You all remember when I finally met Trent Reznor, right? I was a nervous wreck beforehand, freaking out, crying, anxiety, anal leakage. I was a mess... right up until the actual moment when it seemed like the easiest and most natural thing in the world. I built him up in my head to be this superior being but he was easy. He healed my soul with a hug and was kind and loving and patient.
Now, I also adore Amanda Palmer. Let's think of her as my female Trent, in a way. The difference is, she is not bigger than life to me the way he is. I have seen her (alone and with The Dresden Dolls) only three times. I can think of her, meeting her and being around her with zero anxiety.
BUT!
The opposite is true when it actually happens. The moment I see her in person I shake. I feel sick. I get nervous. It's like I know that I am just not cool enough to be near her in any way. How DARE a dork like me love her so much. Look at her! She's incredible. She doesn't have an ounce of fear about anything.
The first time I saw her, she opened up for NIN with The Dresden Dolls. After the show, her and Brian were sitting at a table by the door ready to sign for anyone in the world. I was on my way out, made eye contact with her, felt weak in my knees and didn't stop to say hello.
The second time was two years ago I suppose. Another Dresden Dolls show. They were signing afterwards. I met Brian, spoke to him just fine and got a picture with him. And then there was Amanda, inches from my face, leaning down so she could talk to me, oozing sweetness and coolness... and I froze. Her eyes are intimidating. I wanted to kiss her in that moment. She was RIGHT THERE. But I didn't ask. I didn't even say much of anything. She looked at me kindly, smiled, signed, and I left forever regretting that moment.
I don't know what it is about her that scares me so much. She is possibly the sweetest, kindest human in the world. She takes her time and loves her fans. Hugs, kisses, interaction galore and I am ridiculously intimidated by her. I shouldn't be! But I am.
So this new show, after much internal drama about whether to go or not (unrelated to anything here), was upon me. The "no kiss" regret stayed with me this whole time and I wanted to be able to have the ability to ask her this time but I know how I am and didn't make it a serious goal. The chances were high of me chickening out.
Just her presence on the stage frightened me a little. What is that??? It's really annoying because I know she's just a person like all other people and I met Trent Fucking Reznor and she is way more accessible than him any day. She's friendlier even!
The show starts (I was rail/left) and she's beautiful and glorious and THERE. My mother was my date and she was enjoying it. During Ask Amanda there was a spontaneous bidding war to make out with Amanda to which I thought "oh shit", figuring if she's auctioning kisses, no way she'll kiss me for free just because I asked.
When the show was over I was waiting for my mother to return with my book for Amanda to sign. Not paying attention to where I was, Amanda came out behind me, caught my attention and said "hey" to which my insides shriveled up and I squeak out a "hi". She kept walking, making her way through the crowd to have her $300 kiss that was auctioned off.
I watched her sign, be friendly and loving with every single person in front of her. She took her time with everyone, allowed them to say all they wanted to say to her, signed whatever they wanted. That would calm a normal person down but I am not normal. It made me more nervous. A lovely man allowed me to cut in front of him. At that moment, I wished he hadn't because I wasn't ready. I had nothing in my head to say to her. I was blank. She leaned over, she leaned down EXACTLY as she had the last time I saw her. Inches away AGAIN. And then I thought... "fuck it".
I said, "I have to tell you. You are my one regret."
Friendly, sweet "Oh? Why's that?"
"It's just... (intimidating eyes looking back at me)... Last time I met you I didn't ask you for a kiss."
(nervous, nervous, nervous me)
"So.... Is that your way of asking for one now?"
(shaking, nervous, nervous me)
".... Trying to"
"Well, sure"
She leaned over as much as she possibly could, held my face and kissed me. Like Trent's hug, a longer kiss than I expected. She stroked my hair and told me I was beautiful, which would have made me cry if I wasn't so nervous. She kissed me again on my forehead. I told her I adore her, thanked her and ended it with a "see ya later" just after she complimented my necklace.
I believe I giggled and squealed and acted like an ass on the way out the door but big deal! My big regret, the ONE in my whole life no longer applied. There was freedom in that. You should try it sometime.
Regrets no more but I do wish I had the physical ability to talk to her more and tell her how special THIS show was, having just found out a friend of mine killed herself. However, if I did that I may have definitely cried and that would've been bad.
Trent Reznor hugged me.
