(no subject)
~*~Part One~*~
Name: Caz, Cazamous, Cazmeister
Age: That peculiar age of 15.
Birthday: Well, on the 28th July 1989 the world rejoiced.
Gender: I'm all man (when I say that I mean woman).
Hair/Eye Color: Hair is mulitple shades of dark, eyes are dark, dark brown which turn black in the night causing me too appear possessed!
Where you are from: Down Under. Heh.
~*~Part Two~*~
Exterior (Stuff you like, your style, but not “scene”; The clothing you like, any way you express yourself, or what interests and/or attracts you, etc.):
-Clothing: Cazzy doesn't have one distinct style in clothing, she likes to test the waters of many different lakes. I just try to look pretty. And funky.
- Vehicles of expression: Songwriting, poetry, creative writing of any sort really. Drawing, sketching…I'm terrified of colouring my artworks.
- Things I Find Attractive: smoke, lace, seduction, kissing, velvet, droplets of blood.
Do you have any body modifications? Simple ear piercings.
How would your friends describe you? I guess you'd have to ask my friends…but gathering from past experience they'd say "I can't describe you…you're Caz." (Silly, undescpritive friends…)
Are you a loner, leader, or a follower? I can be all three, depending on the situation and my mood.
Things you are obsessed with:
- Music
- The ability to push people away then have them return.
- Running my hands along surfaces.
- droplets of blood.
What do you find beautiful? Pretty men, seduction, consciousness of beauty.
What do you find ugly? Pimples, flaky skin, abuse.
~*~Part Three~*~
List the following as the directions state.
5 songs that you relate to/really like that provide an idea of what I would hear if I came to hang out at your place or what you listen to alone. Give us a line from each and explain what makes you like them. Be sure to make at least two in detail and feel free to be general on the others.
Despite the great difficutly and torment I am suffering from having to choose only 5 songs…here we go.
- Creep by Radiohead
"I don't care if it hurts, I wanna have control…I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul."
The first part of that extract perfectly depicts what first compelled me to graduate into cutting. If you were someone I knew personally, I would tell you none of this, but I don't seem to have a problem with sharing my emotions with strangers…so hmmm. I used to just hit, slap, scratch myself as a kid (obviously not conscious of what I was doing), probably because I used to see my father do the same to my mum. As I grew older I became aware of what I was doing and learnt about cutting. I never tried it until one time the abuse got out of hand and neighbours called the police. There was a court case and all that jazz, and I just felt as though I had no control over anything. I had so much to say, but no one wanted to hear and if they did they didn't really care. So came my craving for control, which I found in cutting, because it was pain that I inflicted upon myself.
The second part about wanting perfection…I'm sure is something everyone can relate to.
- Strawberry Gashes by Jack Off Jill
"Watch me fault her, you're like a living disaster."
I can interpret this song and twist it to my fit my mould so easily. I heart it.
- The Poetic Retelling of An Unfortunate Seduction by Bright Eyes
" And you find yourself on a velvet couch, tasting the skin of a foreign girl."
Reminds me of a personal experience, plus the lyrics are just delicious.
- Missed Me by Dresden Dolls
"If you kiss me, mister, you must think I'm pretty, if you think so, mister, you must wanna fuck me."
The first time I heard this song, I wanted to marry it. Heh.
- I Touch Myself by Jack Off Jill
"When I think about you I touch myself!"
Self explanatory.
- Trigger by Sandrine
"I've got a thing about your absent attitude, think about you in the nude and how I'd love to have your sons."
I've never been IN love before, though there have been instances in which I have been completely obsessed and wrapped up in someone and when I heard this song it completely mirrored the way I felt.
5 random facts about yourself
- I have a phobia of birds.
- I'm a commitmentphobe.
- I work at Maccas. Mock me and I'll stab you.
- I can't skim pebbles.
- I like the fact that I don't let things bring me down.
5+ words/statements to describe you
- trippy
- commitmentphobe
- immature (I'm wearing it now while it can be attractive at my age)
- musical
- uhm…I've been called vibrant…
5 top qualities/things you respect in people
- ability to rise above problems
- strength
- confidence
- open mindedness
- beauty (shallow, I know, but oh well…)
5 things you want to accomplish or overcome in your life
- go to uni and complete an english lit course.
