Alexa Bliss

 

Essence of Thought X Gabbie Hanna: Rachel Oates's #1 Fans

 

The lyrics are from "Save Yourself" by My Darkest Days. Check them out.

It's Okay to Be Single

***IT’S OKAY TO BE SINGLE***

Valentine’s Day is on the horizon, a horizon covered by about ten inches of falling snow, by the way. For those who are single, Valentine’s Day is the hardest holiday to get through because it seems as though your non-existent relationship status is being rubbed in your face. I know this, because I too am single and I hated this holiday for the longest time. I wish someone had told me back in those romantically lonely days that…it’s okay to be single. I know it’s hard for some people to believe that the world won’t judge you if you are, but if it’s a comfort to you at all, I’m the very last person in this world who will judge you for being single. I won’t even judge you for being a virgin. Involuntarily celibate is an entirely different story, but still, you get my drift.

When you learn to let go of this idea that romance is a necessity, you’ll feel as though the weight of the world is finally off of your shoulders. That doesn’t mean you can’t get into a relationship somewhere down the line, but if you obsess over it all the time, then it’ll hurt you emotionally. A lot of the pain from my university days stemmed from being single and wanting someone I could never have. I crushed on Tarja Turunen, the ex-lead singer from Nightwish, and it hurt me constantly that I couldn’t have her. Even when I crushed on women within my location and economic means, I was too shy to approach them because I didn’t want them to be offended by my presence. I carried this pain for a long time, long after I graduated from college.

The idea of letting go of my obsession was insane to me, which I now realize is an ironic thing for a schizophrenic like me to say, but oh well. Why was I so obsessed? Was it a combination of teenaged hormones and having my first slow dance at 15? Was it a long-distance relationship I had in 2002 and 2003 where I desperately wanted to close that gap? Was it my first kiss in 2014? Was it being seduced by random women at rock concerts in 2016 and 2018? Those brain chemicals are addictive as hell, I agree. Any addiction makes letting go a difficult thing.

But when I finally let go earlier this year, I asked myself a series of questions that had “duh” answers all along. Would being in a relationship truly make me happy? Would having sex for the first time be as magical as books and movies make it out to be? What exactly are the consequences supposed to be for staying single? When the time finally comes to be in a relationship, will I be prepared or will anxiety take over my senses? Truth is, not everyone who’s in a relationship is happy, as evidenced by divorce rates, abusive situations, and constant fighting even when things are going great. First time sex ends too quickly, or so I’ve heard. There are no consequences for being single. I’ve done nothing to prepare myself for a relationship, so my anxiety and nervousness around women won’t dissipate.

None of this means that I don’t believe in romance. It doesn’t mean that if a woman asked me on a date, I would automatically reject her. It simply means that I won’t form unhealthy crushes or obsess over something unattainable. My emotional health means everything to me. It’s the reason why I’m able to sustain a writing career and an overall peaceful life. If I’m constantly in a state of unhappiness, then I don’t care how many poems and stories I write, because I can never satiate those obsessive desires. I wrote three first draft novels this year, all of them centering on my obsession with romance. While I’m grateful for the creative exercises, I can get the same result and probably more work done if I’m happy about life instead of miserable.

It’s particularly bad when you’re in love with a celebrity, especially one that’s been around since your teenaged years. You spend all of this time pining over and dreaming of them. Even when you realize it could never be, you obsess more and more until it ruins your state of mind. You carry this unhappiness with you into adulthood and by that time your celebrity crush is much older than you are. Everybody ages, everybody moves on, and you must do so too.

If you’re single this Valentine’s Day and you don’t know what to do, just treat it like any other day of the week. Do some creative work. Get some reading done. Draw a picture. Order a pizza. Watch a movie. Do something other than give into your unrealistic obsessions. You’re responsible for your own happiness. Treat yourself kindly. Don’t beat yourself up. Take good care of your mind. You only get one in this lifetime, so be good to it and don’t drive yourself insane. If you must get into a relationship, keep it healthy and happy and don’t be codependent. I’m Garrison Kelly! Even when you feel like dying, keep climbing the mountain!

