A tribute to hotness

I've seen him repeatedly in Alice Cooper's Constrictor shows, yet never realised how awesome-shit this guy was. I'm not talking about his mad talent; when someone mentions metal's top guitarists, Kane Roberts is always somewhere in my list. I'm talking about those insanely chiselled features and impossibly perfect jaw, those squeezed-too-tight leather pants and rich head of curls.

He's almost too good to be true.

....holy fuuuUUUCCKKKK.

Yeah, yeah so that album cover was way back in '91. But I can bet you that any man with that immoveably awesome bone structure will still have manly handsomeness spilling out his ears 20 years down the road. Now hopefully he's kept the body...

THAT body.

Or, well, a more modestly proportioned but equally firm version.

To tell ya the truth, I've never gone for that uber buff thing; the bulging Hulk-men adorning Men's Fitness mags turn me off. I prefer my men reasonably toned than steroid-stuffed. (Not that I'm accusing Mr Roberts of 'roids or other potentially harmful substances.) But when I look at that face, and that gorgeous hair, and that even more gorgeous guitar that looks like it could shoot out real bullets....who gives a shit about an oversized bicep?

'I will squeeze you to death with my leather-clad sexiness.'

Granted, I was probably too busy watching Alice tear a baby's head off to pay attention to that amazing guitarist shredding the hell out of every song. I heard the riffs, but I should've seen the man behind it. Oh well. Never too late to appreciate a good thing. This man is not only a metal maestro; he is shameless eye candy. Leather-wrapped, steel-studded, flame-shootin' candy.

Now adorning my computer desktop!

"Fame is our felony"

Really. Who is this girl?


She sang two self-composed songs about love and rebellion in a talent show under the name Stefani Germanotta. One of the songs feature these awesome lyrics:

We are a generation twisted by a myth
Confused and ludicrous,
Holding onto love.

Consumed by all the pleasures in out midst.
A life with all the lips we've kissed
And losing all control.

We're gonna start a resistance
We want independence
We're gonna give the world some of this:

Electric Kiss
I'm gonna change the world with my lips.
One voice forever, well live together in
Peace, love, solitude and happiness
Electric Kiss.

Fame is our felony; we're so in love with it
Some superstars and masochists who don't know
Where to go.

But the poets and the fighters of our time
Put down their weapons and their rounds
And know what they must do.

They're gonna start a resistance
They want independence
They're gonna give the world some of this.


This is her.



The girl can sing. Let's not forget that. She has talent, brains, vision, and she can wear whatever the hell she wants. To all the assorted humourless pricks who violently disagree:

You're just jealous.

Electric

I love lightning bolts. Sure, I don't enjoy actually being on the receiving end of one, but it's something I can't stop doodling of late. So it was no surprise when I walked into a tattoo studio yesterday and asked for one on the chest.

I never even noticed till later that the bolt was pointed straight at my heart. In a way, it's fitting.

Lightning, to me, is many things. Energy; brilliance; passion; a strike to the gut; a flash of fever in the veins. (And not forgetting rock 'n fn' roll.) It's a kick of adrenaline. It's what moves people all around the world.

It's what moves me.

I'm hungry, boys and girls. Literally. (I need my dinner now.) Be back soon...

Holy Zeus! Details here.

Watch This.

To all the earphone-wearing misfits. To the hard-ass boys and bad-ass babes. To all the rock 'n roll maniacs, all the neon fishnet lovers, all the crazy motherfuckers.

This one's for you.

The boys are back in full eye-bleeding colour. And it's time for the insecure posers and self-masturbatory rock purists who labelled them emo wimps to run, baby run. The Fabulous Killjoys are about to shatter your balls from here to Uranus.

My Chemical Romance, it's about fuckin' time.

In A Darkened Playground, The Night Is Ours.

9.30pm: the power goes out with a silent bang. There is a collective groan from those who were halfway through a movie download or awesome novel.

Ever notice how the sky brightens when you turn off the lights? Every faded cloud comes to the fore like half-formed nebulae. Every star is a miracle in the mottled velvet patchwork.

The stars lean down to kiss you
And I lie awake and miss you
Pour me a heavy dose of atmosphere
'Cause I'll doze off safe and soundly

We light candles; we text; we tweet. Thank the gods it is a cool night without the bother of not having a fan just when you need it. We tweet and text some more. We play games on our phones. My battery is running low, and I need something else to do.

I'll find repose in new ways
Though I haven't slept in two days
'Cause nostalgia chills me to the bone

My brother and I hit the playground in front of our house. He is seventeen; I'm twenty-four. Both a little too old for swings and slides. But in the cover of lampless night, our age becomes less obvious.

I'll watch the night turn light blue
But it's not the same without you
Because it takes two to whisper quietly
The silence isn't so bad

To my delight I am fit enough to climb the monkey bars. My adult legs can close the gap between rungs that my kiddy limbs couldn't. The swing offers the same delight; the see-saw feels the same.

