Priest's blog: "La Vie est Douleur"

Gently the blade, caressed her skin. Sliding across, Sinking in. Red blood flows, slowly down her breast, dripping silently, pooling on the floor. Tenderly I continue to explore. Softly as a lover, violent as a whore. More blood flows, across her pale white skin. It's shifting patterns Justifies my sin. Her lovely body, her beautiful form, hangs limp. Mute testimony to the madness that is me.

I feel distress inside me... Self-hate won't let me be. How to eliminate this passion, when for myself I feel no compassion? My features...unsightly and dull, It is a fact, not being cruel. I am blue and everyone is red, They are alive, I feel dead. In a shallow world I dwell, I don't belong, it feels like hell. I wish I was of the beautiful people, But my body and mind are mutinous. No hope for change or felicity I see. Just to accept fate I must agree. Forever one separate from the crowd, until I am covered in my death shroud.

She...so beautiful in her uniqueness...a stream of contradictions, wild yet delicate...a self-destructive nature hidden in wisdom and beauty She conquers in her failures, she captivates in her wrath. A blood doll, a child of darkness...lost in her nocturnal promenade of death in her way to oblivion, yet the grace she radiates in her macabre dance enraptures the artistic heart. She... the effusion of light frolicking in the all consuming shadows, hurts this eyes long used to the darkness. Like staring at the sun in a clear day...blinded by the magnificent radiance... But alas! Not unlike Icarus, drunk by the passion of the stirrings in the soul, in his foolhardiness to get close to the sun, I shall fall in disgrace. For this daystar that shines in darkness, is far away from my grasp. How can I be so naive...? To have the presumptuousness to even think that such beauty would look at one as lowly as me? Me...the artist, the gentleman, the visionary...the fool. Able to conceive beauty, children of my creativity, yet not having beauty in myself. A Beast with no Beauty to love him...fables and tales being creations of idealistic imaginations. Reality has no place for happy endings. Therefore...this somber artist must learn to live with what he can achieve, with what is within his possibilities...The emotions of sorrow and longing transformed into works of art of dark aesthetics...forever without finding the meaning of that which is called love, but always having inspiration in his desires.

Yesterday I was having a conversation with a female friend and she says that the main reason I am single is the fact that I don't have a car. According to her, all women look for 3 things in a guy: that he has a job, that he got his own place to live and that he has a car. I got a good job and I got my own place. But, if she is right, the fact that I don't have a car seems to be what keeps me single. I just can't agree with that...personally, I think that having good virtues like being a gentleman and a good person makes up for material things like that...either she is wrong or Tampa women are very shallow.