A lof of fucking money...

My mother was a witch....she was burned aliiiiive....
Nah just kidding...
Fuck Diamondhead....fuck em.

Anyway... this song is called....

*Imitating George"CG"Fisher* A looooot of fuckiiiiing moneeeeeeyyyyyy
*High hat marks 3 tsh tsh tsh*

Bllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarghhhh

(Yes, i'm aware this would be impossible as a song...but i don't careeeee lalalala)

I was raised mostly by women...i'd like to say in some sort of amazon village...
although it did seem like that, i was trained from a very young age to be overloved, overcared for, overquestioning. Why dad was always away...why he was so selfish he couldn't just show up, one day...he dissapeared altogether, making the ocassionaly random appearance every 10,000 days.

So i was mostly raised by raging amazons, theater women, insane women, hysterical women, i was knee deep in the raging storm of emotions of a estrogen tornado. Ever constant, ever haywire...
I was abandonded by a sad little man, and embraced by females...taught to love and to fight at the same time...

So yeah, make fun, i feel like a girl feels, though i'm sincerely dirty at heart...i know a toss up. But everything in my life is a mixture... One voice talks about big bussiness and stability and making $$$$ ...and the other one speaks of her years in art and how crazy and fulfilling it has been...

One seems emotionally dettached whilst the other seems emotionally focused...one shows love through actions...and the other shows love through not doing much except a lot of complaining, a lot of fear for the future, constant prophecies of financial ruin and $$$ , and of course, remaining numb and oblivious...

You could say i've described an absent father and a loving yet at times, psychotic, mother.
Always keeping in mind all my aunts, my mom's dancer friends...and just a bunch of estrogen...always...voicing an opinion above my little head, always looking up...not understanding it all...but capturing most of it.

Taught that abandonment is abandonment...no matter how many times they show up with fake plastic smiles, i always see the big A of abandon hanging like a 200 ton crucifix from naked necks. This is a psychological flaw i've had to deal with, a trigger, a mechanism...

For me, personally, it's a big wall to climb over. Since it's hard wired right down to the vaults of my psyche.

It's also a complete mystery why i started writing in the first place...i started at age 12...but then again, i started playing movies in my head at 5...walking barefoot in the backyard for hours...making strange noises to describe exactly what was going on in my head....

My perfect version of a cartoon, a videogame, a book, an exceedingly well written story...
I started imagining things...without writing them down...just movies i played in my mind...
what i actually wrote about was ....shit, and it all rhymed at first...it came naturally, but it was shitty shitty shitty...

It eventually got better...and better...and better...

I still have no idea...why i started writing in the first place...it must be something innate. Something i developed in my quietness, i was withdrawn by nature, i didn't speak i just made a lot of expressions with my face, and hand gestures, no words ...All i know is...i captured all these odd frequencies... and they came out in the strangest manners.

I played the Epica storyline for years (something in my head) . Epica was something i made...a 3 part story... It eventually died off. It evolved and grew and i changed the plot a thousand times...though i always remembered it...until i made it so complex...it was impossible to remember... I think some of my oldest friends remember because i would gather them and tell them the story...and tell them we'd be famous if we all became videogame makers...programmers...and shit...like the guys from Squaresoft, Nobuo and the other japanese guy.

This would all be a mess...nixed out by the coming of age, sex, alcohol, the increasingly difficult challenges, working, living in hell whilst having an obviously advanced mentality...which i have to conceal... so that people don't think i'm ...weird...or anything like that.
However, with so much interference and static...
thus, would render such a heavy duty mind asunder...
specially with the coming of heartbreak...dissilussion, and sad shit, of that nature.

Luckily there's something odd within me, i recently started calling him "The king crab", i call him, otherwise known as Charlie, i pay him overtime to look within and keep stuff clean, everything in it's right place...
Painfully enough Charlie has swallowed up all the love i've been given over the past few years...making him completely drugged up at times... he has consumed the intense beauty i've been exposed to so that his insides resemble nothing short of Valhalla. Charlie is sort of the "me" i associated with writing...

An infinite dreamer...i really connect with him in ways through physical bliss....
not to render your minds (whomever is reading) into complete perversion
but not all of it is of a "sexual" nature...also exercising...and the ocassional meditation.
singing...

Charlie does all that for me, Charlie is sort of like a girl, in the sweetest sense of the word...he's not a fag, since he does LOVE the sight of femenine beauty, he's not really one of your standard metrosexual boys either...

he's just...Charlie...

Kind of young at heart...an addict of niceness...and beauty (all kinds, but mostly internal)
I kind of hate it at times, when he gets so excited, and i know there's not that much to be excited about...He's mainly my storywriter...


I was mistaken when i labeled Charlie de la vie as having been the DeathRam Flame of Hades known as Charles de La Morte...i was so wrong...

De la Morte exists within me too...the greatly vicious snake, lord maggot king.
Satan, if you will. It's just that i keep the bastard quiet long enough...

But Charlie, regardless of his good-guy persona, has a particularly healthy friendship with Charles...

I,personally, do not understand Charles... i fear him, rather.

It is my opinion that Charlie is a moron for even trying to speak or negotiate with the Maggot king... he has no idea what he's getting himself into...
i would describe it as a hero trying to play hero with the herokiller.

You could say that Charles is responsible for my intense love for the heavy shit...he's the voice of darkness ...that emerges from my heavily ravaged vocal chords...

Mainly,
he was by himself all these years.
Being the sole metal vocalist...inside the framework...
Very lonely, yet intensely desired...

His aura causes...from what i've noticed...intense, violent reactions...within women...
great admiration from dudes... (whom are metal musicians as well)

It would seem like Charles would devour charlie merely by smiling spitefully in his pasty little face...
Yet, life surprises me, yet again...when i notice truth in Charles eyes...as he speaks benevolently to the sugar coated King Crab...somehow, he manages to calm down the serpents neath' the maggot king's fine bussiness suit, he actually listens to the goody two shoes fool.

Eventually Charles is stricken with an unknown feeling, something like admiration...or even a hint of sympathy...rather odd, considering...he despised these things.

So as a reward...
Charles teaches Charlie to sing, which should be mostly growls and vicious hatred...

Charlie misreads the melody of a femur bone smashing smiling faces, posing as a deviantly deranged xylophone...
and in the perfectly bizarre study and oddly inhuman mathematical ecuation....
Charlie learns how to sing...

And he does it beautifully...nothing like the doomsday firehound expected....
It's rather insulting...but this pretty voice is all that Charlie understood...
a fair melody...of actual emotional honesty...

In the process...Mr. De La Morte finds a pen Charlie dropped as he was dancing around
the filth chamber... All of sudden, the notebook on his nightstand evolves from a mystery to
a not so stagnant possibility...

So as you can see....
artistically speaking...
i am a disaster...

Now i have 3 vocalists ...
And for god's sake...3 writers...
What the hell am i supposed to do with myself, my life?
More importantly...
Will i do it all by myself?
I'm gonna need a lot of fucking money....