***BEAUTIFUL MONSTER***

Rewriting this story has been a slow process with many gap days in between the work days. You can thank my constant sleepiness for that. But fear not, because before 2019 is over, I will have this novel finished and published. The next chapter to be written will be number twelve, where Windham and Tarja deliver the blueprints to Shelly’s castle to their boss, Orpheus Rinehart. Will the boss man be grateful or will he reward his employees with a year-long membership in the Jelly of the Month Club? It’s the gift that keeps on giving the whole year. You get a cookie if you know what movie that’s from.

***PHILOSOPHICAL QUOTE OF THE DAY***

“You will find that if you get with reality, all thoughts of delusions disappear. But you must remember that the secret to all of this is not to be afraid of fear. When you can really allow yourself to be afraid, and you don't resist the experience of fear, you are truly beginning to master fear. But when you refuse to be afraid, you are resisting fear, and that simply sets up a vicious circle of being afraid of fear of being afraid of being afraid of fear. If then you try to obliterate fear, you're working in the wrong way. To attack at fear is to strengthen it. As if you were God, that is to say, you don't trust anybody and you're the dictator and you have to keep everybody in line, you lose the divine then. 'Cause what you're doing is simply defending yourself. So then the principle is the more you give it away, the more it comes back. The meaning of the fact we see that everything is dissolving constantly, we're all falling apart. We're all in a process of constant death. Then you truly understand that you don't have to let go because there's nothing to hold on to.”

-Alan Watts-

Dark Fantasy Rock Goddess

Autumn Smith peeked through the backstage curtain of the Dead Pegasus Orc Bar and felt like someone had just punched her in the stomach. She was used to wild and raucous crowds, but never before had she played her elven bard music in front of savage creatures such as orcs. Their drunken screams and violent shoves were reminiscent of barbarians going to war against the gods. A few of them even threw the bar’s furniture at each other. The bouncers’ hands were tied with one group of wild orcs, so much so that many of these barbaric brawls went unnoticed.

The elf guitarist swallowed a massive wad of saliva in nervousness, but that only served to further irritate her anxious and chilled stomach. And then a dark-skinned hand laid lovingly on her shoulder and put her somewhat at ease. That hand belonged to the blond Mohawk-having, red robe-wearing sorcerer known simply as Bloodshark. He said in his best smooth jazz voice, “Don’t you worry about a thing, baby girl. I’m the best mercenary money can buy. If one of these motherfuckers puts their hands on you, I’ll shove thunderbolts up their asses and fireballs down their throats. You’ve got this, sugar pie.”

Autumn breathed deeply to settle her nerves and said to Bloodshark, “Thank you so much for agreeing to do this for me. I’ve never played in front of orcs before.”

Bloodshark smiled and shook his head before saying, “Listen, honey bear, orcs are no different from any other wild and crazy crowd: they all turn to ashes after getting zapped with my magic lightning. Ashes look the same no matter what race, creed, or color they originally were. Now you go onstage and have the time of your life, cuddle muffin. You’re a dark fantasy rock goddess. You don’t sweat the small stuff.”

The elven bard smiled sweetly and said, “You’re right, Bloodshark. You’re absolutely right. I’m going to show these drunken assholes what a real rock goddess looks like. I’m supposed to be getting a huge payment for this concert, so if you want a raise, you can have it.”

“It’s show time, sweetheart,” said Bloodshark after squeezing Autumn Smith’s shoulders. “Give these suckers all you’ve got!”

The words of encouragement put an even bigger smile on the silver cloak-wearing bard’s face as she grabbed her acoustic guitar and nodded at her mercenary before taking center stage. The orcs stopped fighting amongst themselves and cheered like a bunch of battle hungry warriors. Despite being a race of sloppy eaters and uncouth manners, even they could appreciate the heavenly beauty of their rock and roll princess.

