MySpace a place for friends

For right now, placing too many comments on your page is my detoxification and I thank you for your open spirit and acknowledgement of seasonal change. Vampires are not immortal; they do however live and can kill for centuries. Many learn to live with the taste of livestock on their pallet but a select few consider this crass. These sophisticated, of higher echelon, are the focus for my crew and they do truly fear us. We also fear them but killing the already dead is a science, and they are the subject of our task and apparatus. As in all things, there is a line that is crossed that will bring us to them and as I said, most enjoy fitting in with real life until it is time to move on and establish an entirely new life far away from their now aged choice of living human partner. They love and toil and breath among us but a select few must homicide and those are the dangerous offenders that deserve special attention. The rest we respect and watch for changes.

To all my blood thirsty prudent friends who know their limitations, I enjoy your old souls. To all those who feel the extra lift and energy from ill gotten fluids, sleep with one eye open because we are full blown artistic scientists who pound chiseled knot and hold steadfast to faiths that believe ‘good always triumphs over evil’.   

The night is set to seed and all the grounds water is turning to zombie. Dirt sucked dry of its decay and mineral churn, and that smell has proven to be the top soil popping all around. Turf tossed graves, layered, peeled back now animated flesh. Hanging mist and pitch black cat both arch and point upward. Fierce forced and labored groaning breaths now climb to retched deathlike moans. On now bursting grave sight I must work fast. What truly surprises me are the number of unmarked graves that are now rendering equal and abrupt springs of terror. And this is only my back yard. What kind of army must be coming from the ancient cemetery across the road?

I love art. I like to tell myself music is art, which it is, but I like to subcategorize it with other art, which you can, on paper. A painting can subject you to such a spectrum of thought and conjecture that you fall back in time. Music is that with a pulse. Music is so fundamentally ubiquitous that it can be seen in my eye as a subsidiary of no other thing. There is almost art and music but my mind must fold all acts of life, art and music into one. Otherwise where do you put life? Life is art and music, and all the other wonderful art that we don’t seem to refer to as art is easily called, and all the music we hear every day, while not knowing it is music, is music. The sound of a machine, the call of an unseen bird, the voice of a lover, these are the future songs we hear. The rhythm found in a perfect photograph, the abstract performance that leaves you vexed for days, and the nape of a neck that mysteriously presents itself in many an artist’s render. These are all art…It’s all a redeemed equation at the end of a very unscientific and convoluted balancing act between souls and their hopes and dreams. Life and death renders while we are here. We all produce everyday these things even when thinking of not. thank you for your friendship.