Music and smartasses

   Been away for too long, I know. But I'm back with more mental vomit, which I now chose to spill here, since they would be way too long for a Facebook update. Now I know some would ask 'Why the need to spill it?' Because I feel like it. Problem? Yeah, didn't think so! At least I do it on MY page, my blog and don't spam others' virtual space.
   Plus why not question things, make others question them and maybe improve them? 
This is about music and all the 'wars' I see all over. All the bullshit, basically. I do NOT see the point in debating music. Apart from the fact that useless arguments will NEVER get to a conclusion because of the opinions and tastes that differ so it's no reason to even start them, I really think people should lighten the fuck up. I always thought people should focus much more on what they have in common and what they enjoy, instead of their differences and what they hate, spitting venom all over. Cooperating would lead to much more, but heck, some can't seem to grasp that. What I can't understand is: WHY compare music, compare bands, compare old with new, taking the role of deciding what is 'true enough'? Didn't it ever occur to you that you could enjoy a wide variety of things, instead of wanting to be smarter than everyone else and analyzing them? If I like metal, I can like punk just as much, and also industrial, even the '90s hits. I adore 'Kill 'em All' but also like 'St. Anger' a lot. I can listen to both oldschool heavy metal and black metal. 'This sucks, that sucks, that's a poser, XY is way better' etc. Why not just take various things as they are and enjoy them for what they are, or simply dismiss them without bitching? What point is there in picking on people for what they like or what they don't?? If you can answer that with something legit, you're probably a genius and I'll go hide in a corner. For instance I don't like powermetal and I think it's a silly subgenre, but I won't go bashing others for listening to it.  
   PEOPLE SHOULD LISTEN TO WHATEVER THE HELL MOVES THEIR INNER WORLD. Music is art, you can either relate to it or ignore it, of course having an opinion is always good, but wasting time and energy on something you could just ignore or avoid is ridiculous. If you can't relate to something, leave it for others. Why bother analyzing it to infinity and trying to convince people who like it that it sucks?
   All so pointless, just loosen up and enjoy the music and your lifestyle. As a friend was saying, people in the alternative subculture should be much more united, no matter what they listen to.

B.

The once sharp, shiny, immaculate toy was enjoying it's own peril on my already candycane-like veins. I was just in the process of rewarding it for the pleasant pain it brought me over the years, by giving the rust some fresh bright red flowing, luscious beauty, in the intimacy of my lair, when a weird sound made it's intriguing debut infront of the chamber. Nobody ever comes here. Someone was singing, the voice seemed to be based on purity and innocence. It was followed by a shy knock on the door. But the door was invisible...my cave had no door. Still, it was there. I always felt a barrier between myself and the world; in there I was the darkness, the rest of the world was the light. The entrance to the cave was a portal, it was that radical transition - for me into their world and from their world into mine. But they never wanted to enter my world, because it was unknown to them, they prefered not to know about it and ignore it. Occasionally revolt against it, if ever - in the best case. I never really entered their world either because of the opposite reason - I knew it too well. It was repulsive.
I only went out there to kill. Their crowded world of light was much bigger than mine, it felt right to compensate, create a hint of balance between my life and theirs, by reducing their number and taking some of their light with me. If they won't give it willingly, I'll take it...no matter how hard I tried, I could never feel sorry for the larva that was incapable of evolving into a damn butterfly. 
The knocking persisted, but looking at the invisible and probably inexistent door, you still couldn't see through it,  couldn't even get the wildest idea of what awaits on the other side. In a weird way, the constant layout was always there: the huge stones, pebbles, sand and the dry little dwarftree on the left.
'Come in.'
A small, disproportioned figure appeared in the doorway, slightly distorted by he conteur of light from outside behind it, as she entered my own personal hell. 'It' approached with careful steps, the candlelight slowly revealing her gruesome features. It was a little girl, that would hardly ever be called or treated as such in the evil world of light. One step closer and she stopped. Stood still, staring with her immense eyes. At first, they seemed empty with resignation, but were telling thousands and thousands of stories. While trying to read through them, it got too loud in my head. All the voices exploded at once in a chaotic contest, taking their chance of liberation, all of them emitting different tones, in the predominant shades of sadness, anger, and a wild kind of sadistic joy. Besides being too loud, her eyes were also bloodred, embroided with tiny orange veins. She had no pupils, her eyes consisted of the overly expanded red iris. The look she gave was not at all a warm one....but a hot one. The exaggerated redness of them burned you down to ashes that she would eat for dessert. She fed on your misery and would top off her joy by consuming the dust she turned you into. Savouring it. Her hair was messy on one side, and with just a few sleek strands on the other side. The messy side was red and the other one, gray. She had no teeth, she was drooling acid. Her body was still soaked in amniotic fluid and the skin looked sheer and fragile. Veins everywhere, competing with her palor. Her hands were tiny, but she could destroy everything she touched, whenever she wanted. Her umbilical cord was hanging on her stomach, and she had a bad habbit of chewing on it. Sort of like a reflex. Her name was B. She would make everybody pay for everything.
Not me. She came to me for comfort. She needed someone she won't fear, someone that won't fear her and push her away. Someone that won't hurt her in any way, like most of them maggots did. That's why she would get her revenge, it was not her fault...it was their own fault. They turned her into an abomination, the perfect world of light aborted her, never gave her a chance before dismissing her. Never gave her anything. She made her own paperboat and would play with it down below, in the gutter. She had papercuts, and a pet. A ragged lilac mouse with one yellow tooth called Dax. Dax was afraid of my dragons, but they were trained. They would only hurt someone on my command, I'd sometimes command them to hurt me...I enjoyed it. Their skin was rough and scaled, huge brown worn-out claws, sharp teeth and they always had to duck while inside the cave, because they were too tall to fit in it otherwise. There was ten of them, each one had countless little heads with myriads of white eyes piercing through the black air. As we just stood there looking at eachother, the uncomfortable silence got interrupted by a high pitch yell, then there was my monkey friend hanging down the ceiling, agitated. I would usually talk to it for hours, but now I was nervous enough, too nervous. I told my dragons to eat it and they did...
B. was oblivious. She layed down on the stone cold ground. After a minute, she crawled to the innermost corner of that room and after a long, painful reflection, she started telling me her story...

