about" since "I was so crazy" for...believing you werent a total scumbag? Trying to give you a chance? Yep, I'm such a bitch and you sure showed me what happens when you try to give, someone like you, the benefit of the doubt. So leave me alone. You've had your fun at my expense, move on to someone else now. I'm sure there were a thousand other girls you were a complete asshole to, for no reason, that would be eager to read your memories of things "you think you remember" them doing. I am not one of them. You're a manipulative jerk. I'm so over talking about this. If you could just leave me alone and stop writing about me that would be cool."

#1. i had to add half the punctuation that is now in that paragraph. leaving out punctuation is like cooking boiled goose: it's disgusting and no one wants to be your friend after witnessing it. it's a good thing we aren't friends now because i would un-facebook her. thats just laziness, pure laziness.

#2. as far as "feel no remorse" for goes: yes, i feel zero remorse for playing a joke on her that she blew way out of proportion. she got spooked by the fact that, my friend and i, had her so convinced that her "gay-dar" was off that she had a mental breakdown. on the side of "i was so crazy" i can say this; it was just a theory before she rampaged through our school, shouting at the top of her lungs and acting like she was crazy. afterward, it was common knowledge that she was beyond bat-shit crazy.

#3.who uses the term "scumbag" these days? who? seriously, where is the creativity when insulting your fellow humans? i read that and immediately lost it. scumbag? what about dickhead, chicken-shit, fuckwad, salad-tosser, cumstain, cunt, pussy-fart, whorebag, taint-wench. if you're going to insult someone, who writes a blog that insults people, you should REALLY be creative or you will be considered open season and be shot down as such. on that note:

please, choke on a throbbing lap rocket, you over dressed fetal typo, who wasted every ounce of useful talent you could've had, getting to the egg. it's a shame that you're the most lively dumpster baby your parents rescued from the wretched snatch your mother has titled her "vagina".

SEE THATS HOW IT"S DONE! ROLL THEM ONE AFTER ANOTHER.

#4. "a thousand other girls". really? i mean as a guy i would like to be able to say that was true but it sure is not. 10, tops, all time. whats better than that is at the time of the joke she was ranked in 2nd place only because i had a thing for Motoko (ghost in the shell) and i still do to this day. so, the mystery 990 other girls: where are they now? better than that: what background information source was she quoting? probably somone who would later be on the second run of the Bush payroll.

#5. "you think you remember" was probably my favorite part considering my slightly above average recale capability. it's not that i think i remember her biting a small gash into the under webbing of my tongue, it's that she DID bite a small gash into the under webbing of my tongue. if needed, i can recall a couple great things that also DID happen with her being involved.

go ahead, "she who shall not be named", test me and see what happens.

#6. i shall leave her alone. that is perfectly fine with me. as for not writing about her: make me. seriously, thats my arguement, fucking make me stop. i don't recall me forcing this blog on her. i sent the link and she OBVIOUSLY read at least the first one. she could've very well noticed the name of the sender, blocked me, deleted the message and taken a ride on her unicorn somewhere over the anxiety pill rainbow. instead she took the step through the door and had it slammed into her face, figuratively speaking of course. so i'll give everyone the links for the two posts she referenced while trying to put me in the corner.

Link #1. The Joke & Crazy Bitch

Link #2. The Positive To The Negative

i was prepared to be nice and adult about this but now, i'm just irritated by several aspects of that sad attempt to school me, as you can see by my itemized list of complaints and concerns. with all of that said and done i send this invite out:

Dear Simple Crazy White Girl,

do you want an apology or something? do you want me to answer the questions you have, attempt to smear salve on the wounds i've caused you? are you in need for a good debate over the situation or a reason as to why it had to be you who caught that shit-storm directly in the face?

i will GLADLY go over ALL of it with you, at length, whenever you wish as i'm sure you would vomit your soul out upon seeing me, or become doped up on anxiety meds, we can exchange emails and i will spell it all out for you in plain english.

is that good enough for you? can you handle the truths i'm ready to tell? surely, now that you're a grown up with some hard earned true intelligence, you can stomach the ideas and concepts and emotions of the past explained today.

you can reach me at: tingle2thetouch@gmail.com

Your's When You Want Me,

Dax.

Results May Vary

from time to time this little bone palace will be littered with the tales and stories that i find to be particularly interesting and fun. those people involved within the tales will not be named or severely referenced...but they will know who they are.

yes indeed, they will know my textual fury!

a little dramatic, yes? too many old vincent price movies will do that to you...MWHAHAHA!

...alright...yeah...woo...

the molotov musical break down for the day is as follows:

Dev

Kesha

Emiliana Torrini

Jem

D.R.U.G.S.

Falling In Reverse

Bloc Party

Empire Of The Sun

Whitechapel

We Butter The Bread With Butter

Esthero

Pig Destroyer

Bleach 03

yes, today will be mighty and full of things and such.

