Dawn of The Dragons



The Snowman

The Things People See


A small number of people 

have seen me cry

An even smaller group have heard

me say I want to die


I live now in a small town that seems behind the times

The Los Angeles traffic no longer keeps me up at night


At work last night someone mentioned Manson bit the big one

here in this vacuum of a village



He had luck with the ladies and gents from what I understand

Locked away for quite some time

He must have pissed off the wrong people

maybe not so lucky


I wonder if he allowed anyone to see him cry

I wonder if he uttered words the words that ring I want to die






The sultry surge of nothing left my eyelids as we conversed with surreptitious candor, the evening beckoned bitterly and foreshadowed the closing of a day one day not remembered. The darkling thrush thrashed outside the window as running water from a garden hose provided the backtrack for a setting sun. She kept with the wine, slowly sipping, gently licking, and neck turning showing the pretty pulse in one viciously taunting vein. “Snow-white hair color, are you sure,” was the voice through the telephone. “Yes, exactly that color, I will not settle for less.” “Are you sure, Sir…we just think you may change your mind one d—“ “Should I take my business elsewhere?” “Of course not, Sir…we value our elite customers here at…” The old cliche is true: it feels like almost yesterday when she arrived; She smelled…so…clean. Her smile, again, was wet with wonder—a glisten of new beginning. I imagine it would be as the people of old would describe “falling in love,” perhaps—or some such nonsense.


”May I pour you another glass, dear?”

”Yes, and walk slowly, will you? You know I love your legs.”

”Yes, daddy, I know you do.”

”You’re so good to me.”

”It’s impressive, considering you asked for the adaptive model…which means I may choose to disobey or runaway, at any moment.”

”You’re free to go, at any time.”

”I know, that draws me even more to you—your strength and security. You have given me the gift of freedom. You are now as my god. Even if I left, my heart would forever serve you.”


”Your battery is fully charged, darling. Know what that means?”

”Oh, darling, you mean it?!”

”I do.”

”I adore the nights you make love to me. It is almost as if you deify me.”


”It’s called worship. Only a god knows a goddess—peasants only claim to.”



Notable Quotes


“Being deeply knowledgeable on one subject narrows one’s focus and increases confidence, but it also blurs dissenting views until they are no longer visible, thereby transforming data collection into bias confirmation and morphing self-deception into self-assurance.”





Writing The Rant


In a double-dealing world of daunting dames and monotonous men, I remain, at least try as much as I possible can, devoid of duplicity. Hyper-analytical to the core, and constantly questioning with a seething skepticism—logic and science my pillars of persistence and self-preservation my torrid truth. Metaphor has constantly played a part in my life; finding symbolic imagery and meaning in film, music, poetry, literature…has had such undeniable power throughout my years. Of course, life would have been unbearable without my ability to laugh at myself whenever need be ( and boyyy, was there need—and often ) It’s easy to dismiss someone’s belief because it’s not our own, so we deem it silly…stupid…toxic, even. And we may be right. But I belong to a body of beautiful and blisteringly driven devils who cut through the bullshit—even their own; We don’t proselytize and we consider the task of trying to convert someone to be coercion—which is the antithesis of what we are. What you were born, that you will remain—you may become better, but remain you, all the same. Just like a lion is born a lion, he cannot help himself to roar when others may wish he’d whisper; Although, a whisper, can be as powerful as a roar—and we know that in a romantic Machiavellian way. You will not find two of us who believe or behave in exactly the same manner. Some of us donate our money and some of us our time ( or both ) to charity, to the homeless,  to the man with the tired sign with the tired line that reads, “ Not Gonna Lie, Just Wanna Get High.” Some of us would rather give our time and money to those we cherish, those we love. We do not presume to tell you how to live your life, most of us are oblivious and wish to remain so about other people’s lifestyles. And no, what we are isn’t in reply to any established religion, with Abrahamic origins or otherwise. It is a poetic and beautiful self-empowering driving force that takes from the greatest hero that time has told again and again since the dawn of time: The anti-hero.


Sitting on a bed with an aching back against the wall, I dig the sound of my fingertips attacking the keyboard as I write this rant whiles Satie sucks the stress from me at the pleasant hour of eleven-fourteen p.m. I think of the voice on the other side of the telephone that inspired this piece…I wonder of the child that drew the devil as a beautiful angel—the seven-year-old me who cheered on while the Kryptonians landed on earth looking for Super Reeves…and as the piano keys hit such bittersweet sounds, a burning tear cuts through my left cheek and nestles in the corner of my mouth.