- improve at guitar
- re-learn piano
- improve singing
- overcome fear of commitment.
5 things you despise
- descrimination
- abuse of any sort
- blatant ignorance
- stuborness
- pimples and flaky skin
~*~Part Four~*~
Do you have any disorders/special conditions? No.
If so and you don’t mind sharing, what are they? …
How do these affect you? …
What is your biggest fear? Being unloved and completely alone.
Do you consider yourself a deep thinker? To an extent, although I try not to indulge in the many thoughts my brain conjures up in fear they'll never release me.
Do you believe in heaven and hell? I believe in a sort of heaven, however I don't believe in Hell.
Do you believe in ghosts and paranormal? Yes, it's ignorant to believe otherwise when there are many possiblities in their existence and no proof of them not existing.
Do you believe eyes are the windows to the soul? Sometimes they express perfectly what no words could ever dream to, but sometimes they're a mere reflective surface that can choose to hide or reveal as it chooses. Although, in those such cases, the eyes can't hold up the lie for to long…so I guess I do believe them to be windows to the soul, small windows as they are.
What are your spiritual/religious beliefs? Christian.
Do you believe in God/Goddess/Higher Power? Uhm…-spins in circles-
Do you consider yourself open minded, if so how and why? Yes, because narrow mindedness gets you nowhere and restricts fun.
Do you like to read/learn? If so, what topics interest you? I love being whipped away into someone else's life and world, and reading is an absolutely fucking awesome way to do so. I learn…at school?
Do you believe in soul mates? Not in just one soul mate. There has to be more than one person out there…
What is your view on love? Love is destructive, yet the rewards are so worth it, right? I don't know, I've never been in love. But I'm all for physical love! Wooh!
~*~Part Five~*~
What are your educational/career plans for now and the future? Finish school, complete the HSC, get into a good uni maybe overseas. I'd love to pursue something in music, but I don't know. It's difficult.
Are you interested in art? Very.
Do you create any type or form of art (photography, writing of any form, digital art, photo shop, icons you make, layouts, poetry, prose, artistic thoughts on things, drawing, sketches, painting, charcoals, sculptures, music…etc.)? Songwriting, poetry, story writing, drawing, sketching, music.
If so, please post examples.
My scanner's broken, so no drawings.
Should you like to read a short story, then?
Untitled Insignificant Story
It was stark blackness. The silence of the night enveloped me, making me feel helpless against it. I awoke with a tight feeling in my abdomen. I wanted to get up off my hard, uncomfortable bed and walk down the hall to my bathroom, but the feeling of dread that possessed me was too much to even consider.
My home was a war zone. Though no one would ever suspect it of being a house of secret family horrors, it was. We were known as a respectable family. A rich, successful father with his loving wife and their three kind-hearted and well behaved children. To an outsider, or even some of our closest friends, we were your typical dream family. Like hell we were. Fights broke out amongst my 'loving' parents almost every night. If not there would be a cold, uncomfortable air of insecure hope that we'd get through the night without a new injury.
My father was a hot headed man whose expectations were impossible to meet. My mother, an easily aggravated and ferocious woman. My two brothers were as normal as teenage boys who were brought up in a home of heartache can be. I was just, me. No other words. I don't know how I'm portrayed to others and, frankly, I don't care. I don't want to be seen as a ditz with not a care in the world, nor do I pray to be recognized as some beautifully tragic picture of misunderstood grief. But there's nothing I can do to help that, so I don't care. The only thing I truly cared about was recognizing a dream that was cupped tightly in the hopeful hands of many others: being a musician. But there was something I had to survive first: my family life, the distorted and disturbed core of me that was hidden beneath a fog of money, business parties and artificial laughter of those who relentlessly kiss my father's respected behind.
Morning represents a start of a new beating, or a ticket to a show for another beating to watch. If you don't think that's enough of an explanation of why I despise mornings with a passion, then I recommend you get mental help, or stop getting high, frying what little brain cells you're generating now.
