On the subject of body modification:
It’s my belief that we all posses within ourselves our own God, our own Devil, and the hosts of angels and demons that come along with them. Our bodies are our temples. As such, they ought to be decorated accordingly! Is it true that I, personally, find certain body mods more aesthetically pleasing than others? Yah, definitely. I think that people should feel free to decorate their temples as they see fit.
However, I’d be a lying sack of shit if I didn’t say that there are some deal breakers. For instance: the split penis. Sorry, but nope. No ma’am. It’s not my bag o’ chips WHATsoever. Personally, I don’t think the sub-dermal mods, (horns, bumps, etc…) are attractive, either. I think they’re neat as hell and applaud the folks that are into that for their dedication to the pursuit of an aesthetic, it’s just not for me.
A movie that scared me as a kid and still scares me is The Exorcist. Also, John Carpenter’s Prince of Darkness still gives me the chills a little bit. Sadly, it’s very out of fashion to get into the visceral nature of horror, to let THE IDEA be the scare and not buckets of blood, gore, and lightly masked torture porn be the scare. The two movies I listed above deal specifically with a complete loss of control on not only a physical level, but also on a metaphysical one. The idea that pure evil is a thing that exists petrified me as a child, and the amazing visual sides of those two movies freaked me out, too. When I revisit them as an adult, the idea that pure evil exists AND can toss aside all rational thought, action, spirit, mind, body, and sex frightens me to my core. As humans, we live for control, even as sure as the loss of it that comes with old age is. We cling to our ideals, our precious morals… but it’s all just piss in the wind to the darker sides of ourselves. See, even as a kid I never thought of “the devil” as some eternal foe or force. I recognized that characterization as humans grappling with their own internal chaos. Weird, huh? Now that I’m an adult, with all of the bullshit certainty that adulthood entails, the loss of that internal struggle scares the shit out of me. Nothing scares me more than the thought of not having any say in my thoughts or actions, essentially going crazy. That’s frightening shit, man. I’ve seen insanity up close and personal and it’s not cute, it’s not something to romanticize, it’s absolutely fucking harrowing. *shuddering at memories*.
Ok, lets move on to a more pleasant topic, hehe. Docking.
FUCK YEAH I’VE DOCKED! It’s hot as fuuuuuuuuuuck. We got off together while we were still… Ummmm… *cough…. “together”, and it was one of the most strangely pleasurable sensations I’ve ever experienced. I wish me n’ Travis could dock, and i’ma keep on trying but man… His dick just too bomb. He’s got a bearfilms cockhead, and i’ma have to be having one of those super Stretch Armstrong kinda’ days to pull it off properly, I think.
My creative process is rather haphazard, so I’m probably not the best person to ask about this. However, if I’m “blocked”, I just keep it moving. I’m a workaholic and feel useless and empty if I’m not creating something. If ideas aren’t immediately forthcoming, then I’ll chill for a sec and move on to something else. What usually helps me to unclog is to focus on “the bitch work” side of another song, tweaking the production, playing with the eq until I’m happy, or just reviewing what I’ve already done until I start to hear what comes next. I find that straight up WORK helps to kind of clear out the static. After a couple of hours of doing something mundane and menial, and maybe after smoking a couple of bowls, ideas start flowing so fast they’re hard to keep up with.
Every artist is different, some people prefer to agonize for years over the nuances of a song or whatever. Me? I ain’t got time for that shit. I feel too much, I have too much to say, whether it be instrumentally or through singing. Getting blocked is something I don’t suffer from too much because music is my first language. It’s just how I communicate. I should probably think a lot more about what I’m saying, but if I did that, I’d feel like the work wouldn’t be as honest.
I know that my “cool” factor suffers a lot because I don’t question the work enough, probably. However, I’m not in this to be “cool”. I’m in this because I don’t have any other choice. Without music, I’m nothing, nobody. If blocks come, it’s because I’ve forgotten how to surrender, not because I don’t have anything to say. If any artist claims to “own” their work, then nine times out of ten, you can almost guarantee that their work is terribly dull and shallow. If you’re feeling blocked, turn on the mic, and just start making noise. The muse will either speak through you or it won’t. We don’t get to just turn it on or off, the key is to pick up the fucking phone when the muse calls, whether it’s convenient or not, in fact. ESPECIALLY when it’s inconvenient. I feel like I owe it to whatever force it is that compels me to create to not question it, to just trust it and follow it’s lead, no matter how uncomfortable a truth it may be trying to speak in that moment.
This is how I don’t get blocked. I step out of the muse’s way.
I’m sorry this answer is so fucking scatterbrained. Hehe.
Big hugs, Wayne! Muah.
UUUUNF this question!
I’m not gonna’ put these in any particular order coz’ that’s not how Roxy works… Any of these could hit me at different times and be my favorite for THAT particular moment soooo….
- In every dream home, a heartache
- More than this
- The Strand (of course… I mean, c’mon!)
- Dance away
It’s really hard to pin it down to just 5 songs, because when it comes to Roxy, or just Bryan Ferry in general, I love it all. There’s such an attention to detail, and it’s one of the few times that pure art and “the groove” can come together and not sound forced. What can I say? I’m a fanboy.
1) D’Angelo - How Does it Feel?
2) Raining Blood - Slayer
3) Heaven Torn Asunder - Cradle of Filth
4) Gone! - The Cure
Soft, red velvet brushes against your thick fingers
Slide your hands to the hips of the room
Laying in wait
Dreaming an impossible dream
Gasping and grasping at the air
Where you should be
Where should you be?
Here, and now
Your lips and teeth at my neck
Your nails dragging before finding purchase
Digging in, they break the surface
A crimson string becomes the cord
That binds us together
Wrapping around my pale alabaster
Tying me to the dark disasters
That stole so much from you
Let me be a burning light in your head, your chest, your hands and further south
Through this sweet violence
We are healed
Time slows until it congeals
Like the beads of sweat that grace your brow
Combining with mine as I hear you growl
Pull me in tighter
Your legs wrapping around mine to hold them in place
Pushing me into the mattress
Here, there is no disgrace
The air becomes dense, thick, and heavy between our clashing continents
You slowly drift between my tectonic plates
Grinding your passage, your passion, your pain away
I cry out, and you silence me
Sliding your fingers into my mouth
I kiss them, wetting them with my tongue
Before I guide them down and show you how
To make me cum
And after flesh and bone has been sated
And all thirst has been quenched
We fall asleep, still entwined
The echoes of our sin sweetening the silence
Your face, encased in thick, dark hair and a beard, is buried in between my shoulders
My body, hidden by your embrace
Already misses what it’s never had.