She had soft and creamy green skin, long and silky dark hair, hypnotizing purple eyes, gorgeous red lips, a sparkling gray halter top that revealed just the right amount of cleavage, fetishized high heeled boots, and tight black leather pants that accentuated her best lower body features. Autumn’s appearance alone was a main event show on its own. But when she started strumming her golden guitar, every note and every chord put the orcs in a drooling trance.

Her singing voice made every audience believe she was an angel from the most beautiful of heavens. Her erection-worthy lyrics spoke of the pleasures of love making from her partner’s perfect muscular body to the wonderful thrill of being pushed into. She even made a few orgasmic moans to simulate the gentle sex she was singing about.

The crowd of drunken orcs, who had been brawling just minutes before, were now retarded with love for this sexy elf playing music for them. They drooled, their eyes were halfway closed, they were hunched over, and many of them purposefully sat down at their tables to avoid…embarrassment.

And then one of the audience members made the mistake of reaching up on stage and grabbing Autumn by her ankle. “Ouch! Let go! You’re hurting me!” she yelled as the orc held on with a nearly crushing grip. The other orcs egged him on and showed their wildness once more with berserker screams. And then that sexually harassing orc drew back a stump when Bloodshark appeared from behind the curtain and zapped his hand.

A fountain of black orcish blood burst in the air and stained Autumn’s lovely clothing, to which she gasped in horror. The orcs laughed at their creepy brethren while Bloodshark warned them, “Anybody else want to try that shit? Go ahead! Come on! I don’t get paid by the hour, motherfuckers!”

One of the orcs pulled out a battleaxe and screamed furiously before charging at Bloodshark with a full head of steam. The mercenary sorcerer extended his fingertips and shot a cannonball-like fire volley into the warrior’s chest, sending the orc flying all the way to the back of the bar and crashing through the wall.

Autumn grabbed her bodyguard by the arm and shouted, “I’m not paying you to kill them! I just wanted some security, damn it!”

Bloodshark shoved his boss to the ground, pointed his finger at her, and said, “Let me do my job and then we’ll talk about semantics!”

While the elf bard crab-walked and cowered in the corner of the stage, more orcs descended upon Bloodshark with swords, axes, and flails drawn. That much heavy screaming pierced Autumn’s eardrums and made her feel like she was about to be ripped to shreds by this horny crowd.

And then Bloodshark threw his hands in a rapid fire machinegun motion as he tossed glacial spikes left and right into the orcs’ chests. While most of them were dropping to the ground bleeding like volcanoes, other orcs grabbed onto his arms and legs ready to tear him limb from limb. The sorcerer’s body became a conduit of electricity, sending lightning through his attacker’s bodies and turning them all to a pile of bloody ashes. And then the sorcerer threw fireballs at an assault rifle pace. And then more lightning bolts. And then more glacial spikes. Within a matter of lengthy seconds, the crowd full of horny orcs was reduced to shreds of skin, pieces of bones, and oceans of blood. Even the bouncers and bartenders weren’t spared from this deathly onslaught.

Bloodshark hunched over and clutched his knees while breathing heavily and admiring his handiwork. Autumn stopped flinching and surveyed the battlefield around her. Her bottom lip quivered, her body convulsed, and her eyes widened with horror as she pulled herself to her staggering feet. “Oh my god…what have you done? This isn’t security detail. This is murder!” Autumn banged on Bloodshark’s chest with her puny hands and yelled, “You’re a murderer! You’re a goddamn murderer!”

The sorcerer restrained the elf with his massive arms and stole a sloppy tongue kiss from her while leaning her backwards. It was long and passionate, but Autumn wasn’t buying the passion as she pushed away and crab-walked backwards again in disgust. She spit and coughed until she was certain the rotten flavor was out of her mouth. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“No, Autumn. I think the real question is…what the hell is wrong with YOU?! How could you treat your number one fan with such disdain? Is that what you rock goddesses are really good for?” protested Bloodshark.

The elf’s breathing slowed and her mouth quivered even harder as she realized the trap she had fallen for. “No…no…this can’t be happening. You’re not a mercenary. You’re a stalker! You’re a goddamned stalker! How can you do this to me, you sick pervert?!”

