Being a skinhead has nothing to do with racism. The skinhead movement came out of 1970's Jamaican reggae and ska music that inspired the working class. Being a skinhead is not being a racist. The neo nazis that adopted the skinhead look simply did it because they thought having something that looked like a uniform would be cool. True skinheads are not racist, and refer to those who are as boneheads. A skinhead by definition cannot be racist.

I'm going to make this very simple. I am not here to hook up with people. I have plenty of resources for good sex, and I will not be adding to them. However, if you wish to hang out with me, simply send me a message or drop down by Evolution Nightclub on any Friday night. I'll most likely be at the table just in front of the bar and to the left.

Wanna know shit about me?
Basically, I'm better than you. I'm an elitist, and with good reason.

I'm a professional makeup artist, and I am damned good at what I do.


I smoke like a chimney (and yes, I know it's disgusting), I work too much, I'm slightly odd, I love animals and babies, I love to read, I adore watching movies and I collect them by the hundreds, I loathe full-screen, I have multiple tattoos and piercings (I plan on getting more), I adore art, I'm almost always tired, I play a lot of video games, I do research and write essays for fun, I'm often very bored with my appearance and change it by shoving needles through my body, having ink implanted under my skin, or doing crazy things to my hair. I always wear socks, but they never match. I'm loud. It is my ambition in life to be someones shoulder devil. I anger easily. My temper is so short that it is non existent. My fury knows no bounds, and I have only ever met one person who can calm me. I enjoy ranting far too much. I ramble and I am nervous all the time. I'm obsessive about physical hygiene and I have an intense phobia of body hair. I am in a perpetual state of confusion, I am constantly searching for myself, I love affection and seek it frequently, I pretty much live at Evo on the weekends. I am a dreamer, often I portray myself as something other than what I am out of sheer nervousness. People need to get to know me individually. Talk to me and find out who I really am, I bet you'll be surprised.
I have absolutely no time for stupidity. I do not want to "trade pix" or whatever the fuck it is you're calling it nowadays.
That, and I'm way more awesome than you'll ever be, Count on it.

Oh, and I like your face.
CONTACT

ragamuffin103@hotmail.com

Still, so still, in the city tonight, twelve o'clock tick-tock, when all that is good slinks away like a beaten dog and the black black shadows are alive with the dead, twisted, poetry in broken English, flesh and blood and staring faces...
So grey and despairing, strong as steel but collapsed inside, the Crow laughs under a street light, a voodoo smile of one who lived and died and still yet lives...
He makes his way home where he can be shapeless in the dark and paint his face in the colours of joy...
Tonight, Hell sends an angel bearing gifts...


....

In the city, where Angels fear to hover and Devils come to croon, the sex of the night lets down her black narcotic hair under a yellow opium moon. Here a shadow of a shadow, and Earthbound ghost shivers, not from October chill, but in erotic pain. He says to his dead lover "we should never have come here, with flesh so soft and hearts' so unwise, but like tigers in tall tall grass, like Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane, we sucked in our fear and we came here." Now all the atrocities are replayed, like a late late show. "We came here but we never should have stayed. Though we had inertia and radius and depth, we took the last train with velocity and passed our own Deaths." So, the Crow spirals down through a collapsed dream, and the only sound he makes is...
...Like a Concave Scream