Amanda Palmer kissed me.
... Next was Michael Jackson but he died. Jerk.
I discovered just today that you died. That you killed yourself. That my worst fear, that I never spoke outloud, happened.
You disappeared. You just... were gone and I noticed. And I looked. And emailed. And waited. And searched. Googled. Searched. Emailed strangers. For what? Seven years? Every few days, weeks, months. You were never forgotten by me.
I held out hope and imagined that you just got married and so your last name changed and that would be the reason my searching failed.
Your phone numbers were gone. All of them. Your screen names were deleted. I started to doubt myself and you. That, maybe you never were who you said you were and had to flee the country and re-change your name.
I kind of wish I still had the illusions.
In reality, you killed yourself in June 2002. Exactly when I noticed your absence. I was looking for someone who is gone.
I don't know what happened or why. I have no idea why you didn't come to me... Or did you and I didn't pay attention? Is it my fault? Could I have prevented it? Seven YEARS ago, Woobie! And I'm just learning about it now!?!
I know that you would tell me it wasn't my fault, and realistically I know that's true. But I can't help but wonder if I could have done something.
Look at all you've missed. Obama, iPods, iPhones, firefox, hi-speed cable Internet, Snakes on a Plane, Britney going insane, Paris Hilton, the ending of Harry Potter! Oprah got skinny. Oprah got fat. There was a Willy Wonka remake. I threw out my vinyl. TJ got married. And divorced. My dad died.
I moved... And worried you wouldn't be able to find me. So I kept my AOL account and name. Just in case. Your phone numbers no longer worked but I kept them. Just in case.
You died seven YEARS ago but I found out just yesterday and my ass is mourning. I was the dark cloud. You were the sunshine. Why did you kill yourself and I didn't? What was different? What happened that you couldn't tough it out with me?
I remembered your blog. I read every entry looking for an answer. Word for word, looking for some kind of cryptic message between the lines. You asked what we think happens when we die. You talked about a man you loved. You wrote about your best friend. You told me you love me.
But there were no answers to why.
I'm sorry, Woobie. I'm sorry for not having my own shit together. I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't lean on me. I'm sorry I can't remember our last conversation. I'm sorry you're gone. I'm sorry it took me seven years to finally discover it. I'm sorry.
And thank you, Woobie. Thank you for existing. Thank you for caring. Thank you for listening. Thank you for laughing. Thank you for seeing me. Thank you for loving me.
If you don't mind, I would like to continue my little images of you married with children. They're much more pleasent. I suspect that's why the Universe made the truth so difficult to uncover... to allow me to keep you happy and safe. I don't believe in God, heaven or hell but I do believe the world works exactly the way we need. I wish you knew that.
I don't even know how to end this because there is so much I can say besides just that I loved you and you were special to me. And that it's so weird to feel this sad about something that happened so long ago. But...
I love you, Woobie and you were so VERY special to me. I wish you were here.
- Me
(this was written over a two day period which is why babbling and time shifts may occur. left unedited.)
So, I have abandoned Vox in favor of Twitter. I didn't mean to, but the small character limit just fits me. I came back to Vox today because for the first time in a long time I have something I feel like I need to get out that will take more than a couple of sentences.
I have been in a funk all year. Mostly from the fibromyalgia, hypothyroid and chronic backpain. I have had severe fatigue which makes even the smallest problems seem insurmoutnable. This last month I have been especially horribly depressed. Aside from a handful of trips to the grocery store I have only left my house to go to the doctor.I can't and don't really want to do anything else. I can't really fingerpoint any specific reason for this turn for the worse, but I stumbled upon a ripped up scrap of paper in my bedroom and that is was brought out this entry.
When I was 19 I was going through a similar bout of not leaving the house. It had even turned into slight agoraphobia at a certain point. I was going to see a very apathetic psychiatrist at the time whose name I can't even remember. She never really talked to me during sessions other than to ask if I was feeling better. I would say no and she would just give me more medication or change the meds I was on and ask to see me again in two weeks. One other thing she did tell me was to start journaling when I had nobody to talk to. I took this advice and started journaling compulsively. I was rarely seen without a book and pen in my hand. One day when i was in a really bad spell I decided that the journaling was a bullshit waste of time and I ripped all the books to pieces. There was about 20 of them and they were torn to bits and thrown away. All except for one small bit of paper that I ripped out of the book and then decided I should keep. I don't remember why I decided to keep it, but that's what I stumbled on today.