Dax I. Rose

Cross Sectional Sofa

the lighting seemed like a paradox to me at the time. those beams, connecting the floor of the house above us and the ceiling that completed this little hide-away, were the purgatory of heaven and hell. in my haste i took little notice of the surrounding walls and rooms, looking only for sanctuary near the warmest appliance i could find, the oven. you see, it's not that i was homeless or anything like that, i just wanted to ease my numbed hands and frozen disposition. the tides of life had changed and there i was clinging to a sinking plank of what would have been my ship.

if i had been more intuned, as they would say, i would've been less surprised when i could feel her eyes clawing into my back, like those of an ignored love interest that the main character will regret not seeing before. the seemingly invisible hairs of my neck were starting to stand in defense of my skin, they saw the silently approaching storm that was rolling in from the high seas. there, beyond my field of vision, the siren of the rocks was warming her vocal cords in hopes of luring me to a watery grave created by her eyes and her sweat. my heart beckoned for the cannons to roll forward, take their aim and be at the ready in case war was declared.

we stood, as two ships on the open sea, waiting for movement.

she took three steps forward. cautious, little steps, meant to be playful but to me, resembled the foot-work of a nervous school-girl creeping up on a bug, as a dare spelled out by her friends. it took everything inside my head to keep me from turning six shades of red. i met her eyes with mine and made sure to keep them locked on her face, to keep my target in plain sight at all times. the waves in my stomach were churning, sending the crew sloshing back and forth, above and below deck. that nervous foot-work of her's, mixed with the feeling of being lost in her eyes, was like inhailing the breath of a bullet and living to tell about it.

her body came closer to mine, enveloping my frame in kinetic heat that could start a fire at any second. she was singing that siren song in her head and transmitting it into mine, lulling my mind into a state of dreamy euphoria. she was speaking in tongues to me, wandering from one idea to another, weaving a web that will suck the life from me soon enough. no matter how much i want to turn away from this moment, i can't. my body is numb with energy and stuck in a state of endless stillness.

i began to notice her stance at this point. her right foot flat on the floor, the left foot slightly raised on the ball. her now bent left knee was stretching her thigh outward toward my unmoving legs. one hand was reaching out, taking grasp of my arm, the other, wrapping around the small of my back and pulling me slowly into her frame where her breathing was clearly fast and shallow. she and i were both delirious with lust and small amounts of unease. a flame was growing between us and was poised to set the entire building on fire, entombing us in a photograph of reds, oranges and yellows.

this is amazing. this is what is feels like to want so deeply that it hurts.

her face came even closer to mine, her eyes drawing me in and holding me down. my mouth went dry and my lungs locked, what little oxygen was left, inside my chest for safe keeping. the head-rush was intoxicating me, like so many shots of whiskey on a fall evening. her mouth was smiling, in some bizarre combination of innocence and perversion, as if she could read my mind and dreams. i bit my lower lip, trying to keep my composure, and leaned into her waiting body. there, in the air between us, our goosebumps rose from our skin and made contact with each other, signaling the rest of our bodies to follow suit.

our lips caressed, sending electricity into our pores and across our faces. the saliva we shared at that moment was laced with high emotions and hormones, the means to an end. her hands gripped tighter around my back and arm, dragging me into the depths of those soft lips that hid her true intentions. i could feel my head swim in her energy just before a spark of pain broke me free from her spell. our connection was broken by the new taste of blood in my mouth. her head snapped back and began to grin at me, deviously taking note of my shock and awe. a small giggle escaped her mouth before her tongue drew in the speck of my blood that still lingered on her lip.

her teeth dug into me for the second time that night. the first was skin and this time blood.

another moment like that and she would taste my soul and devour me eternally.

Working The Corners & Friend Story

it has become a scientific fact that i am an internet whore.

Facebook, Twitter & Blogspot have all been linked together and now the trifecta of the apocolypse is set.

aside from all of that bullshit, here's what's up....

jack. motherfucking. shit.

i have some very awesome friends that i have known for...well...over a decade and they never get old or tiresome. yes, some of them i can only take in small doses, this isn't a surprise, it's just a fact of life. so i will now blast your face sockets with a small VH1 backstory about one of these friends of mine.

Ladies & Gentlemen....Cami Saltsgaver.

(Cami is the cheesing fucker on the left by the way)

that picture is probably a few years after i met her but it tells you so much. yes, she's a platinum blonde with a cheerful disposition and dark side.

aren't they all?!

hell yeah, you are absolutely correct.

so it was early in life, by that i mean long before high school. she rode my bus, lived down the street from me and for some strange, beyond fucked-up reason, she had it out for me. it must have been my slender chick like body...svelte.

one, super fun, friday afternoon we parted ways at the mutual bus stop and i headed home. it would seem my mom, on her way home, had seen this annoyingly obnoxious blonde pisser, sitting outside of her own house on the driveway sobbing or just looking dazed as shit. mom comes in the house and wants to know the happ's about the child down the street sitting in her driveway.

i had no clue, nor did i give three squirts of duck shit, about the blonde bobble-head.

so, being the strong single mom that she was, my mom drove back down the street, told the girl to go inside her house and get some clothes because she was staying with us.

okay, let me explain the reasoning behind this little cluster-fuck, the facts discovered later on:

Cami's mom decided, out of the fucking blue while Cami was at school, that she was going out of town without her and wasn't going to fill her in either. what a delightfully simple ass-hat, yes? not much has changed, she's funny as shit, but she's not winning "mother of the year"...ever.

SO! with Cami in tow, my mom returns home and tells me, non-chalantly, that Cami will be staying the weekend with us and that i was to treat her like i would a family member and to keep my cool, even if i was annoyed by her. annoyed? monumental understatement. she slept in the guest-room, ate meals with us and OH SO LUCKILY, shadowed the dog-shit out of me at the air-show that was in town at the time. i had a migraine and she had a story about how she slept in the same house with the boy she had the hots for.

fair trade...?...not even close.

things went back to normal after that. we rode the same bus, parted ways at the bus stop, i ducked her at every turn and i was irritated by her very existance. this wasn't a big deal to her, considering all things, so she called the chase quits and we became friends, siblings if you will, and things were much more enjoyable.

