6:33 AM - True Beauty
Current mood: Reflective

Hola from Spain, or is it bom dia from Lisbon, or is it ni hao from Beijing, or is it guten tag from Berlin, or is it bon jour from Paris, or shalom from Tel Aviv? We really could be anywhere couldn’t we? And that’s the point, isn’t it? Not the messenger or the language he speaks or the city he lives in or if there are two or three or a thousand of us – it’s the message. True beauty is not a curse on the world. True beauty radiates from a leper’s hope or a victim’s resistance. True beauty does not exist in the symmetry of a face or the flatness of a belly. True beauty lives in the musk of sweat that forms after a good hard screw. True beauty is raw, ugly, human. True beauty throws up on your shoes. True beauty’s eyes are bloodshot from being up all night fighting. True Beauty leaves a scar. True beauty hurts to look at – because it reminds us how ugly we all are. It holds a mirror up to our mediocrity; our need to blend in, to conform, to believe in the craven imagery sold to us at the checkout line in the supermarket. We hunger for True Beauty because we are feeding ourselves with dust to fill our need. We are gorging ourselves at the buffet table of illusion and wondering why we never feel full, never feel satisfied, never feel beautiful. Turn away from the mirage and feed with me. Put down your Us Weekly and turn off your “E!” -- they are the Devil’s banquet. Yes, my methods are extreme, but my message is not. How I communicate what I believe isn’t for everyone – in fact it isn’t for anyone but me – but what I am saying is universal.

For those that see my true identity as some kind of disappointment, a let down, I ask – who did you think I was? I am the Carver, I have always been the Carver, I was never anything but the Carver. You knew that. Who I was behind the mask was never important. It was what I did when the mask was on that mattered. Like a great knight, it was what I stood for when I donned my armor that made the difference. Yes, it was important to me that everyone knew that I wasn’t some lunatic, some uneducated psychotic with nothing but rage and revenge as my guides -- that I wasn’t being controlled by the neighbor’s dog or compelled by the Devil. But at the end of the day, it was never about who was doing it, it was about what was being done. I am simply the one that was chosen to be given the gift of enlightenment -- just as Siddhartha, Mohammed, Abraham and Jesus were all just men, chosen for reasons unknown to them to deliver the word of God. Do not focus on the “who”, focus on the “why.” The “who” is a distraction. The “who” helps us forget the lie that the “why” is trying to destroy. It makes us think that because someone has pretty eyes what they say is important and because someone has no teeth they are a rambling idiot – even if both are saying the exact same thing.

Kit and I will always be out here, somewhere, maybe on the other side of the world, maybe hiding in your closet. Where ever we go, though, we will be bringing our message of True Beauty and confronting those that resist it. I might even pop in here every now and then to give my good friends a personal hello, maybe explain a few things. It has been a pleasure “educating” all of you. Let’s do it again sometime soon. Just leave your back doors open for sis and me. We’ll be over as soon as we can…

Until we meet again, my beauties…

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11:18 AM - I Hear a Train...
Current mood: Ready

Tick-tock, tick-tock, people get ready, there’s a train coming – a train called the Darkness. The true shadow approaches.  Can you hear it whisper down your roofs, along your walls, under the cracks of your doors until it is lying next to you in bed, smothering you in its blackness?  I am not myself.  I have inhaled the Darkness in her purity.  She owns me now – and she is a merciless bitch.  She is always hungry, never satiated, she wants more.  Everything up until this point has been appetizer, finger food.  The time has come for the main course – and it will be served blood-rare – a screaming orgasm of pain.  Do you know what the French call an orgasm?  “The little death.”  One shocking moment of extreme sensation followed by clouds of doubt, regret, fear.  Hush, my children.  There will be no need for such earthly things after we come together tonight.  From our little death will come rebirth, life, freedom.  Prepare yourselves to be joined with me – to see what I see.  Surrender to me and let me infect you with the virus of clarity.

I’m rambling, I know, but it’s all too close – I can’t sleep.  I feel like a virgin bride at the moment of first penetration -- anxious, miserable, aroused and finally understanding my true power.  The World is my husband and from this moment on he will be mine to command.  

Do you want to know a secret? I cried last night -- tears of doubt.  How can I, one brave soul heal all that is broken in this World?  How can I, one lonely pilgrim touch every needy, lost lamb?  I dropped to my knees and begged the Spirits for guidance.  They spoke to me in soothing tones, as a father to a child – they calmed me, told me that one soldier who carries the truth as his spear is more powerful than a hundred-thousand defending a lie.  They told me that everyone comes into this life with a purpose, some to harm, some to heal, some to run, some to fight, some to clarify, some to deceive.  “But what is my purpose?” I asked.  “Your purpose is the most important of all,” they answered.  And when they gave me my charge, when my holy reason for being was revealed to me, my tears turned to ones of joy.  For my purpose is to bring the apocalypse – “Behold, he cometh with clouds and every eye shall see him: and all kindreds of the Earth shall wail because of him…” 

Brothers and sisters – all rise.  The time has come, the dusk is upon us.  We gather together tonight on a grand occasion.  Tonight I settle all accounts; tonight I give myself, all of myself to the World as sacrifice.  Prepare yourselves, children – the pale horse rides, the end of days is at hand. 