“How can I do what to you? Write you the sweetest letters a fan could ever write? Send chocolates to your house that tasted like pure heaven? Send roses to your studio that smell like fresh warm Eden? I spent more of my own mercenary money on you than I did for myself. And the way you repay me for my love and affection is by ignoring me and acting disgusted with me?! I should be the one disgusted with you! But I’m not, Miss Smith. I’m in love!” said Bloodshark with the wildest eyes and the creepiest grin.

Autumn shook her head and said, “You don’t know a goddamn thing about love. You’re just a pervert. You’re the worst kind of scum a singer like me could ever meet. You’re not the first one to fall in love with me. I’ve dealt with sickos like you many times in my career. You think you’re special just because you’ve eliminated all of your orcish competition with a little bit of magic? You’re pathetic!”

Bloodshark’s eyes glowed with light blue neon as he said, “It’s not just a little bit of magic, Miss Smith. It’s what I use on a day to day basis when I fight for the affections of my sweetest crushes. You rock and roll women are all the same to me. Then again, it’s just like I said earlier…all ashes look the same! If you won’t say yes to me…then I’ll say goodbye to you!”

Autumn Smith shouted, “No! Please!” as the perverted sorcerer extended his fingertips and threw the biggest bolt of electricity his tired body could muster up. What better place to send that spear of lightning…then right through Autumn’s “cold and loveless” heart?

Hush

***HUSH***

Over the past week, I’ve maintained a minimal presence on the internet. It’s almost as if a hush had fallen over my social media accounts, which is weird because I’m currently listening to a song called “Hush” by Hellyeah, but it’s not about the same thing. Because of this “hush” over the internet, I’ve only gotten two pieces of writing done (“Saggy-Maggie” and “WWE Tough Enough”) and my online presence has been limited to Face Book posts of heavy metal songs from You Tube. You guys have been very supportive of me and even told me that I don’t have to apologize every time there’s lack of activity. I believe you guys when you say it, so I won’t apologize. However, I do feel that at least some kind of explanation is necessary. In that case, there are three different things going on in my life that keep me from maintaining a full internet schedule: housework, sleep apnea, and lopsided creative work.

　

For anybody who doesn’t know, this past June, Susan and Reina have moved out of the house and aren’t on good terms with either of my parents. This move was going to happen sooner or later since Mom and Susan really never could get along. They were always arguing over the messiness of the house and Susan’s parenting abilities. When Susan and Reina finally moved out, they left in a huff and a lot of their possessions were left behind. Mom, Dale, James, and I spent the last week boxing up Susan and Reina’s possessions and remodeling the house. It was exhausting work for all of us. In fact, just today, after I got done shampooing the carpets, I passed out on my bed for five hours. No kidding. Mom and Dale wanted to get all of this work done before they flew out to North Carolina to inspect what will eventually become our new home. On a positive note, our house here in Port Orchard looks MUCH better than it did before, but at what price?

This past July, I visited my therapist Rachel Burgett’s office and one of our topics was my mental and physical energy. I told her about my newly formed caffeine habits and how I drink either four tall cans of Diet Coke or three large bottles of Diet Mountain Dew just so I can stay awake and alert. Caffeine is not conducive to being a schizophrenic since it has been known to trigger head voices. After saying that, Rachel suggested that I might have problems with sleep apnea due to my ongoing weight issues. The sleep apnea suggestion might be the closest thing to the truth I need to hear. In college, my roommates kept moving out of my dorm because I snored too loudly. One of my roommates even said I stopped breathing before the snoring started. Snoring is a problem in my present life and it shows, because even though I get 12 to 14 hours of sleep a night, I still feel exhausted throughout the day. As soon as Mom and Dale get back from their two week trip to Asheville, they’re going to schedule me for a visit to a sleep clinic to see what they can do about my sleep apnea. I might need a breathing mask, but I’m not sure.