Cami bleached and dyed my hair on a regular basis (superman blue).

Cami played match maker to huge failures in my love life (she meant well, they didn't).

Cami was the first person i ever told that i would eat their fetus (followed by backlash from her friend).

Cami has tagged me in so many FB pictures it's sickening (embarassing is a better word).

so this post is mainly dedicated to Cami Saltsgaver, my sister from another mister. she has come so far and been so epic that it's a wonder she is still semi-sane and alive to speak of tales that no other people can tell.

Cami Saltsgaver:

the smoking, drinking, chronicly masturbating, blonde giggle shit with a heart of gold and a the mind set of an overly eager teenage boy.

Dax.

First, A Few Words...

from J.R. Hayes of Pig Destroyer

Jennifer wrestled her friend playfully to the ground in front of the snowcone stand and began licking at the
girls eyeballs, as if they were sugar cubes. Their bodies convulsed and flailed with an almost seizure like intensity. At times their pale limbs seeming to shift back and forth from one torso to the other. A crowd gathered almost immediately to watch these two girls tie and untie their bodies like a pair of pit vipers.

They weren't confused, or concerned, or shocked, or aroused, or all of the above; but no one dared interfere with the performance. Jennifer's long ashen hair hung down concealing the girls face, like a curtain around a hospital bed. No one had any idea that the girls eyes were revolving under her ruby tongue.

"This is disgusting, it's pornography" exclaimed a pasty slut white woman in a fur coat, vanilla ice-cream smeared across her double chin like a money shot. Countering, a balding professor type in his mid-forties, his left hand stuffed crassly down the front of his pants: "No, no, no. This is beautiful, this is art."

Everyone quickly hushed up and took a step back as Jenifer rose and stood over the girl, examining her handiwork. Her partner layed motionless beneath her, seemingly dead. Her eyesockets dry and empty, her heels and elbows scraped and bloodied. Some on-lookers gasped in horror, some swooned and fainted melodramatically, most just stared in disbelief.

Jennifer reached down between her thighs and pulled the crotch of her bathing suit to the side, exposing her vagina. The other girl slowly sat up and began sliding her fingers into Jennifer, a few minutes later her wrists were in, then her elbows. Eventually she would completely disappear into her womb.

Jennifer tilted her head to the side curiously. She heard the sound of a rickety-wooden roller-coaster in the distance, it's passengers screaming in mock terror. She knew that sooner or later they would realize that the ride wasn't stopping and they were all going to die.

get all this and more when you listen to Pig Destroyer's "Prowler In The Yard"

Dax

Heroin Diaries

hand in hand we stalked the savage gardens of the vast park we had come to love. the outposts of our bodies had become decorated in ritualized coffee containers, little trinkets to show where we had been on our way to this beautiful array of the outdoors caged in. smiling, in summer shades of red, we exchanged simple looks like embarassed school children. the sky was incredibly empty, slightly over cast and void of the pearly tufts of angel white. this was the essence of what fall should be, every time you walk out into the brisk air that signals that the haze of a scorching summer is now dead.

all hail the dying trees and their pyrotechnic leaves, blanketing the earth in shades of hell fire.

our shoes crunched over loose gravel, then dry grass and finally, over those terrific bled out leaves that fell at five centimeters per second. the day was a wednesday, one of only times i ever skipped school just for show. her face was cloaked behind her auburn hair, like the curtain around a hospital bed, shielding the injuried from further bodily damage. she turned, throwing back the protective covering and looked me dead in the eye and asked, "is this all a dream?". i couldn't help but laugh at her vague question, that was something i never got used to, those randomly shot vague questions.

we had reached the covered bench in the japanese garden, our little hide away from the mass of ignorance in the world. i was still pondering that question of her's, i wasn't sure what it was she meant by it, so i took a stab in the dark and said, "i'm not sure what you mean. is 'what' all a dream?". it was now that the intensity of her eyes finally hit me like a mack truck. those crystal blue, almost violet, eyes that turned my skin hot and shook my soul, were now halo'd in blood shot misery. those eyes still haunt me, gazing at me like two bleeding ghosts glowing in tones of oceans and space gas.

"all of this! the two of us sitting in the park alone, the gypsy grey skies, the stillness of fall breathing in shallow fashion like it has punctured lungs...is all of this a dream?" she said, her voice full of all the crisp majesty in the universe. my heart began to shut down, similar to a steam-engine running out of coal, because i knew what was going on. i had seen the signs so many times but i didn't want to acknowledge them. i didn't want reality to sink in and murder this gorgeous fantasy that was being built up inside our heads. my chest was caving in and i knew it was only going to get worse: not for me but for her.

sadly i responded to her, "this is no dream, we are here in the murky autumn park you see, sweetheart. we sit under the pewter sky with delicious smell of the dying world and the undertone of pumpkin spice, we are surely here." her violet blue eyes blinked, became less red and her smile relaxed to coat her teeth with her lips. she was content, so much so that her head came to rest on my shoulder and her hand on my hand. there we sat, silently admiring the world and the emptiness there within the confines of the caged park we come to love. it would be one of the last times we would meet there, inside the covered bench of the japanese garden.

the delusions of love mixed with the hatred and misanthropy, absorbed by her ghost, bent her mind and soul too far backwards. all of this was sending her into a spiral so terrible that only a stomach filled with gin and seroquel could erase the pain she now bottled inside her delicate frame. her last words, drowsily etched into her bed side table, were these:

"empaths and homunculi don't mix, just ask romeo and juliet."

Internet Mental Note

i really want to slap myself, in a big way.