Drenched in vanilla twilight
I'll sit on the front porch all night
Waist-deep in thought; when I think of you
I don't feel so alone

We climb atop the tunnels, the weathered smooth cement cool against our backs, and lie on them watching the moon. The night belongs to us.

When violet eyes get brighter
And heavy wings grow lighter
I'll taste the sky and feel alive again
And I'll forget the world that I knew.


* * * * * * * ** * * ** * * ** * * ** * * ** * * ** * * ** * * ** * * ** * * ** * * ** * * ** * * *

© Vanilla Twilight lyrics belong to Owl City.

SLITHER

because i like the word. and it's a great sexy song.

When you look
You see right through me
Cut the rope, fell to my knees
Fallen, broken every single time

Always keep me under finger
That's the spot where you would see me
Might see some type of pleasure in my mind

Yeah
Here comes the water
It comes to wash away the sins of you and I
This time you see

When you seek me
You destroy me
Rape my mind and smell the poppies
Born in blood in every single time

Always keep me under finger
That's the spot where you might linger
But I see some type of pleasure in my mind

Yeah
Here comes the water
It comes to wash away the sins of you and I
This time you see
Like holy water
It only burns you faster than you'll ever dry
This time with me.

© Velvet Revolver* (2004)

*one of the best band names in the history of bands.

6 Reasons Smokers Won't Quit

(and 6 reasons non-smokers feel tempted to start)


1. It just looks good.
Whether you're an elegant she-devil or a machismo-loaded cowboy, cigarettes are part of the picture. It gives you a chance to whip out that expensive Zippo, to dangle your slim ciggie holder like Cruella De Vil, while looking like you Couldn't Give A Fuck. Smoking is also a symbol of female liberation & bad-assery, as Kristen Stewart's Joan Jett in Runaways proved. Silver screens whisper that the languid serpentine coil drifting from the glowing tip of your cancer stick is sexy. And goddamnit, they're right.

Speaking of cancer...


2. Your grandpa smokes 10 Marlboros a day and is still alive.
He also downs Guinness like a mofo, which seems to further prove that everything your li'l yuppie health mag ever told you was bullshit. Lung tumours? Are you kiddin'? He looks tumours in the face and laughs like the cowboy he is. Meanwhile, you're 25, hit the gym every evening and still struggle with a spare tyre.

You'd think ol' granddad was the exception. But no....


3. Rock stars who look great for 50-year-old nicotine addicts
There's a reason rebellious youths get an urge to play some shredding guitar with a roll between their teeth. It goes with the whole...image. The leather; the tight ripped denim; the nonchalance of checking out chicks through a faint haze of smoke. It makes you bad-boy archetype. It makes you feel like Slash. A guy who once drank and puffed himself into cardiac arrest, and still looks like sex. Him and your grandpa are out to make the entire medical community look like dicks.

And since the mention of dicks came up...


4. Phallic power & all that loaded symbolism
Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. And sometimes it's a badge of Arnold's action-hero testosterone. Or an innuendo-laden flirtation tool. If you've ever felt turned on by a lover lighting your smoke, you know the power of the humble deathstick*. It also possibly provides an explanation to the post-coitus cigarette.

(*that's what they call it in Star Wars Ep III. because Obi-Wan never met Slash or your granddad.)

It's not just a useful come-on, though. Cigarettes are also great for perfectly platonic interactions...


5. It's what social people do.
As if staring at computers all day long wasn't unhealthy enough, most yuppies pick up ciggies as a convenient bonding activity. It's a great way to meet someone new or catch up on old times. It's the great equaliser between you and your boss (one pair of tar-stained lungs look the same as another). And notice how you don't need to be a good conversationalist? Having something to do with your fingers and mouth means the effortless filling of silent awkward gaps.

However, if there's one thing that beats the perks of social smoking, it's...


6. The cool stuff that comes with it
The sleek silver case. The lighter with an emblem of your favourite whisky or band. The countless novelty ashtrays into which to empty your butts. The limited edition packs. Humans love their toys, and the fact that ciggies are addictive in themselves doesn't help. While it's unlikely that people will start lighting up just so they can amass a cool collection of Zippos, people with said collectionof Zippos are less likely to stop.

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It is better to indulge knowingly than to sin in ignorance.
Serpent 3:16

Leather, Silver & Steel

& skulls, & chains, & good ol-fashioned studs.

This is not by any stretch a lame attempt to look bad-ass. I am instinctively attracted to these things; they add such attitude to any outfit. And any suggestion that I am a 'poser' or 'trying too hard' will be met with a fistful of one of these....


:) I'm kidding. Mostly. Anyway, this is me showing off my collection of wristbands. Aren't they pretty? Thanks to the Macro function I was able to go real up close for details. Leather and metal surfaces, especially slightly aged ones, can yield subtly lovely textures.

Save it for the storm

To all you high-maintenance chicks out there. A little announcement: whipping out an umbrella at the slightest sliver of sun makes you and the rest of us skirts look like wuss-pussies. Please, stop it. Besides, if you're as soft and pale as you look, you could probably use a little browning.

