Hello to all you curious bastards.
My name is Julius and I live in Melbourne, Australia. I mainly post whatever the hell I want, could be rants, random quotes I find amusing or fascinating, works of art, or even photography. I always had an obsession with philosophy, and although I never actually studied it formally, I enjoy it all the same.
The evil side of things have always intrigued me. How with wit and charm and temptation can manipulate. How deviousness, patience, and brutality can be utilized as a deadly weapon. I will always root for a creative and cunning villain.
Here is a brief biography for all who are still reading. Born 1993, grew up with a large family. Kind of became a quiet thinking type because the rest of my family always has something to say, and not to mention loudly. But that doesn't mean I'm not talkative. Through primary school and high school, I was a lot more angry than I am today, so I maybe have taken a bully position being stronger than most of my classmates. Nearing the end of school, I learned patience, and for some reason, that made people fear me more. As opposed to my younger destructive self, I am more creative, I am a hobbyist writer and I draw whenever I feel like it, and always trying to get better at handling my guitar. You can see some of my stuff here http://jul320.deviantart.com/gallery/ And right now I am currently studying to be a Musculo-skeletal Therapist (yes, helping people with physical therapy, who would've guessed). That is me, so goodbye motherfuckers.
I am the desire in your heart,
the seductive voice in your head.
I am the tickling touch on your skin,
the lip biting pleasures surging like electric.
I am dominant and submissive,
master and slave to your urges.
I am false love and false passion,
trapping the depraved into my sin.
I am the screams and the moans,
the claw marks on your back.
I am the melting snow on your nipple.
I am the dancing fire in your eyes.
I am the sweat dripping down your face.
I am pure.
I am filthy.
I am sex.
I. Am. Lust.
Set in motion from the very beginning.
The dark day comes a minute after midnight.
When it cycles back.
No one knows.
Where it stems.
Is unique to everyone.
The dark days are the weeping days,
the furious days, and the silent days.
The world grows weary.
We are exhausted.
And as the sun shines back anew.
It stares into my very being.
It sees me for who I am.
The real me.
And I am intrigued.
This “thing” that frightens me so.
Harmless to those who do not know.
A beast to those who have had experience in its dealings.
And feeling frightened and intrigue and joy and overwhelm.
I stare back at it.
The abyss of its form is honest.
Much more than me.
To try and grasp it is like trying to catch mist.
And in the patient night.
I take it.
He approaches the cracked line.
It seems ghostly.
Created by fear and depression.
Held by morality and justice.
But all the same, just a broken line.
The longer he lingers, the more it seems to whisper to him.
One single voice talking in a haunting echo.
It then multiples to a dozen voices. A hundred. A thousand.
The whispers become shouts of pure malice, rage, and persuasion.
Then a sudden nothingness.
But it’s too late, nothing reaches the man now.
He is lost to them. To “it”.
One staggered foot at a time, he steps over the sinuous line.
And he is gone.
— Andrew Ryan (Bioshock)