Take advice from fuckups.they're the only ones that can tell you about the bottom & how to avoid it


Thursday, March 18, 2010

Dans Macabre...My Prom

I wish so badly that personifications of death were real. Whether they be cartoonish cloaked figues in makeup or characterized by a man soaked in deadly handsomeness, perched upon something lying in wait to take me. I know I'm fucked up. Who flicks their bean while thinking about the sucking the grim reaper's cock? I do. Well, not exactly THE grim reaper, but an aging worldly man in expensive clothes. His voice would be soft, yet his words would be sharp. He would be feared by others and have an aura of foreboding creepiness that would draw dark souls to him. He would communicate with cocky smirks and lure me into submission with silence. The type of men that come to mind if were able to cast this character are very specific. Some of them are characters themselves. David Bowie, Peter Murphy, Trent Reznor, Scott Walker...so what am I saying? Is death a fucking rock star? A luridly self-obsessed god of the phallus? I'm such a woman... I guess it comes down to the idea of women being attracted to power. What other than the power to take life could be as ultimately glamourous and consuming?

Christopher Walken

Der Mude Tod

The Seventh Seal

Mr. Brink

WARNING: This will fucking scare you.

1 comment:

  1. I thought this was sexy somehow. A bit different, but all good sex is.