The sound of sobbing floated gently to my ears as I made my way to the kitchen. It was a grand kitchen, like the rest of the paradise mansion I lived in. I saw my mother lying despairingly on the couch. She was crying. It was nothing unusual so I proceeded to open the door. That's when I saw. That was the moment that my memory will hold forever, in front of all my thoughts, haunting me, tormenting me, determined to kill me. My brother, Dylan, beautiful, caring Dylan, whom I've cried so many nights with, lay pale and unmoving. A bloody wound under his left rib, a puddle of almost elegant, red blood, standing out immeasurably against the cold, scarily sterile, white tiles. My father was standing near him, still directing his gun where Dylan would have stood. I looked at him, tears springing to my eyes as the pieces placed themselves together in my mind like a jigsaw puzzle.
His eyes met mine and in them I saw nothing. No sign of life. No indication that he was alive, a person. All I could see was a blank night.
I lashed out at him, screaming profanities and clawing him as he stood, still in shock, taking it all.
I felt an incessant grip around my shoulders, pulling me back. I saw my mum's tear stained face and my brother, Justin's hurt, but still stable expression and collapsed into Justin's arms.
When I came to there was a dark sky speckled with glittering stars overhead. For a moment my mind felt free of all worries. Then it hit me like a pile of bricks to the temple. Tears flowed steadily down my face as my deranged mind flitted over the scene that I witnessed. I sat up and the scene that met my eyes was yet another frightening one. Silhouetted were Justin, mum and dad's bodies heaving dirt up. Justin was moving in a slow, tired and heartbroken daze. Mum moving ferocious and fast, as though she was performing a daily household chore, wanting to move on to the next one. Dad was moving with determination in every muscle he moved. I walked to them, and in silent agreement took hold of the other shovel lying near the black bag that, as any moron would realise, contained Dylan's corpse.
We lied to everyone. We claimed Dylan disappeared. We threw some lies about Dylan mixing with the wrong sort and getting entangled in a sticky web of drugs and gang violence. My uncle owns the cemetery in which we buried Dylan's body that night, so he'll make sure that it will never be dug up. Music is still magic, my friends are still in my heart. So is Justin. I'd be lying to say mum and dad are. Dylan's death was our family secret, never to be told.
I apply a slick of dark red lipstick. I'm getting ready for the funeral. Now I do want to be remembered as a beautifully tragic soul. I'm not getting ready for his funeral, I'm getting ready for mine.
Do you play any type of musical instrument? Guitar, flute, voice.
What is your favorite peice of professional art? A famous painting or such. Give a link so we can see it!! (If its a poem writing, copy and paste it, be sure to post who wrote it!)Why is this your favorite?
Anything by Mark Ryden.
~*~Part Six~*~
Post at least three good pictures of yourself. **We are NOT a “rating” community. We will not vote on your looks. We like to know what our members look like, and who they are.** If you do not have photos to post, please contact me before applying!
~*~Part Seven~*~
JULY:
Fun to be with. Secretive. Difficult to fathom and to be understood. Quiet unless excited or tensed. Takes pride in oneself. Has reputation. Easily consoled. Honest. Concerned about people's feelings. Tactful. Friendly. Approachable. Emotional temperamental and unpredictable. Moody and easily hurt. Witty and sparkly. Not revengeful. Forgiving but never forgets. Dislikes nonsensical and unnecessary things. Guides others physically and mentally. Sensitive and forms impressions carefully. Caring and loving. Treats others equally. Strong sense of sympathy. Wary and sharp.Judges people through observations. Hardworking. No difficulties in studying. Loves to be alone. Always Occasionally broods about the past and the old friends. Likes to be quiet. Homely person. Waits for friends. Never looks for friends. Not aggressive unless provoked. Prone to having stomach and dieting problems. Loves to be loved. Easily hurt but takes long to recover.
~*~This is for our knowledge!!~*~
Where did you find this community? on _lithiera.
Promote us to at least one person. :)
http://www.livejournal.com/users/woundedmemory/20463.html?view=211951#t211951