(getta hold of ya'self champ, you're losing it in a big way)

there are some things that are just ridiculous.

absolutely, without a doubt, ri-fucking-diculous.

there is no text large enough here to completely describe how ridiculous the idea is to me.

RI-DIC-U-LOUS!!!!!

I    HATE   THIS   UNCOUTH   IDEA!

on a positive note:

i has a fuzzy feeling inside my brain-case and it's multi-textural like a motherfucker. a delicious combination of thoughts that has CONVERGED into the best after dinner mint one could imagine.

press play and wait for the credits to roll before taking a look into the universe.

i am animated and longing for a tingle to the touch as long as the empath lives through it this time around. the last two didn't know when to quit and it cost them their lives in a big way. i can still hear their voices begging for the nightmares to stop, screaming back at the voices inside their heads.

the fine print states that it was destined to happen and it will continue to happen until the day we all meet again and i sit atop a throne of their skin, glued to the bones of infants with the blood of my beloved and her sucessor.

it took everything i had to try to fix the crack in the sky, but i was too late, and now they lie in their graves while the earth consumes them eternally.

it stinks of rotting earth in here. i want to find the hole river bank.

inside she calls my name

inside she calls my name

inside she calls my name

inside she calls my name

inside she calls my name

in. side. she. calls. my. name.

Glamouring

the things we should fear the most are not the unknown things that make us question the reality we know, it's the known things we have seen and experienced and have lived through. the images that slowly play over and over in our heads like so many cheaply shot B-movies, the moments that are bound to our being.

memories now threadless and exposed to reveal the mostrosities they truely are.

the phrase that rings is this:

"distance makes the heart grow fonder."

i disagree. distance is the safety net and camouflaged tra:p it keeps those in danger away from the fury, the flames and demise that seeks them out against their knowledge while setting them up like so many chess pieces in the long run for the same fate. distance is a cunning, paradoxal, juxtaposition that is lost in translation and plays twisted tricks on the eyes of those who behold it. distance is both and neither at the same time, a form of self negated idealism that hides in both the shadows and lights.

i have had several battles with distance and it is, and always will be, ten steps ahead at all times. there have been incidents where, what i thought was positive distance, was indeed a very negative version of itself and vice versa.

today was one of those days. today, distance and i stood at the gates ready for battle once more.

what ever happens from here on out is bound to happen reguardless, yet i long for discovery of a loop-hole.

 

so how does one, who has battled distance before, come out victorious or at least breaking even for once?

 

this sickening feeling is like glamouring someone without knowing you're doing so and wishing you could stop it before things get way out of control and the result is the completion of a trifecta you've been dreading for what seems like an eternity.

life is a bitch.

dying is a release.

judgement is in the wind.

and

distance is the whore of opportunity and the sailors are back from deployment with pockets overflowing.

Dax.

Love Like A Suicide Bombing

older posting 3 of 3

 

We became visible in the headlights of passing cars if only for fractions of a second. With each flickering of illumination I get a snapshot of a headcase who can't keep the secret she so wishes she could hide from the world. It's a beautiful paradoxal siren, dressed in the finest cut off camo shorts and short-sleeve button down shirt, that grasps my left hand as a vicegrip would. With no direction or destination, our get-away sticks carry us like dandelion seeds floating carefree on summer night breezes. The highway is huge when you're walking next to it, even the lane lines look twelve feet long. Thats enough depth to bury someone you love so much twice over.

Another flow of traffic rumbles the cement we roam near, with great force and majesty, speechless we gaze drop-jawed in amazement. I can't help but look back at her face again and again. Melanin tapestries sewn painstakingly to steal the breath from me. Velvet caramel stained all over with whipped cream, my teeth hurt from how delicious her body appears to be. The lights are fading, I have only my memories. Chunks of gravel under my Onistuka Tigers make the most iritating scratching sounds, so I look into my eye's corner to change the subject with a peeping tom view of a piercing phoenix trapped in the flesh.

Even the brightness of the moon above us is jealous of how brightly she shows the world she is. Deep under the skin her body cloaks itself in, there is a broken bloodpump. The plumbing of the building I call immaculate is rusted and falling in on itself. Headlights come running. This is my chance to gather data one last time, so I fetch every inch of her into my head so I can somehow realize how I can rescue her from the virus that spoils her gift. Internal nailbomb poised to destroy the wrapping. It's been a long night of walking west with her in a quiet symphony, so now the final notes must be played and the curtain must fall.

I walk her to the exit ramp where I struck her in a drunken swandive three years ago.

Good night love, I will walk with you again next year: same time, same place.

House Parties & Hiding The Bodies

older posting 2 of 3

I really miss watching car wrecks in autumn. Those tender moments where metal grinds like throbbing fuck-sticks, dancing while dressed in the finest paintjobs money could buy. Antifreeze, represents various things to you and I: drool, runny noses, putrified feelings we fake so well. We pretend to be happy behind these masks, yet no matter how well we act, we can not fool the audience that is our heart.

Wide eyes gaze zombified while flames tower from mutilated cruising caskets, that light up the sky, like a practice run for the fourth of july. I detect sorrow in those jeans you're wearing, make a move and give grudge fucking a chance. Reality is setting in again; October has a way of pulling me out of daydreams just before I ruin their endings. Innocent people are open season for us tonight my dear, we get a private viewing of a family of five being left for dead in a bonfire fed by human flesh and cheaply constructed motorships.