Inhale, exhale, think

   Houston, we have a problem...recently, whenever I actually start writing, I feel blank. All my thoughts and links between them come to the surface right before falling asleep, in the dark, when my mind starts to settle. There are so many of these, so many different topics I see from so many different angles...childhood, corruption and hypocrisy in our society and leadership, sexuality, art, deeper things of all sorts...preoccupations. One thing that bothers me, as I've probably mentioned before, is that my thoughts move much faster than my pen/fingers/words ever will...I feel like a lot of things of which I'd wish to express are going to waste. And I think the worst thing for an art-oriented person (regardless if painter, writer, musician, actor etc.) is being trapped and oppressed. I guess that is mainly because it feels like creation and thus, evolution is our duty, our thing. Some of us want to make a change in the world, grow new branches of logic and perspective, make others question things and feed their imagination, extend limits. And not being able to express all you have inside, in the best possible way and in the most satisfying way for yourself, is the ultimate frustration.
   
   There was this thought for example...about artists. When being what society calls 'normal' and conforming to the simple-minded dull majority, everything is peachy and you might actually be treated like a person. Whereas, in the moment you display your art to people, you will scare most of them, pretty often close ones, relatives. If you have a mind that works for itself, questioning things and having multiple perspective will have you make a lot of connections between a lot of things  and ideas, the more you think about them, the further you'll get with your 'web of thoughts', well, your philosophy. And the further you extend your mental capacities and comprehension, the more likely you'll inevitably reach darker areas of the human as a creature. It's like being in a computer game (not that I know much about them) and having a map in front of you; the more you explore, the more you will know (experience -mentally), from mountain tops to bottomless pits so to say. And I myself am fascinated by this darker part...mostly because they are realms not everyone will reach. Or I am sure the majority won't, because instead of showing interest to the unknown and hidden, they take the easy way out, which is fear and ignorance. But as that was never an option for me, I prefer to know and understand, even help. The more kinds of people you actually listen to regardless of how fucked up their problems are and you don't automatically push them away due to these problems like most people will, the more you'll find out about the depth of your own being and it will enrich that web of thoughts.
   So! Once you've got to grasp this darker side which is more obscure and christians would say - sinful, it is actually the most pure and honest side. This is that side that exists in all of us, the freak within, which most people don't let to the surface because of herd conformity, and we who do let it also hold back some of it for ourselves. It is that place where all your evil dwells in a amniotic flui called lack of hypocrisy. I wish more people would let this fluid flood them, bringing along waves of their hidden freakishness, bringing it to the surface of their being. But I'm afraid that is too rare. Once this side takes you over, it will bring out the best in you, in some way. Artists have their art as an outlet for this side of theirs in different ways. Some prefer this to be 'dark and twisted' as some would call it...I do prefer it. And all this is made even darker and more agressive, sad, resigned yet rebel by the stupidity around that is one major frustration, something I will never accept, much less adapt to! So if I write or paint something 'outrageous, gross or scary' (no, they don't bother interpreting or looking for a deeper meaning), the same people who see me being all nice and sweet at family reunions for example, smiling at me and approving of me, will look at me with fear and repulsion once they see what I am capable of. I think in that moment they feel like they've just realized they didn't really, really know me. They have seen an unknown side...and as said above - unkown = fear and repulsion. And so, they will end up questioning themselves about me, instead of questioning me directly and listening to me=> they will only see exactly what they want to see. 
   People should really learn to listen to another voice except their own, the voice of whom they are about to judge. Otherwise, they will rot in their little coccoon, tossing and turning in their ignorance forever and ever...