It was the top third of a page with the date intact. 26 October 1999 almost exactly 10 years ago to the day. No other words on that side of the page, but I had taped on the emergency room bracelet I had worn the day before. the other side says "I will never forget the hellish way it felt to get my stomach pumped. It was awful, I..." and the rest was lost to the rubbish bin
That's when I had my stomach pumped after swallowing hundreds of pills. pink, yellow, white and more. A rainbow! I actually remember the doctor asking me as the contents of my stomach were coming out, " was yellow the only color of pill you took? oh wait there's pink!" I had a plastic piece in my mouth so I couldn't bite down and the tube down my throat so how he expected me to answer, I don't know.
Even though I can remember the entire ordreal perfectly there are a few things that really stand out in my mind. Firstly, having my wrists tied down to the side of the bed and thinking it was just like in the movies and then instantly feeling trapped when they made sure they were tight and secure. the second thing I remember was machine's alarm going off and being told I had to calm down. I was crying so my nose was running and my throat was filled with a big tube so I couldn't breathe. Of course I wasn't calm! Suddenly though one of the men in the group of interns who had been brought round to stare at me, jumped behind me on the other side of the bed and started to rub my tummy. Such a simple and silly thing, but it worked. I was able to focus on his warm hand rubbing my tummy and the machines shut up and I could hear him telling me it was almost over and I would be just fine. I also remember bullshitting the psych doctor that came down to decide if i had to stay in her ward for a few days. It was very easy to lie and get out of it.
Sometimes it feels like 10 years have passed and other times it feels like it just happened last week. I remember hoping that in the future I would laugh and think how lucky I was not to have died. 10 years on and I can't honestly say that yet. Maybe in another ten years I will be able to.
After way too much time, I am pleased to announce that Frozen Barbie is now on Twitter! There are many others with similar names on Twitter but this is the OFFICIAL Frozen Barbie page:
As I was browsing around I noticed there are also a handful of character Twitters happening. If any of you had happened to watch True Blood you are probably aware that they also had character Twitters which were SO fun to follow. We are missing a LOT of Dexter characters so far. I think it would be very, very cool if some others snatched up the names and played along.
The following are the Twitters I have found and I will be calling them the "Official" Character Twitters since they all appear to be the originals:
Dexter Morgan
Rita Bennett
Debra Morgan
Vince Masuka
James Doakes
Lila Tourney
We are in need of Laguerta, Lundy, Quinn, Anton, Angel, The Trinity Killer and a TON of others.
If any of you know of others or decide to make your own, please post here or @reply THE Frozen Barbie.
Let's make this fun!!
Seeing my last NIN show for the "foreseeable future" was a bittersweet, exciting, hurtful, sad and joyous experience. I had already accepted the fact that I already saw my last show in June, where I met Trent finally. Tickets for the NYC dates were impossible for me to grab no matter how many different times I tried. I figured the Universe wanted my last time to have been when I met him. The Universe had other plans.
Around Tuesday or so of last week Bean, Puff and I were discussing my birthday which is coming soon. I will be the ripe old age of 31 and just because I'm old doesn't mean that my mother has stopped planning surprises. I don't always like surprises on my birthday. Last year, because I turned 30, I made the plans. I saw NIN the day before and ate grilled cheese sandwiches the day of with my teenagers.
We discussed last year and I said how I didn't really want to do anything big. "But if she wants to do something than she can get me motherfucking tickets to one of the motherfucking NIN shows", said just off the top of my head knowing full well how impossible the tickets have been to get.
On Sunday there was a mysterious little box that had, apparently, been sitting on the table most of the day. Bean is the one who noticed it. With her help, the box was opened and up popped a note that said "YOU ARE GOING". Tears of joy, of course, happened. Then disbelief. Then... Nervousness.
My mother got the tickets from eBay which is a huge no-no in my book. Especially with these, which were ticket-less tickets and scammers could run wild. In the aftermath, all went well and I really had no reason to worry. Apparently, I am not the only one who is able to handle ticket grabbing.
The drive was long. The traffic in the tunnel sucked but there was hardly anything that could spoil the happy. During the ride I thought about each show, all 11 of them and just how prepared I was that I already saw my last show in June. This show was a new monster. The unexpected last goodbye. One last roll in the hay with a lover who is leaving me. This one was to be my closure.