Their screaming gives me goosebumps all over, kind of like when I found you OD'ed in your parents' bathroom after our first break-up. You had a hilarious look on your face: the dying usually have no control over it. Oh how I love that aroma of torched hair coated with long last hairspray. If the wind picks up now it will fade smoothly into the pumpkin spice scent of your hair. I'm in the mood to caress you sweetly if only to cut your thighs and bleed you dry with teeth of ivory and nicotine.

The ambulance still isn't here yet, we might get to finish the film after all sweetheart. Every squarefoot of pavement is visible from our little hideout in the woods, off to the right of this intersection. Something is whispering sweet nothings into my head and sucking the top of my earlobe. The angel of death flirts without the sign of foreplay. I'm needed at the crashsite with no time to lose. Irony beckons me to save someone that I have watched die for the past fifteen or so minutes. Fuck you irony, you are indeed a cruel and very weird mistress, but I guess thats why I long for you and love you so. Which pawn do I pick or choose to play a role in my show for two? Irony really needs to carry her spraypaint when beckoning me or asking for favors.

Dawn comes on horses of iron. I will take the drunken survivor who caused all of this beautifully horrific life taking devastation. Her limbs are limp in my arms, I'll leave the torso for the authorities.

A Panoramic View Of Water

this is one of several pieces from days now lost...i will post 3 tonight.

Shades of dusk roar in military fashion across the mountainous horizon at the edge of the world. Her mangled, miserable smile is built entirely out of shattered dreams and the soft glow of fluorescent lighting that seems to burn endlessly around her. Tonight she stalks the sidewalks in the city with vigorous, fitful behavior, dancing as if seizures were a the latest dance craze.

The attire she wears is cheap cloth, synthesized under the commanding hands of lifeless mechanized seamstresses. Without remorse, these perverted patterns ride up her thighs then her mid-drift like the gripping hands of a high-school virgin, desperately fumbling with a training bra, still attached to the thinning ribcage of a drunken prom date.

Within the confines of a drink-house her heart quakes to be in, a penumbra dressed in a man suit stakes claim to a chair within arms reach of her delectable soul-wrapper. His voice works like worms in a corpse; whispering sweet nothings that tear innocence from inside the ear canal, with violently sensually dragging purity, into the filth of the world. Those eyes of his, gazing without mercy, drink up the beauty of her threadbare parts the same way an intoxicated deviant peers over bathroom stalls.

To date, the only words spoken to her in this manner, heard by her head this lovely evening, were in after dark movies and sexually explicit documentaries on cable. Her mouth refuses to cooperate, mixed up vocabulary spews out like wasps: this girl is fantasizing of making a perfect life in the arms next to her. She senses the reality that those arms can kill for the fun and create for the world.

Silence takes over for a split second, another song starts to envelope the room in over tones of perversion combined with lost inhibitions, brought out by strong liquids. Her feet move to the open floor, this curvaceous vixen rotates her limbs as if the very epidermis she is cloaked in, was a collage of sun browned pit vipers.

Lustful liquids take effect on libidinous urges and desires. Understanding the emergency of lewdness, along with the five alarm fire below, this couple prances semi-nude to a park bench further from view and street lights. Panting without repent and now cursing through difficult button work, hands grasping at any inch of flesh in its prime. Their mouths work each other into submission by use of canines and tongues. Humid air provokes skin to weep the dew of passionate caress.

Two sets of lips blister up with the heat from a shared moment, a thermal nuclear explosion in the shape of two nude bodies convulsing.

Natasha

i am a born and raised virginian. i love most of the bands that have come out of the 804 (Richmond). there is one band in particular that just never stops shocking me and taking my breath away.

this band is Pig Destroyer.

so i bought "Prowler In The Yard" and instantly fell in love with the ruthless, unrelenting, brain crushing grindcore sound coupled with J.R. Hayes' insanely untouchable story-telling abilities, bound to flesh, in the fast - brutal - slaughtering noise fuck that is the music of Pig Destroyer.

the latest release is an EP. one track. 35+ minutes of sickening slow, crazed death incarnate.

Natasha

been lonesome. two years since she disappeared. I'm at the park where she was
last seen:

a vast green clearing, wrapped up in maple trees spilling the morning rain from their leaves.

I used to walk here with a girl, seventeen at the time. mistress of seventeen smiles, sublime with flaming locks of red in autumn and burning locks of orange in the summertime.

we were solemn and awkward that last night together, she laid by my side staring into starless skies, black as fallen angel feathers. I stared into the forest, pretending not to see the hangmen she was hiding in her eyes of serpent green.

she said there was another. I refused to believe her. I'd thought we'd kiss till our tongues tied together. all my loving memories became scenes of frenzied slaughter. my hands became cruel talons as they moved to destroy her.

her neck broke, like a toy in a careless child's grip. my tears rained down into dead eyes and splashed upon her lifeless lips. I put her in the ground like a flower here. I am standing in that same spot today where my angel's empty shell last laid and as my tears began to well up once more I see a path into the tree line that I'd never seen before.

I follow it down into a ravine, find a hole in the earth framed in the roots of a birch tree. subtle echoes of her voice speaking words I've never heard, but the way she hissed her "s"'s, it just had to be her.

I smell honeysuckle then opium: two of her signature scents. I pull aside all the thistles and vines and, mesmerized, I make my descent. as I crawl further inside the light slowly dies and the dirt begins to feel like her skin. I tremble as I drag my fingers down the walls, caressing her sweet flesh again. I'm sliding down trying so hard not to fall,
slipping on the blood that's seeping from the walls, then suddenly I'm surrounded by a thousand of her eyes, bathing the tunnel in a strange green light.

the eyes show me pictures, like ghostly television screens, all her thrashing final struggles and her ravaged corpse. serene, the tunnel is closing behind me, pressing me further and further down. I'm being swallowed by her earth and consumed by her ground. the end is moving into sight, I gasp and I scream, as I see her lovely mouth five times the size of me. her lips curl into a grin around her crooked gnashing teeth. I'm pulverized and devoured in the jaws of a girl seventeen.

enjoy.

