Time For A Reflective Post

Since I’ve got nothing else to write about besides bitch about Spring and warm weather(I’ll save that for later), I thought I’d just take time to A) not give up on this sexy ass blog and B) write something. So let’s knock ’em out.

As you may have guessed by the title, I am a Black guy that’s into Metal, unless you’d assumed this was gonna be some kvlt ass fuck ranting and raving about how USBM isn’t trve and NSBM is for attention whores. You’re forgiven.

Don’t ask how it happened, it just did. I blame Dragon Ball Z, personally, since the games and show always have had rockin’ soundtracks, but that’s besides the point. I’m quite the anomaly wherever I go, unless there’s somehow suddenly a union of Black metalheads aside from one Facebook group I’m in. I’m usually that one Black guy at a Metal show, unless I’m fortunate to meet another brother, and I must by default acknowledge our existence as entities separate but equal(heh). I’ll especially stick out in normal society, of course, as I’ll be the only one wearing all black with some of Anti-Christian, occult, or violent art on me somewhere. Aside from three white shirts(one of them having rainbows and cute animals on it) and a red Pink Floyd dealie, I’m pretty much in a uniform of sorts. No, I’m not a Goth, and Emo is a fake subculture, I just happen to prefer black. Frankly, I look weird in anything else, or so I feel.

Ain't it cuuuuuuuuute?


I tend to think differently from almost everyone else, and whether or not that is good is piecemeal. I’ll be the only one to not get on an obviously crowded bus at the expense of being later than I am. Why? Being a few minutes less late won’t kill me, and I could do without being jammed on a bus. Now before I go on a tangent, I’ll just get to the rest of my point. I’m weird, and I like it. I’m quite awkward, and don’t think I’ll ever really “grow out of it”, but need I? If Thomas Jefferson had a crippling fear of public speaking, Edgar Allan Poe was a withdrawn fuck, and Mozart wanted to shit on his sister’s face. Aside from that rather extreme last example, I can relate. I can type up a storm, and I can sometimes speak eloquently, but I’d much prefer not to. I’d live as a mute if society weren’t so fast paced and required me to not sound like I’m missing a larynx.

Sean Pierre-Antoine, ca. 2007, or 2008. Fuckit.

I have no idea where this post is going, really, I’m running out of steam, so fuck it. I’ll continue with this later. Maybe I’ll make it a series.


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