Lost on the Moon

Showing some love to any Bronies or (fellow) Pega-Sisters in the house!

If you don't understand, then, well, you don't understand. That's cool. Just be tolerant. That's all anyone asks.

Favorite Musicians of the Netherworld: Bon Scott

9 July 1946 – 19 February 1980

I was just 15 years old when Bon Scott died. It devastated me. AC/DC was my favorite band, and let me confess a little something to you. I loved Bon. Yeah, I know how cheesy that sounds, but I did.

Talk about a match that never would have worked out in reality, that would have been it. But I loved him anyway. I had always been a good Catholic girl, but when I hit my teens, I started to go a little wild.

I wasn't wild with boys, contrary to popular rumors that I had eight abortions by the time I was fourteen. No, seriously, that was a rumor spreading around about me. I don't know how it started, because I was incredibly naïve about sex. I thought a blow job was blowing in someone's ear, and I wondered why the hell anyone would find that activity enjoyable.

I knew how babies were made, but I was scared to death of doing the act that made babies. I didn't want a baby, and I had heard that it hurt like hell to have sex the first time. (At this point I still believed that pain with sex for women was because of Eve and the original sin, and I hated the bitch for it. What I didn't admit was that I was also pissed off at God for being such a douchebag as to do this to women because of Eve being an asshole. Believe me, I was very indoctrinated.) Nonetheless, I did daydream about doing said act with Bon Scott, and I figured I was going to hell, but I liked him (and AC/DC's music) so much that I figured my immortal soul was a small price to pay.

When I found out that Bon had died, I walked through the little Peyton Place town that was home to me and my misery, feeling terribly lost. Nobody in that town understood me. My parents didn't understand me either. I felt like I was an alien who had been lost from another planet and ended up in this fucking miserable place. I was very bullied and very lonely, and I felt like I'd just lost the love of my life. Well, I had, though he didn't know he was.

Bon was known as a nice guy, even if he was a bit of a randy sort. I would dream about him sometimes. I like to think that maybe he felt a little sympathy for a silly, unhappy girl who had a huge crush on him. Maybe he wanted to show me that I had a friend after all. Who knows. The older I get, the less I know.

Though Brian Johnson is fabulous and I can't imagine anyone else filling Bon's shoes, there will never be another Bon Scott. He was one of those people that just can't be imitated. I think one reason Brian worked out so well is because he wasn't trying to imitate Bon. He was just trying to do the best damn job he could.

Brian believes that Bon came to him one night in spirit and stayed for about an hour, helping him finish the songs he was struggling to write. He has said that he doesn't like to talk about this much, because people think he's crazy when he tells this tale. I don't. But I am kinda crazy.

So today, if we'll have a moment of silence for...

Nah, that's not the way we do it in the Netherworld!

If we'll turn it up to 666 and drive down the Highway to Hell, that's the way to honor Bon Scott in a fitting way!

Ronald Belford Scott: Never imitated, never forgotten. Rock in peace!

In Celebration of Quorthon's Birthday

Today is the 47th chronological birthday of the inimitable Quorthon, a favorite citizen of the Netherworld. Hail! Let the celebration commence!

Thomas "Ace" Börje Forsberg was born February 17, 1966 in Stockholm and died June 7, 2004 in Stockholm. He was a pioneer of the Death Metal and Black Metal genres. A highly talented musician, he played numerous instruments and often mixed his own tracks.

Quorthon suffered from what sounds like cardiomyopathy. He was only 38 years old at the time of his passing.

In spite of his rather private personality, Quorthon was known to be very considerate to his fans, never acting as though he were some sort of "rock star." He considered himself to be a musician, not a "diva" in need of worship. He had a sense of humor about the sometimes ridiculous rumors that circulated about him and the sometimes outlandish (and pornographic) pictures that some fans would send him.

Gone too soon but not forgotten, the talented Mr. Forsberg's music will live on forever.

 

Thanks for the $25 To the World Federation for Mental Health

Prunes give me the runes. So do sandwiches which sat out too long but I ate anyway because I was hungry. So does social networking. And so does that damn book that I wrote which will probably follow me into the Afterlife the way His Nibs' image followed him into the Afterlife. But what the fuck can you do.

I was flabbergasted--nay, galled--when I discovered that I had forgotten to deactivate the Outskirts Press link to buy my book and realized that some dozen people had purchased this fucking abomination last year. I was just about to deactivate the link when a little voice said "no, don't. It's money for the cause." So I didn't. And I just donated the $25 in royalties to the World Federation for Mental Health.

I have a Causes pages on Facebook, so if you really care, join and donate to WFMH. Or just donate right to them. So yeah, the book is still available, damn it all, but I'm not going to make it easy to find it because there is a BETTER VERSION coming out. The book has been revised by the peerless, the inimitable, the amazing ROSE LEMORT, a complete perfectionist who refuses to release the new version until it is up to her EXACTING standards! All proceeds for Rose's new and better book will also go to worthy causes so PLEASE buy this version and give Rose your support!

For those who bought the book for the right reasons, thanks. For those who bought it for the wrong reasons, happy to disappoint you. I really don't give a shit about P.R. at this juncture and I'm not going to censor myself.

Lily

And now this. Because, what the fuck.

Not to Worry...

RT @xsimplyquotes Oh no, don't worry about me. It's not like I have feelings or anything.




Love always to the late Ronnie James Dio, a man with much honor and class.

Ain't Found A Way to Kill Me Yet

Rooster


Ain't found a way to kill me yet


Eyes burn with stinging sweat


Seems every path leads me to nowhere



Wife and kids household pet


Army green was no safe bet


The bullets scream to me from somewhere



Here they come to snuff the rooster, aww yeah, hey yeah


Yeah here come the rooster, yeah


You know he ain't gonna die


No, no, no, ya know he ain't gonna die (x2)



Walkin' tall machine gun man


They spit on me in my home land


Gloria sent me pictures of my boy



Got my pills 'gainst mosquito death


My Buddy's breathin' his dyin' breath


Oh god please won't you help me make it through



Here they come to snuff the rooster, aww yeah


Yeah here come the rooster, yeah


You know he ain't gonna die


No, no, no ya know he ain't gonna die




More lyrics: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/a/alice_in_chains/#share


Written by Jerry Cantrell, in honor of his father who served in Viet Nam. Read here for the story behind the song.

For my own part I was thinking of all the people in my history who have wanted to destroy me, either because I didn't belong to their narrow view of what people "should" be like, or because I had something they wanted and they couldn't stand it. Well, you fuckers ain't found a way to kill me yet. Maybe you should have done it right the first time, because a wounded animal is dangerous. Karma is a bitch and one day you'll get yours for the wrong that you did me.