Parasite Love-Letters

the aisles of this store seem so constricting when it's just the two of us lurching along, picking out meaningless items here and there, using our perception to gague how full our baskets and our existences are at the current moment. we, stand numb and move at only half speed, spreading out the seconds into decades.

it might be just me or the effects of the PCP but everything is much clearer now, much more defined for what will soon be our loving caress.

i can see his shadowy outline in the form of a plaid statue, his dirty jeans are loose fitting and leak the stench of a hard day of walking in the brightest sun one can imagine. in this little kingdom i stand like a scientist, studying and observing this seemingly mythical beast. i can hunt the hunter now in my altered state. i can see his very thoughts, churning like too much alcohol on an empty stomach, ready to be spilled on the tiled floor.

single file we both make our way to the check out line, taking notice of the variety of useless crap that we have heaved into the exit space before us. i watch his trembling hands, those shaking little twigs, slowly gathering his load of misfit trinkets:


vegetables: onions & corn
cereal: chex
milk: 2%
tic-tacs: orange
half pound of ground beef: sirloin
the four pack of oatmeal raisin muffins.


he pushes his bounty onto the conveyer belt and stares as they reach the clerk, who is already tired of the over-night shift that is only 1 1/2 hours in. his eyes are locked on the food before him, he wants to relish the thought of eating before he gets home and makes his meal.

the bagger fills plastic sacks with these items and puts them back into his basket while he pulls his old, musty, leather wallet from his pocket and draws out the crumpled $20 bill from it's sliver of storage space. it's only now that i realize that i forgot the honey mustard sause that i came here for, so i back my cart up and make for the condiments, only to ditch the whole thing before sliding my way toward the front door.

tonight is a special night after all, we have things to discuss just beyond the central air barrier that leads to our meeting spot.

he has no idea that i've been hunting him for some time now:
waiting
watching
studying
taking notes
planning for this beautiful moment for the last six years.


i know how he has let roaming hands and rushing fingers caress the dead that now fill the concrete shallows of his basement walls. his mind relives every moment of torture, penetration and disposal; delighting in the digusting lewd gestures he made while standing over each one of them, the ones we will never see alive again.

i start my car, letting the lights linger in shaded non-illumination. this will be the last ride home we share without his knowledge because when he hits his driveway i'll already have broken into his basement and be ready to show him all the things he has seen from the other side of the table.

this will be beautiful. this will be art.

Intermission

before the show begins this evening i wish to make a few announcements:

#1. the rules of engagement have changed drasticly and it seems there is a war about to unfold.

#2. the chosen weapons cache for the aforementioned war is fully stocked and poised for use.

#3. murder is now defined by how much damage you can do without spilling blood yourself.

#4. there are no clearly defined sides, sects, countries or other distinguishable characteristics.

#5. no winner will be known until the inferno embers down to the ashes of the fallen and dead.

this concludes the announcements.

proceed to your designated areas of attack and await my signal.

warriors: do your worst and don't stop until you stand atop a mountian of blood and flesh. god speed.

Prologue to "Strange Days"

so that last post was kind of fucked up, right? i'm so happy you agree. what spawned that whole hot mess of textual activity is this:

i recently made a new aquaintence and she wanted to get a little background on why i am the way that i am:

an asshole

hateful

spiteful

misanthropic

vulgar

cruel

pessimistic

well, as i am fairly open with strangers, as you would know if you have read "Strange Days" already, i felt it would be a good idea to spill out a summarized chronicle of four events (there is another but that is a too much) that helped to sculpt me into the vile plague writer that you have witnessed here.

would you like to see this email? would you like to be in "the circle" as it were?

yes? really? seriously, you want to know? fine, be warned: this is all true to life.

Prologue To "Strange Days":


i saw the first therapist at age 6. my mom thought there might be something wrong because i wasn't "making friends" and i often played by myself and ignored much of the world. simply put she thought i was autistic. this was not the case. so we went to the "shrink duo" and they asked us each questions seperately, thinking that my mom was molesting me or covering up molestation: luckily this also was not the case. i was just not into being friendly with other kids because i was an only child and i liked it that way. these people told my mom that "i should be allowed to do as i please" because "freedom would breed boredom" and that would "lead to cog-like assimilation". my mom laughed at them and we left, never to return.

at age 8 i was in elementary school and i was told i was "exceptionally bright" and i was put into a set of testing with 2 other kids from the school who were just like me in that sense. 2 of us passed with flying colors and were accepted to an "Advanced Placement" elementary school. i got the short end of the stick because the principle lied to my mom and said "there is no transportation to this school" and thus my mom passed on it because it was not do-able to get me there and herself to work on time 5 days a week. it was no big deal at the time, BUT NOW i long to find that principle and skin him alive until he begs for death, at which time i would gladly roll him in salt like a margarita glass.