We arrived and met up with Mr. eBay Seller Dude. I was to have this pretty, pretty princess silver sparkly star with me so he'd know who we were. We had no problem getting in and once inside I couldn't give two shits where the handicapped area was, I was just so happy to be there. We learned my area was directly on the left side of the stage on the safe side of the barricade. My view was ridiculously awesome. I was right at the front where the surfers would stumble out from and had a clear view of Mr. Reznor in all his muscular glory.
While I was taking in my view, Vic was going to grab a drink and a shirt for me. It was then that my fellow Twitter/Blog friend, Al, got my attention. I said to him earlier that if he sees me to come say hello but didn't really expect much. In my experience, I usually have to sit in nosebleeds and all of the fun people are miles away on the floor. But there he was and I was down there with him, just in the safe zone.
I have to say, it really made my night that he was right there. My whole (NIN) life none of my friends have been into this band. Vic tolerates it because he loves me but he couldn't give a shit about them. With Al there it was like I had an ally. Sure, a big crowd of NIN fans but... usually they all make me feel like an outcast. They aren't really the friendliest group of people and here's me, weird awkward little thing with an old man who talks a little too much. Al doesn't have that snooty air about him. And his sister is just awesome. It was nice to be by them but I'd have to leave them in order to see because of my smallness.
The details of the show and the setlist (**) is fairly unimportant to me. When Trent came out I had the reaction I always do... awe. He sang and my eyes welled up, knowing that this IS it. As the show continued, I suddenly realized that I met that man. He put his arms around me and healed my soul. The rest of the show then became something else.
He was leaving. He is giving this up. My attention went to the crowd, which I am part of, and felt their love for him. I noticed Mariqueen right above his head on the balcony, watching, taking photos, existing, waiting for her man to get done working. When you really look, you see just what he is giving up. It couldn't have been a spur of the moment decision. I hope people realize that.
During the quiet songs random people would shout "Thank You, Trent". Yelling during those moments would usually annoy me but I teared up every single time. I felt it with them. Thankful. For him. For this. All of it. The past 16 years of my life... I was thankful and they just happened to say it.
His final song was Hurt. A song which exists in every ounce of who I am. Every show that he has played it, I have sobbed through it. I was right there. Right with him. His voice broke. My tears came. I was 15 again, seeing my first show and this was the song he closed with. A fitting ending for me. More shouts of "Thank You" and more tears. A wave goodbye and it was over.
I turned and saw Al. This was the other side, the after. What I really wanted was a blankie and to curl up and cry on the floor right there. Instead, I did my best to compose myself so I don't look like a complete asshole in front of someone I really only just met. It's bad enough I had a pretty, pretty princess wand with me. Add sobbing like a douchebag and he'd surely never speak to me again.
Al and his sister both went up to Leo and got two of Justin's picks. I waited for them so I could say goodbye. Al's sister handed me her's and Al said "I have one and you have one!" and I thought, but didn't say, "Awww! Best Friends ForEVER!!" I thanked his sister. She didn't have to. I adore kindness.
We filed out, slowly, and I don't remember much talking around me besides Vic. Perhaps I was too in my head to notice. Once out, reality came back in the form of three bitchy females waiting for us. Apparently, they did not have fun in the city.
My post-show depression seemed to be sever but is now on hold because I have contracted the NINcooties. Everyone I know who was at the show is now ill in some way. Good times.
** Side notes:
• Because of my location I kept moving for Mr. Rob Sheridan so he could pass and not trip on me.
• I witnessed Mr. Rob Sheridan get a swift kick to the back of the head by some ignorant fuck going over the rail who didn't even try to apologize.
• There was a very weird little bald man around me. Very, very weird. I ignored him.
• I was hug attacked by a girl I know from the Philly and HOB shows after she body surfed.
• I found out after that one of my Philly heros was there and caught Trent's tambourine. I wish I got to see him and am thrilled that he was the one who caught it.
Myself and my awesome imaginary dream boyfriend, James, all traveled to London together for a play James had produced.
James and I were walking along the very famous London Bridge together. We have already been together for a while. It might have been about a year or so. I was 17, almost 18. He had just turned 21. He was the producer for a very popular and uprising play, which was the reason behind us traveling to London. I believe we lived in England but it was no where near London, which is why being there made everything seem so much more incredible.
