Blasphemy! made manifest (spyre) wrote,
Blasphemy! made manifest
spyre

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Introducing Charlotte... The Fucking Kamakaze RockSuperstar AKA Bitter Bitch

I am plagued by that ruddy little mental toe sock known as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and I over-analyze every given situation. Any person that speaks to me more than once has knowledge of this because it is most evident. My ability to seperate myself from any given situation and observe every angle and possibilty gives me exemption from the upcoming reprimandation. So allow me to take a moment to assume the position of an elitist (Matt, Arnie, you guys truly are rubbing off on me!) and get my patronizing stick ready. I was going to rant about the tummy disrupting shananagans of boys, but you're all in luck, for there will be no discrimination displayed in this journal today, due to the fact that currently both genders are making me ill!
>Girls<
Piffling away about absolutely zip and neglecting to take a moment to listen to the drivel spouting fourth from their quivering gobs... Like pez dispensers with their noxious buss diherrea. I mean, fuck, not once in the last six months have i held a conversation with a female (Excluding a select... two: Veronica and Sandy) that wasn't pertaining to bad hair days, celebrity obsessions, or smudged lipstick. The overpopulation of valley girls is daunting. They can manipulate and do it well. While I believe that manipulation in itself is a nefarious deed, there are those that practically invite others to psycholically ream them and therefore deserve it. Before anyone starts in with the fingerpointing and accusations of me frequently playing doormat, I shall reiterate that my oogy powers of circumspection hoodoo gives me a leg up on most, i can eaily place myself in someone else's boots which results in Amanda being overcome with empathy and, in turn, gives people a great deal of leeway- oftentimes too much.

>Guys<
Jesus H tapdancing christ... (Someone tell me what the fucking H stands for, eh? Humbert? Harlold?) I have never encountered so many male drama queens in my life. I'm talking about boys, twenty-somethings who've balls have yet to drop, boys, who chortle at the destruction of the dreams of young girls, boys, that whine and pout when they don't have a shiny new toy to bend and deface and brake, boys, that broadcast all the disqusting details of their relationships both long term and short. The whole world is not privy to your fuck buddie's personal buisness. Boys. Fall off the planet, all of you.

In other news, new projects are beginning and i couldn't be more thrilled. The formution of a brandspanking new band is in the works involving Sandor of Electrophile and Saint Christopher. The thought of performing again excites me. It's so exciting i could...pee. But I won't. Be afraid. I'm also designing logo previews for Sandor's band.. My copious desire to create has left me floored. I haven't been this inspired in a great while.
My father had open- heart surgery recently. There is plenty of bad blood between the two of us but i believe that the possibility of death thing trumps all of that. Hes bleeding out... Such morbid painting envisionments. My father and I share the same cardiovascular defects... Murmers and palpatations... Identical stichings and bruises. (Metephorically speaking) Will it soon be my turn on the operating table?

Fuck it. I need something sugar-coated.
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