age 16 was super fun. i was adopted by my step-dad and his 2 daughters were hellbent on making my life shit because i was supposedly "stealing their dad from them". i never asked for that, he just felt it was "right to adopt me if he was raising me like his own". brilliant idea, considering he didn't think that far outside of my mom's vagina. she also backed this idea, so as much as i love her: she's a fucktard too. the parents decided, again on their own, that i should see a shrink for "emotionally distraught" teens. it went swimmingly (sarcasm like a motherfucker). we talked and i kept telling him that i was "misanthropic". he asked me to define the word, which i did, after which he stared at me like i had been quoting mein kampf. his only retort was "you're exceptionally brilliant" and we jabbed about all kinds of stuff, not limited to, how many objects in his office could be used to take his life. by the way, that number was 64: including his shoe-laces and ID lanyard.

at the wise age of 18 it was my choice to leave the failed education system in search of my GED considering i was a classic case of "slipping throught the cracks". i made zero trouble and was persistant with my view that "homework was as big a bullshit play as mass religion" and my GPA was a whopping 0.042, even though my in class average was 91.7. i took the GED test (which is a 2.5 hour test) in 45 minutes: front to back and double checked for errors. the teacher was so shocked and so unable to let me leave before the timer that she kept me occupied with the SAT test and then an IQ test. keep in mind: i took only 1/3 of the classes needed to take the SAT test. i finished them both in 1 hour and 52 minutes. she called me a few months later, when she got the results back and it was determined that i somehow scored a 1450 and had an IQ of 135, which i guess are good scores, or so she said.

in closing, all of these people told me the same thing essentially: i was a brilliant and intelligent child/person who could do anything anywhere anytime and that i would be smarter than 98% of all the people i would ever encounter.

what they left out was even funnier to me:

"you're massive thought processes and abilities would alienate you from the world you lived in and cause you more trouble than if you was crippled and left to rot in a wheelchair, or on life-support".

so this is why i hate most people: they always highlight the good things when they know for a fact that all of that shit is only the silver lining to the acid rain cloud looming over us all. i was built up with hype about what i already knew, only to be blasted by almost every single peer i've ever known. they should've filled me in that being too fucking smart for your own good will only lead you to ridicule and torture by the people you wish to be friends with on a daily basis.

i hope that clears up things a bit as to why i'm such an asshole most of the time. i don't place blame on any one set of people but i would rather, like to spread it out to all the adults from my past who couldn't take the time to warn me that showing what i was made of was only going to be own demise, at least until adulthood. had i known that, i would've toned it down a bit and just been the secretly smart guy instead of the freak with the info that all the other kids hated because their parents drank too much mountain dew and fucked too many sheep in their teen years.

that is basis for the previous post. i hope you all enjoyed that "TMI" moment from yours' truely.

have the time of your life tonight, because tomorrow isn't set in stone.

Dirty Dancing With The Dead,

Dax

Strange Days

no, not the hauntingly awesome Matthew Good Band song. fuck suckle, now i want to hear that song.

*listens to song...feels slightly dreamy...crushes an orange monster...demons awaken once more*

RIGHT, where were we?! fuck, thats right! i did something i suggest every should do at least once before you meet your ending once and for fucking all:

i spilled my guts to a complete stranger without the influence of alcohol or drugs and it was weird.

i'm usually guarded in reguards to spilling the beans about stuff i've done/been through/seen simply because it's not your business unless i say it is. this isn't a flaw, it's a defense mechanism and a great one to have. if you tell your friends things they will later use it against you for their own gain when they're at a low point in their own savagely shitty life. a stranger, on the other hand, has zero fucks to give when it comes to you and what your life has developed into, at least they shouldn't give a fuck, unless they're stalking you...in which case you should put a bullet in your own head before you suddenly wake up in a dimly lit basement to a constant loop of The Pixies "Debaser", with four fingers missing, pumped full of animal tranquilizers and being watched by some strange looking doll - that is actually a real person - who is franticly masturbating right in front of you and grunting the words "yeah, this is what i do to colostomy bags like you".

(i think thats enough about my first real girlfriend and her silly drug induced antics)

what i think i'm getting to is the main point at hand:

strangers will give you an unbiased opinion and problem solving technique long before your friends, as your friends know what you want to hear and will be happy to say that before the truth that needs to be said. friends are great to have but they tend to bullshit you when they become comfortable with you, instead of remaining true to absolute friendship, and laying into you when you're a douchebag and telling you the haps when you need some real back up.

so every once in awhile ditch the friend talk and just ask a stranger instead.

trust the angry man-boy, TRUST ME I SAYS.

Secretly Watching You While You Pee,

Dax

Trailers And Feature

TRAILERS:

Dear Underage Bitch lollygagging around OneTribe,

kill your-motherfucking-self with the credit card mommy & daddy gave you to pay for the ESSENTIALS while you're away at college. instead, you're dicking around downtown RVA, annoying the up-beat and heavily pierced people at OneTribe. your lack of substance practically makes you water and your lack of depth makes you a kiddie pool.

please, summon the wonder-twins and when their powers activate i hope your lack of substance fills your lack of depth and drowns you like so many parentless toddlers. you're nothing more than a sorry ass excuse for a daughter who rocks a pre-designed haircut you jacked from "that guy, in that band, from the tour, i saw last year", wasting time getting every form of herpes cheap liquor can buy.

Your Lexiconal Ninja Assassin,

Dax

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dear Hoodrat Fucktard Fake Gangster Wannabe,

when you're done riding around in a rental car, blasting your corner store mixtapes and yelling at fat bootied "bitches" you'll never get your dick wet in, you should really remember to take your gun with you when you head back to your "SPRAWLING" crib, better known as the 5 foot by 6 1/2 foot spare room in your momma's house.

now that i have possession of your side-arm i will be looking up your contact information and coming to see you personally, as i am currently armed and you are not. if i decide to give you back your gun without dropping hot brass all over your mom's lawn, it will be only because i have decided i want to have fun ninja style assassinating you.

it's the whole "not knowing" thing that usually scares the target into mistakes, not the actual threat.