People get ready, there’s a train coming – you don’t need no ticket – just get on board.

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10:15 AM - My Mask
Current mood: generous

I am on a holy quest.  A quest for true equality.  A quest for the expression of godliness in every person regardless of their race, creed, religion or sexual orientation.  We are instinctively drawn to those that look like us, or worse yet, those that look like we wish to look.  Both are lies.  Neither is a true expression of who any of us are.  I wear a mask not to hide my identity – but to make sure that I am seen.  See my face and you know nothing of me.  See my face and you see what you want to see – you compare, contrast – “Is she prettier than I am?  Is his jawline more defined?”  See my face and you see my mask.  See my mask and you see me, see my message, see what I stand for, see my story.   My life is pain, hate, fear.  My mask speaks to that life.  My mask is a gift to the world.  My mask is an act of grand generosity.  It does not hide as the face does.  What face tells the truth anymore?  What face filled with botox and collagen, covered in self-tanner and anti-wrinkle cream is anything but the manifestation of the selfishness of the modern world?  The masses cry out – “Give me Jennifer Garner’s nose! Give me Jennifer Lopez’ ass! Do not make me “as” beautiful as they are – simply make me “as” they are – for those I worship are nothing save for how they look and I am nothing if I do not look as they do.  Perhaps if we appear to be the same I will feel as they feel, I will consume what they consume, I will become what they have become.  Anything to lose who I truly am.  Anything to not have to look into the face that was gifted to me.  Lie to me, cheat me, tell me what I need to hear, just don’t look at me.”  All I want is for people to look as they feel.  To be the same inside and out.  I wear my mask because even I, an enlightened one have lost the use of my face.  It is just like the rest, a façade, an eminence front, a put on.  I give people masks of their own, gift their cheeks with honesty.  I must admit, sometimes when I see them in their humility, in their humanity, I am overcome and I must join with them, but even great ones cannot help but be drawn into the holy light of an illuminated soul.  Why do we elevate as heroes the cowards who claim to be champions of equality, yet do nothing to demonstrate what true equality looks like?  I am the only one who can destroy society’s masks.  I am the only one with the courage, insight and strength to tear off the masks and expose the raw, pink, unsoiled flesh within.  Do not ask me to remove my mask – I already have.

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10:24 AM - Hate
Current mood: alive

Oysters? Diamonds? Conch Chowder? Spanish fly?  Amateurs.  Poetry?  Flowers?  Lingerie? Perfume?  Pretenders.  The truest, most powerful aphrodisiac isn’t any of these – it is hate.  Sex does not live in our heads or our hearts, sex lives in our bowels, in the dark spaces within and below.  Sex resides in our loins where hate festers, masticating us from within until we explode in a rage of passion.  I am hate.  I was not born of God’s heart or spirit, but emerged from his mighty taint to expose the power of hate, to show that it is the envy of love.  To love someone is to think of them three times, five times, ten times a day.  To hate them is to never have them out of your thoughts.  To hate someone is to be smothered by them, overwhelmed by feeling, made alive by their very existence.  Love can be cured by a slight, by gossip, by rumor, by a pair of socks left unhampered or a slip of the tongue at a dinner party.  Love is fragile.  Love is the lie we tell ourselves to make all the other lies manageable.  Hate is pure, though. Hate endures against all logic, against all argument, against any attempted reconciliation.  Send me chocolates, I still hate you.  Say you’re sorry, I still hate you.  Fix what you have broken, I still hate you.  And what is a more powerful, complete and devastating expression of hate than sex?  Is there a better way to focus hate than to purify it in the places where it is most comfortable?  Have sex with someone you love, then have sex with someone you hate and then tell me which is more satisfying.  Tell me who you would rather see vulnerable, empty, weakened to their most base and animalistic – a lover or an enemy?  I pity those that love me more than those that hate me because the haters feel what I feel.  The haters see me as I see them.  I am bound to the haters by experience.  To hate me is to understand me, to understand me is to love me – and to be loved by me.  My experience of what you call love is limited, and that love is poisoned by pain.  Hate, though?  I’m lousy with hate.  Hate is where I live.  Those that claim to not hate might as well claim to not breathe or eat or think.  To exist is to hate.  To be alive is to understand that “you” is the truest word and that the only way to join with another is to connect with their hate of you – and your hate of them.  I carve because I hate. I hate because I seek connection with the world. I seek understanding, a shared experience, a brotherhood with man.  I yearn to be hated, so please, hate me my lovers.  Hate me with all that you are.  Climax with hate at the very thought of me and together we will see the world.    