As James and I walked hand-in-hand across the London Bridge, watching the sunset, we began to talk. It turned into a rather heated discussion. It got to the point where both of us were screaming at each other. All I remember is him yelling over and over again, "You were never good enough for me. You suffocated me. I cannot be with you anymore." Amazing thing to have screamed at you in front of many strangers that are driving, and even walking, across the bridge.
I kept trying to calm him down, to tell him everything was going to be okay. I remember turning down the volume of my voice to a calmer, more sincere tone, to talk to him. I had hoped that, instead of yelling, a sincere tone would go over well. He stood there, still yelling, pointing out all of my flaws, how I was bringing him, and his career, down. I was standing in his way of being something great, something unimaginably wonderful. I can still see his face, the distraught, unhappy look that he wore while he yelled.
I tried to touch his arm, his shoulder, his hand, anything to calm him down. It was not working. I was failing him, once again, as his girlfriend. The next thing I knew, he jumped off the bridge. He had killed himself because he couldn't tolerate me anymore. Paramedics were called immediately, and they arrived almost instantaneously. They had pulled James out of the water. He was dead.
The paramedics rushed him to the hospital. They said he had the slightest chance of surviving. They could tell that the jump was not what killed him. Instead, it only stunned him. However, the cause of death, if he died, would be drowning. Sometimes, with some great miracle, doctors can save patients that have drowned. That gave me the smallest hint of hope and comfort.
The doctors worked on him for hours it seemed. All I could keep repeating to myself was, "You killed him. You killed the man that you love the most. You didn't make him happy, you never did. This is why he's dead. Look at what a terrible girlfriend you are. You never deserved such a great man like him." Finally, the doctors came out. They delivered the news: James had died. He drowned just moments before the paramedics got there. The short period of time from the bridge to the hospital was too much to save him. He never had a chance.
Horrified, I woke up around five in the morning, with the thought of "Oh my God, I killed a man by dating him" stuck in my head.
*** All names have been changed in the dream to protect the identity of those I think would jump off a bridge. Or I just changed the names so the people in my dream don't know I'm dreaming about them. :) It's a win-win situation.
I have had the sudden urge to proceed with a writing project that has been boiling in the back of my mind for ages. This is only the beginning to, hopefully, an amazing writing project. Here's a glimpse:
It was a warm summer’s day when it first happened. I remember it as if it were yesterday. After all, that’s what keeps me sane these days. Just look where I wound up. Who wouldn’t lose their mind in this place?
I loved him with every fiber of my being. I still do, of course. None of this was his fault. He can’t help that he’s lovable, right? Good guy, fun personality, nice house, reasonable income, and attractive. What trait does he lack? None. He’s perfect. Well, almost perfect. Besides his horrific flaws, such as his drinking problem, constant abandonment habits, and smoking, he’s perfect; he is what every girl looks for in their knight in shining armor.
So, why is it that he’s so desirable when he has such horrendous flaws? How can he win over so many people? And why can’t he stop searching for love when he has already found an amazing girl that loves him for who he is, including his imperfections?
Those are the questions that drove me crazy. Those are the questions that put me in here. Those questions have been eating away at my conscience for the past two years.
And this is why sometimes, I really hate sleeping:
I was a medical student at some dark, ominous school. The place where the cadavers are prepared was in the basement, along with the actual class that handles them. (And by class, I mean the dissection. There ARE other uses for cadavers; weird experiments for body transplants, crash dummies, etc.)
I was downstairs with the teacher / doctor. There was a cadaver with a beating heart lying on the table. (Yes, they DO exist). It was male, white, dark hair, scruffy face, and chest hair. A white sheet covered his manly bits, since they were unnecessary for this lesson. I was the only one downstairs with the doctor. We were in a secluded room, branched off from the actual "classroom". I had to stick a giant needle in him to stop his heart, without causing him to bleed to death or harm any of his main arteries. I remember the teacher saying that it had to be in his neck, but I did not listen. I tried stabbing it in his heart. I figured "Well, if it's closer to the destination, it'll move the process along a lot faster." Unfortunately, me being the giant klutz that I am, stabbed it in the wrong spot (mind you, the needle was also a foot long) and caused this poor cadaver to start bleeding to death.
At this point, the dream starts to become a bit hazy; I don't quite remember the transformation between the "classroom" and my house.