I’m sure you all have noticed by now that I’ve stopped talking about “Star Island” by Carl Hiaasen as my current reading project. It’s not because I stopped enjoying it. On the contrary, it’s quick and witty just like any Carl Hiaasen book should be. I was recently asked a favor by my friend and fellow independent author Andy Peloquin to read “Blade of the Destroyer” and give it an honest review on Amazon and Good Reads. He says he needs the review by August 21^st, but also keeps insisting there’s no rush and that if I miss the deadline it’s no big deal. In his words, “Any time before the end of the world would be nice.” I also need reviews of my books, Occupy Wrestling in particular, so I agree to this favor. I don’t mind doing this favor at all. In fact, I think very highly of Andy Peloquin’s writing skills. It’s just that for some reason, I became so obsessed with this reading project that I’ve completely ignored all of my other creative obligations. It’s been ages since I saw a new episode of NCIS: Los Angeles. And that first chapter of Hair vs. Hair (which will now be called Blood Brawl)? Not up yet. No movie reviews, no character profiles, no paperback versions of Confessions of a Schizophrenic Savage and Occupy Wrestling, nothing. The problem here isn’t that I’m doing someone a favor. The problem is that I’m obsessing over it. I did the same thing when I was editing Occupy Wrestling with Marie Krepps.

　

Couple my obsessive work schedule with cleaning up after Susan and Reina and sleep apnea problems and it should all be clear by now what’s going on in my life. I still haven’t decided yet if I’m going to compete in this week’s WSS contest, I’m so tired. I need a few moments to figure everything out in my life. It’s suddenly not as easy as going to random.org anymore.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“You are not alone. I’m standing by your side. I walk with you through hell. I walk with you tonight. We are the forgotten that nobody wants to face. Together we can rise. Let’s climb out of hell. You are not forgotten. I’m standing by your side. Your struggle makes you beautiful. Out of hell we will climb.”

-In This Moment singing “Out of Hell”-

"500 Letters" by Tarja Turunen

Of all the 500 letters from a stranger that appeared on Tarja Turunen’s doorstep, I’ve written at least ten of them. Luckily for the both of us, she never saw them. Otherwise, she would either have a restraining order against me or she would send her husband Marcelo to collect my scalp. This semi-romantic obsession with the Finnish goddess started when I was reintroduced to Nightwish’s music in 2006 with the song “Dead Boy’s Poem”. A year before that, Tarja was released from Nightwish for not getting along with her band mates. I was heartbroken. In fact, my heart had been hurting for her throughout my college days. Granted, most of it was due to the fact my social life was nonexistent. Also granted, I didn’t have a girlfriend at the time. So in order to keep from feeling too lonely, the place I went to in my head to stop the pain was Tarja. Her hair, her face, her voice…everything. It was the only thing that got me through being away from my family for that long. If for some reason it sounds like I’m quoting Marty Deeks from NCIS: Los Angeles, it’s because I am (even though I didn’t have a drill shoved in my mouth like he did). During this obsession with Tarja, I tried my damnedest not to sound creepy when I wrote proses and poetry about her. But then again, anything I do automatically sounds creepy, so it’s a safe bet Mrs. Turunen should have been carrying a can of mace with her at all times. She probably does. Come to think of it, that’s part of the reason why I couldn’t approach anybody in school to be my friend or lover: I didn’t want to unknowingly creep them out. Using Tarja as a comforting mental image was the only safe bet because I knew she would never know me in a million years. In fact, I can pretty much say anything I want about any celebrity on this planet and they’ll never find me. Michael Vick sucks because he tortured puppies. Tarja Turunen is awesome because she makes beautiful music with or without her old band mates. If for some reason she read that, I also hope she reads this next sentence. Tarja, I am not a creep or a stalker. I’ve never been to your house and I don’t follow you on Twitter. Hell, I’ve never been to one of your concerts. But I want you to know that you are still to this day an inspiration to me. Your presence alone has helped me get through so much in my life. For whatever it’s worth, thank you for your gift of music. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get your picture tattooed all over my body like that guy in South America did for Julia Roberts. I’m kidding, of course. Really, I am!

　

***FACE BOOK POST OF THE DAY***

“There’s a new website out there where stalkers get their comeuppance. It’s called Mace Book and the homepage is a total eyesore.”

-Me-