See you soon my tenacious little pussy-fart,

Dax "i'm-gonna-rape-you-like-nobody's-business" Rose

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

FEATURE:

i feel as if maybe, just maybe i haven't been taking these things far enough. someone people seem to think i HAVE been taking them far enough...too far even. these people are welcome to have an opinion of their very own because, well, trying to stop every jack-ass from talking is nearly fucking impossible without being able to openly:

slap, kick, punch, hadoken, stab, poison, hang, shoot, disembowel, choke, burn, cripple, strap-down, hog-tie, donkey punch, explode, implode, crack in the face with a golf club...

...OR...

dry anal prison bitch date rape with 20 grit sand paper wrapped around either the head of my dick, or better yet, a broken broom stick named "Pedro".

so from now on i will find some obscene, distasteful, repugnant, offensive and down right haggard pictures to use in my posts that will help space out my "dirty language, foul humor & rude commentary".

oh, i'm sorry, did i miss the part where YOU run this blog now and get to call all the MOTHERFUCKING shots?!

i suppose i did. well then, let me say this as a retort:

when you find the time, outside of your BUSY facebooking CAREER, to think up - write down - edit - type AND present all of this and more then I will gladly hand over the cunt-juice encrusted reigns to this whole GOD DAMNED blog to your obviously muscular as FUCK hands and leave YOU to entertain anyone and everyone with epic talks of morality.

until such time magically happens, let me advise you on your only option at hand:

IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT, DON'T FUCKING READ IT OR CLICK ON THE LINK.

this isn't rocket science. get over it or get self assassinated.

Your Loving & Profane Favorite Past Time,

Dax Ian Rose

Vaguely Interested, Vaguely

have you ever been hit on by someone and felt compelled to seem interested, for the sake of finding out what kind of potential stalker this person could be?

ABSO-MOTHERFUCKING-LUTELY!!!!

have you ever discovered that the person from the question above was indeed nuttier than a 10lb. bag of squirrel turds and yet, for whatever sick set of kicks you enjoy, you continued to seem interested and hung out with them?

STOP IT CHRISS ANGEL, STOP READING MAH MIND, JUST STOP IT!!!!

taking into consideration the answers to both of those questions, that i'm sure are still swimming around inside that dirty little brain-case of your's, would it be safe to conclude that the two of you had sex and things got exponentially worse in a matter of say...HOURS...??

OH MY GOD, HE'S THE DEVIL, HE CAN SEE INSIDE MY BRAINS, TRAUMATIZING MAH SHIT!!!

well, rest at ease knowing that you are not alone. i too have bumped uglies with a medium range psychotic person who then used her fluids to glue herself to my life until she snagged an ENTIRE photo album of pictures, of me, from my mom's house and disappeared into the murky darkness of raging hormones & brain rot.

sadly, we never got the photos back from....Courtney Robertson:

that huge toothed, thick black left nipple hair sporting, asian boy built, emotionally damaged, photo album stealing wretched little vulva-bean.

Your Nefarious Storyteller,

Dax

Decent Day...Now What?!

so today was lacking in the usual dumb ass co-workers, random eyeball fucking and doubting of mass intelligence. so, what IS there to speak of without the fuel for my misanthropic fires? what indeed?

oh, i remember now! a few things actually, nice pretty things. still, i shall use profanity reguardless.

fuck, piss, ass, cock, tits, twat, cum-stain, shit, dick, uterus, vulva, lap-rocket, squish-mitten...

#1. i finished yet another book, this time in 18 hours, and it made me tear up in a good way. when you get the opportunity read a little book called "Miss Peregrine's Home For Peculiar Children". this book is fiercely similar in ways to "The Chronicles Of Narnia"...kind of. it's spellbinding and full of wonderful imagery and language that borders on the idea of old souls in tiny bodies. a beautiful tale that i hope shall have a follow up or two.

#2. i bought a 5 set of paint-pens (blue, orange, yellow, green and pink) and i plan on tagging and drawing on anything i possibly can. i have the urge...to purge...my mental ink well. so get ready freddy, i'm on my motherloving way.

#3. i am surely heart-broken and slightly terrified at the fact that alan ball may be trying to kill off the character Jessica Hamby in "True Blood". sunday's episode ended with her opening the doors to bill compton's house, in broad daylight. this is definitely not a remotely good idea, considering she's a vampire and a new one at that. if there is one thing you can be certain of it's this:

i have an affliction: that affliction is beautiful red-heads. pale, delicious, red-heads.

*wobbles...stumbles...faints*

#4. i may have a new friend. this friend has engaged in some deep seeded conversation. i'm not put off by this because i have nothing to hide and i will speak about anything if i so choose to do so, however, this series of word exchange begs me to ask the question:

"aye, spiffy lady, what do you wish to know?"

i have no problem explaing things to anyone, especially strangers, but i wonder what line of questioning and what style of debating i'm getting "little ole' me" into. we shall see, we shall see.

#5. i have this urge, desire, want, need...if you will...to tease the shit out of someone with EXTREME prejudice. i'm talking leaving them tied to a chair while i bite, scratch, lick, suck and fiddle with that delicate bag they call their skin. afterwards, i will leave them tied to the chair and wonder off to strong drinks and blissful laughter.

well, i guess that about sums up my semi-regular update, for now.

Lovies You,

Dax