Read this user's blog. Last post Thursday, 07-Mar-2013 04:02:51
This user has access to Zone BBS by Phone.
|Location:||At the bottom of that next glass of Absinthe|
|Points:||247,645,314 (ranked #635)|
|Member Since:||Wednesday, 09-Jul-2008 04:05:18|
|Last Logged In:||Thursday, 17-Oct-2013 14:11:55 (4 months, 22 days, 23 hours, 42 minutes, 7 seconds ago)|
|Status:||Salting the soil of the world, one happy place at a time.|
|Times Logged In:||584 (ranked #936)|
|Last post in topic:||VIP Mud Issue|
|Graffiti posts (not including anonymous):||44|
|Words of Wisdom:||In my experience, those who do not like you fall into two categories: The stupid and the envious. The stupid will like you in five years time. The envious, never. (Johnny Dep, The Libertine)|
|Hobbies/interests:||Derangement devience debauchery Dance Macabre|
|Favorite movies:||I am particularly fond of horror, drama, psycho thrillers, misteries and black comedy. No, not Chris Rock and Dave Shapell black comedy, that stuff\'s garbage. I am refering to the kind of thing that makes you sick to your stomach while you thrash about in laughter. Fodder for my devient mind, I suppose.|
|Favorite TV shows:|
|Favorite music:||Gothic dethrock, psychobilly and Swamp metal.|
|Favorite books/authors:||Oh, far too many to list.|
Outside, the storm raged. Rain beat steady insults on the large window, though their meanings were muffled behind thick drapes. The thunder roared accusation and judgement, and though its call was heard, and though the looming house seemed to sit in the very eye of the storm's fury, the proud edifice was not shaken. Indeed, inside was just as warm and dry as anyone could like.Close this Window
A fire roared marily in the hearth, casting shadows which danced gleefully over the hangings and tapestries of rich purples, deep shades of midnight blue and black that softened the walls and kept back the draft from the window. The warmth of the flames made blankets unnecessary. In fact, the soothing atmosphere had lulled the libertine into a light doze at his desk, one boot propped up on its edge, his body reclined in the large plush chair before it. On he slept, periodically shifting, eyes moving in repose, hinting at the untold wonders taking place behind them in his mind. And on went the storm, beneath his notice.
Gradually, he stirred to wakefulness, the soothing strains of Toccata and Fugue in D minor clearing the obscuring film of sleep from his consciousness. The source of the music was a small, rather outdated looking flipphone that sat at the corner of his desk. He returned both feet to the floor and leant forward, one hand brushing abyssal black rogue strands of hair from his face while the other answered the call.
"Yes? ... Of course I remember you, Mrs. Trask. How can this humble bard be of assistance?" A pause, then a creeping look of superiority and disdain began to forge a somewhat dour cast over his features as he listened. "Yes," he finally replied, managing to dam up any smugness that would have been audible in the cultured speech. "The performance at The Faded Label went quite well. Not the best part of town, but they certainly know how to pick entertainment, if I do say so myself." Another pause, then a soft hiss of derision. "No, ma'am. Thank you. I am booked solid. And as you said yourself, The Tearoom may be a bit ... sensative for what I do. Good day."
The conversation ended with the decisive snap that only a flipphone could manage. The libertine, looking rather pleased with himself, propped an elbow on the corner of his mahogany desk and rested his chin in his hand, only then noticing the storm that had previously eluded his perception. He listened a moment, then sat straight, the pointer and middle fingers of his left hand forming a tilted mockery of a piece sign before his eyes, his right taking up a pen and beginning to write.
1. One who acts without moral restraint; a dissolute person.
2. One who defies established religious precepts; a freethinker.
Morally unrestrained; dissolute.
Allow me to be frank at the commencement. You probably will not like me. Even in these times, there is little space for a nature so raw and uninhibited as my own. Some of you may find me refreshing, a breath of cool air in a sea of pretense. And who can blame you? How many people claim to be free thinkers, profess to living on the edge of societal morale and conformity, then turn tail and stalk off like a stern old nun at the first sign of fun? Others may find me crass, which is completely understandable, given the standards of this so called "liberated time". Not consistent, mind you, but understandable. Nevertheless, whichever catigory you may fall into, and whether you stumbled on this page by accident, or in response to the undoubtedly spirited reactions to my rare but inspired contributions to the community, I bid you welcome. Read on. I am likely the most honest soul you will encounter.
I am not a comedian, though a rare and special kind of person will laugh with me. I would not even go so far as to call myself a voice of reason, I shudder to think of the state in which the world would find itself if I lead. Merely someone who really, truly speaks his mind, despite how it may effect those who hear. But perhaps the most offensive part of all of this, is I do not feed off reactions. I do not deliver a key line, then glance hopefully to my audience for approval, I am not even the sort to thrive on negative attention. Don't misunderstand me, both can be plenty gratifying, but this wit wielding dracula, this bloodthirsty Voltaire, this murciless Mark Twain does what he does for the simple pleasure of it. Art, for art's own sake.
That is my prologue, nothing in rhyme, no protestations of modesty, you were not expecting that I hope. I am Scott Hicks, Artist and Entrepreneur, libertine of this falsely decadent age, and I do not want you to like me.