This blog now has 536 'Followers'. I'm really grateful for that. Thank you, folks!
I started this blog to share the things I love -- movies, books, music, illustration, graphics, painting, and people whose take on the world is somewhat unique. Like AIDS, I like infecting humans with stuff they won't be able to shake so easily.
I'm not quite sure how often a 'Follower' of this blog drops in, but, since I'm a 'Follower' of a stack of blogs myself, I figure no answer to that question is going to fit all.
I'm pleasantly surprised that I have a mix of male and female readers because, traditionally, much of the content I post has been considered male-oriented. It gives me optimism to see women (and men, of course, my 'Followers', not approaching pornographic material from a position of offended hysteria. Despite the truth that I derive some sexual stimulation from some of the sexual material I post, my primary reason for posting it is that I believe it has serious artistic merit. I believe that it deserves consideration, or debate, and I certainly believe that it contributes to a better understanding of our darkest, deepest selves.
It is the deep, dark self that I am most fascinated with. Since you're a casual reader and/or a 'Follower' of the blog, I'll confidently assume that you're also interested in the deep, dark self.
From childhood, our deep, dark self is a friend and an enemy. It gives us comfort, satisfaction, and euphoria, like a drug, but it also isolates us from others, and when you're living in a world that is working hard to bump you onto the grid, the isolation can be painful.
I started to like horror and the bizarre because it took the edge off my loneliness. It felt like a friend who'd somehow avoided the grid. It didn't attempt to lure me with lies and empty rhetoric, and it didn't molest me while smothering me with kisses. Horror movies, bizarre images, books of the
fantastique, literature of dubious parentage, and what my parents called
weird stuff, got me through the long night of childhood. These treasures were a warm hand to cling to, a suggestion that my life didn't have to be a carbon copy of lives endured by others. I had choices. I'd have to fight for them like a fucking pit bull, sure, and nothing would last, but at least there was something else on the horizon.
I hope this blog is a reliable haven of pulp for you, an organic forum for material that gets dismissed elsewhere, totally ignored, or stripped of its worth by mass media with big agendas. I hope it's also a place of truth, where you can proclaim your love for the most marginalized of diamonds, or your disgust for that which all others love.
Thank you for deeming this humble gallery of a thousand voices worthy of your time.
For reasons I can't explain, I feel obliged to provide metaphorical shelter to the cultural miscreant in you, and I take my obligations seriously.
So, be yourself while you still have time, and fuck the rest sideways.
"There's nothing to mourn about death any more than there is to mourn about the growing of a flower. What is terrible is not death but the lives people live or don't live up until their death. They don't honor their own lives, they piss on their lives. They shit them away. Dumb fuckers. They concentrate too much on fucking, movies, money, family, fucking. Their minds are full of cotton. They swallow God without thinking, they swallow country without thinking. Soon they forget how to think, they let others think for them. Their brains are stuffed with cotton. They look ugly, they talk ugly, they walk ugly. Play them the great music of the centuries and they can't hear it. Most people's deaths are a sham. There's nothing left to die."
--Charles Bukowski
The Captain Is Out to Lunch and the Sailors Have Taken Over the Ship, 1998