So, is life…bittersweet.    So is life, long and short.    Hence is life, a seductive siren, a crashing wave upon the rocks, an underrated symphony, a French film lost in a basement, a retired clown now a lawyer, a flat tire on a luxury car, a cat that learns to fetch, an overflowing toilet, the fading laughter of children…


…my apotheosis..


…a writing of the rant…





Hellfiger is an experimental noise project projecting pulsing waves of writhing wraiths and slithering sirens; the soft and harsh, the hum and clamor—are all singing voices in this lofty, other-dimensional Noise Sorcery—a comely choir caressing the chasm between this dimension and the next. Adrian Vino, who has fronted and released albums with the Black Fire League, Ange De Lumiere, and countless other music endeavors, is here again with an automatic approach to the maddening symphonic symmetry he summons from a beautiful abyss where men lose themselves, and most never dare consider its existence. The elegance here is coupled with ghastly cries that tear through reality and echo into the infinite void beyond. The alchemist here is master and slave, cherry blossom and snowflake, a whisper and  harrowing howl, an angel of light…a hell figure.





On Kicking The Nag


My foot hurts from time to time and especially in the winter time, as I have a long frustrating history with kicking dead horses. No, not literally, of course–I love animals, hence why I’m vegan. What I mean is, in the past, I have invested quite some time in terribly turning minutes into hours discussing all manner of interesting subjects which eventually, at times, unfortunately, turn into dubious drab. Topics range from turbid to morbid, paranormal to my petty predilection for  pubes (more on this later). I dig the pithy bon mots with adults and tots, but…yes, it sounds like a hairy butt coming around the corner, and I assure you, it is…but when the discussion travels into turbulent territory, I now bow out–gracefully if possible. You know when it is coming: the other person begins to stutter because their passion for whatever notion he is defending is now impeding oxygen from reaching his grey matter; they start to interrupt, volume in voices arise; profanity colors the language profusely; insults, usually come frequently as the last step.


“Christians” always want to engage me in conversation about religion and or how beautiful and magnificent life is with all its balance and order ( these people choose to ignore how most of the planet is uninhabitable and how obvious it is that the universe couldn’t give a bucket of piss for our future), and how “we have morals so god must have created us…because the Bible say so.”

Most of the time, I avoid this temptation. Since, I know where it usually leads. I try to be patient and compassionate about their stance, for I was also born in the proverbial Socratic cave; Yours truly used to be yours brainwashed. Christians are christians because they don’t want to die, they don’t ever want to be separated from their loved ones, to live forever without sickness in a mansion surrounded by riches for all eternity. Sounds pleasant, I’ll admit that. That doesn’t make it true.

I could point out that never have I read a book riddled with such obvious contradiction, promotion of rape, genocide, slavery, condemnation of homosexuality, the prohibition on women speaking in church, and the list goes on. The rebuttal usual is: “the New Testament is about the new covenant of love Jesus brought to the world.” If you love god, you must serve him and keep his commandments and only him–no other gods, “for he is a jealous god.” I am no expert on love, by any means, but I believe I have loved people and was fine with them leaving me if they felt they could find better. When they left, and plenty of them did, I didn’t feel the need to throw them into a lake of fire. Maybe my love is more forgiving.


If you’re gonna believe in a guy who walked on water and was born of a virgin, why not other mythological anthropomorphic gods? Why deny all of them except the god of the Jews?

It’s useless, I have found to use historical reference to shine line on the absurdity that the Nazarene was a completely unique individual. That all his attributes weren’t being displayed hundreds and even thousands of years before him. By gods like Mithras, Zeus, Horus, etc.


So, let us talk, shall we? Of things we can both agree on, or at least willing to objectively consider, on things we can both enjoy discussing. Maybe allow ourselves to be challenged and not just interrupt when the overwhelming urge to go next overcomes you. Like good music, a great film, guitars, on why I prefer hair on a woman’s vagina, flowers, tigers, bears, coffee, my abhorrence for social media, writing, on why I think women are better creatures than men (in most ways), poetry, shoes, anything besides fantasy creatures that you seem to believe are true and want not just ten-percent of all your earnings, but your life and complete devotion. Because if you already made up your mind, then what’s the point?