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1:20 PM - Pain
Current mood: Horny

Who knew that my church would speak to so many?  Who knew that I, the prophet of the truth would arouse the envy and lust that lies deep in so many tortured souls?  What is it about a man or woman who not only speaks so firmly for the pain and pressure we all feel but who takes action in that pain’s name that makes all the boys and girls want to unsnap their jeans and throw their panties on my stage?  Since I have opened my house to all of you, the legs of my audience have been spread wide and willingly.  Such an honor to be the object of so much affection.  A different person might be humbled by the offers of free love and carnal passion.  I am not a different person, though.  I am a Messenger of God -- a prophet of sex, love, justice and no mercy.  Why do people want me?  Because I am their worst fears personified.  I am their pain, I am the boyfriend who cast you aside, I am the girlfriend that laughed at you when you stood naked and vulnerable before her, I am the bartender who passed over you in line, I am the snicker in the locker-room.  You are desperate to be had by me, totally, completely, without doubt.  For only then can you be devoured by your pain, only then can that pain be validated, understood, accepted.  Only then can you see yourself for who you are.  You want me because you hurt – and being hurt by me is to have that hurt made love to.  You want me because when I look at you I don’t see eyes, nose, smile, I see your anguish and nothing but your anguish.  From behind my mask I see behind your mask.  I accepted my pain years ago, but I am too good a person, I could not accept that I was the only one who could find peace, I needed to spread the message across the world, give it to all of you.  When will I strike again?  Soon, my flock.  My Book of Revelations will be realized in the coming weeks – for those that have accepted my message, my blade will feel like the kiss of an angel across their cheeks – but for those who fight me, resist my truth, attempt to interfere with what I was put on this Earth to do, hellfire will crush them.  There are those out there – they know who they are – who feel the need to “fix” what I have already fixed, who feel the need to “cure” what I have finally made well.  They are the Brutus and Cassius of my play; they are the great traitors to my religion.  Listen close, both believer and non-believer alike – those two will suffer more deeply and more completely than any others.  Those two will see my face and beg it for mercy – of which there will be none.   Until then, come to me, my lovers -- let me hold you close, let my blade pierce your pain, release it, expose it to the world.  Let your blood mix with mine and let us be bound by it.  

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10:40 PM - The Plane Crash
Current mood: Hungry

Shame about the plane crash – so many souls lost before I could save them.  It’s also a hell of a headline grabber.  I’m not one to give up my spotlight that easily, though.  I have something in mind to get it back, but it might take a couple of weeks to put it together.  No worries -- my mother always said – luck favors the prepared.  Miami is getting cold, people are covering up – but I can see through the sweaters and the Juicy Hoodies to the pain buried underneath – pain begging to be relieved.  Sometimes it just all seems like too much for me – so many innocents corrupted, desperate for my love; pleading for the hand of God to work through me and mark them, heal them, cure them of beauty’s curse.  I suppose I just need to start small – think globally, act locally, right?  There’s a new café that just opened down the street.  The wait-staff wear these crisp, white oxford shirts.  I have a thing for waiters.  Put a girl in a white shirt with black pants, pull her hair back in a ponytail and give her a little pad and pen and I’m hooked.  I think I’ll head down for a bite.  I’m feeling peckish and I’m planning on giving whoever is lucky enough to wait on me one hell of a tip…

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9:51 AM - Sunday
Current mood: restless

Day of rest?  No chance.  I’m antsy; feels like my veins are electric eels.  I’m backed-up.  It’s been too long since I’ve “gone to work” and the City is moaning for me.  She’s a lover with her body wide open for me, begging, desperate.  Only I know how to love her, make her cry out.  I want her to scream my name tonight.  But where shall I have her? When shall I take her?  Things are starting to heat up around here.  The town’s not what it used to be for me – Miami Open City.  Now there are Guardian Angels roaming South Beach, extra rent-a-cops in the ‘burbs, doormen are harder to charm my way past.  Guess I only have myself to blame.  I suppose I could have some fun with my little in-house project, but Blondie is starting to bore me a little.  No, I have to find a new friend.  A road trip might be in order.  A little Sunday drive up to Ft. Lauderdale, or Middleburg.  Maybe Boca.  That’s the ticket.  There’s that wonderful little organic produce shop up there.  I can stop on my way back and pick up some papayas.    

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11:22 AM - Thursday
Current mood: Inspired

It’s humid out today, that wonderful tropical dampness that gives Miami personality. If you could describe any kind of weather as “sexy,” it’d be humidity. I’m inspired to work when it feels like this. The sweat of the city gives off the most erotic musk; it makes me drunk, hungry, desperate to connect to someone…special. Maybe I’ll go down to one of the clubs on South Beach and do some scoping or maybe I’ll pop in on that actor who just moved in down the street. Our eyes met in the market the other day and I could see the pain behind his glance. He might as well have been calling out to me, screaming in the middle of the frozen food section – “Save me, please, release me from bondage.” Or maybe he was just cold. Who knows? Who cares? Either way, I think he’d be fun to spend some alone time with, do a little educating. A little liberating.  A light breeze just picked up. The barometer is rising. The humidity is breaking a bit. I think I’ll still go out tonight, though. I still feel like dancing, and I think I just saw my new friend’s car pull into his garage.

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