Also, a thunderstorm may kill you, but two drops of rain will not. Fact of life.

Thank you ladies! Rant over.

For you tread on my dreams

Being afraid.

Being tempted. 

Being coaxed out of your skin and then shrinking back in because the only way out would strip away everything you hold dear.

These are the things you feel at the moment of doubt.

Where you laugh at your silliness and then cry in the toilet moments later.

But it's good to feel it. A good kind of hurt. Makes you feel alive.

Strange to be labelled strong, and then be willing to lay it all at the feet of the person you love. To risk the crushing of hope. What was that quote?

"Be careful, for you tread on my dreams."

- - -
Picture is an original work of Melvin Moten aka kentsoul, friend and gifted photographer

Lust.

I don't really do touchphones, even the all-the-rage iPhone. Especially not the iPhone, because it's big and expensive you can't fit it into your pocket and it's expensive (did I say that already?). Plus the fact that about halfway into a text message, your screen = Smudgefest.

However. If there was one reason I'd want to proudly display this gadget on my desk -- or better yet, wear it as a really expensive accessory -- it would be this.




And this.



HOLYFUCK can someone tear my lustful eyes away.

These and a bunch of other gorgeous phone togs were designed by Hannah Stouffer, a gifted lady who will make you love slithering things as much as I do, if not more.


Just a few facts:

• Snakes are possibly the only mobile living things on earth with utter control of their muscles. In fact they are made more or less of muscle, and some very pretty skin. In other words, you're just jealous.
• A tiny fraction of the world's entire snake population is venomous. The rest will simply a)crush you to death or b)leave you alone -- the wee little grass snake, for example, can't do shit to a human being. The boa constrictor, meanwhile, swallows cows for breakfast. Keep that in consideration when you're looking for a reptile pet. Unless you have a barnyard in which to keep all the cows.
  
• I get this question quite a bit, so for those who've yet to ask: the tattoo on my left arm is a python, not a viper. Vipers have distinctively diamond-shaped heads. I prefer pythons & constrictors because of their ultra sensual, slow coiling movements.
  

Heart On Sleeve?

...I Don't Think So.
I may cry freely at the ending in Armageddon, but that doesn't mean I enjoy doing it. Especially when you factor in the runny nose and ruined eyeliner.

The other day my colleague and dear friend Jit told me: "You MUST watch Aftershock. I guarantee it'll make you cry."

Right. That's like convincing someone to get a piercing and guaranteeing it'll hurt. Sorry, what's the good part again?

Jit is the darlingest person you will ever meet, but he can be strange that way. Or maybe he just needed a good cry that day. (Jit, you know my shoulder is there for you, right?)

He guessed right that I don't enjoy being vulnerable in front of other people. With the exception of my mom and dad, perhaps. I have dreams about being suddenly naked all the time with nobody noticing. Supposedly it's a sign of inner vulnerability.

It's why I don't listen to Seal or Taylor Swift in public (and in my defence, i have exactly ONE Seal and ONE Tay Swift song on my playlist, shaddup). It's also why I'd rather watch Alice blowing up zombies in the upcoming Resident Evil: Afterlife. In 3D, hellyeah.

Aftershock, and the tears it supposedly brings, can wait till I'm alone.

What The Serpent Said

"So it was that with much arse-kicking courtesy of the winged, flame wielding bouncers, the troublemakers were ousted from Club Eden."

The sinuous serpent rippled its ribs and pondered a while.

"I thought, well there goes the life of the party," it hissed. "And a whole bunch of future incestuous offspring with them, too. Where's the fun now?"

"Don't tempt me," said Lilith in her velvety ancient voice.

"They'll likely have sex, too. A lot of it. Although the fig leaves might get in the way for a while. And -- oh, here comes the Don."

The blinding presence of the Lord Almighty descended the epic marble staircase of Eden all the way into the lush green grass of Paradise Lounge. His eyes fell upon the lovely slithering being before Him.

A giant finger pushed itself into the serpent's face.

"GET OUT, BETRAYER."

"Oooooh the drama," Lilith murmured.

"Evening, Milord. What a beautiful day it is in Paradise."

"DID YOU NOT HEAR ME?"

The reptile's silver-lidded eyes narrowed. Now He was just being rude. That, on top of the ridiculous rules about non-sexual nudity and fruit-sharing, was about all the serpent could take. With a sharp intake of breath,it spoke its final words in Eden:

"Why don't you make me?"

One of the Sexiest Voices on Radio

At some point or other you are either gonna get paid to plug something on your blog, or -- if like me you're neither rich nor famous -- plug it just becoz you can.

So here's my first plug in what's only my second post. Go listen. Here

This man plays all my favourite songs. Not surprising, since he's one of my favourite people in the world.

Thank you, Mr Hudson. I'll always remember 5th August when I saw you live. (and then was broke after that for what i spent on front row tix but that's beside the point...)