I walked into my house and yelled, "My GOD work was exhausting today. I killed a man." Nothing to be proud of, but I was. I walked down the hallway and into my bedroom to get changed. The time was very late but the sun was still shining. I slipped underneath my pink and green plaid comforter and started thinking about the day. All of a sudden, I hear my voice talking to me, but it wasn't in my head, or so I thought it wasn't. I looked over in my mirror and I saw myself standing in it, talking to me. I was saying how I was going to die because of all the horrible things I have done and so on. Me, thinking I'm just hallucinating from lack of sleep and working really hard, starts arguing with my mirror self. To prove a point, my mirror self killed my human self. But then my dream "rewound" itself. (It was really just my mirror self giving my human self another chance to put up a fight before I die.)
The mirror self was taunting my human self, saying how I meant nothing and that I (my mirror self) will be doing all mankind a favor by erasing me from the planet so I (human self) couldn't become a doctor. So, once again, I'm baffled and in shock, still denying the fact that this mirror self me is killing my human self me, without even being in the room. (It was kind of like that movie "Mirrors" except... better.) Well, history repeats itself, right? So did this, except this time, my mirror self broke the mirror. It wasn't like my mirror self broke it from inside of the mirror, though. It was as if I broke it, but I didn't, or so my human self thought. (I honestly have no idea whether or not I was a crazy person and just imagined that my mirror self broke the mirror while it was really me, or if there really were two of me. At this point, I would assume crazy person.)
Once again, my dream "rewound" itself. I was alive, once again, in bed, looking at my mirror. Only this time was slightly different. I did not have a mirror. Instead, there was cardboard in the same shape as my mirror was. Mirror pieces were everywhere on my dresser and floor. Obviously these occurrences continued from where they left off, except I had my life. I decided this time I was going to stand up and brave it out. It seems as if my mirror self was gone, considering I had no mirror. Unfortunately, I was proven wrong in a matter of seconds. I felt a sharp piece of glass cut through my elbow joint. It was in one side, and out the other. Painful, obviously. I was a screaming mess while curled up in a ball on the floor. This time, I noticed that I could see my mirror self's reflection anywhere that, well, showed a reflection. Shortly after I figured this out, I was dead... again.
My life was restored. I immediately jumped out of bed, knowing that something was going to happen, and grabbed the stake on the bottom of my umbrella. As I went to sit back in my bed, I kept my eyes on my TV, window, and alarm clock face. With my umbrella stake in hand and the help of the reflections, I was sure that things were going to be okay. I was wrong. I fought, and fought hard. I injured whatever this thing was, but it was also strange to be stabbing and swinging at air. At times, I would almost talk myself into the entire thing being fake, until I saw a reflection of this thing attacking me. I was killed, again, and for the last time. However, I wasn't dead. At least I didn't think I was dead. I was in the "locked-in state" (See "Locked-In State"). I was yelling and screaming for someone to help me, that this thing was going to do more damage to me. This thing carried me to my bed, and set me down gently. Remember the mirror pieces everywhere? Obviously they show reflection. Before this thing left, I noticed that I was not fighting myself anymore. Instead, it was a little boy. He seemed so familiar but I could not place where I knew him from. I still cannot.
Self conflict?
From my last post, it is clear that I started reading the Satanic Bible not only out of curiosity but to also start the search of finding out what I am. And for that reason, I can say fully that I am NOT a Satanist. I read 77 pages, out of 272, before I started disagreeing with what they believed.
First of all, I do agree that you should see yourself as a great human, as something wonderful... something divine within you. You are your own "God". I also agree with their idea on love and hate. If someone is rude to you, you return the rudeness. If someone is kind and loving, you return that. I also agree that you should not do things to intentionally hurt, or harm, other people.
However, when it got to the part about the difference between the "weak" and "powerful", I started to disagree. I am not one to be repulsed by someone that is "weak". I do not believe that all of the money and wealth should go to the "powerful". From my interpretation of the Satanic Bible, it reads to me as if you are criticizing people that are not like you, that do not have as much talent as you, that aren't as wealthy as you. People face different challenges and I think "weak" and "powerful" can only be determined on what they have been through, how they have dealt with it, and their reactions to those situations.
I do not fully disagree with their views on sex, but they do not suit me well. They are about free love. They think if you want sex, you go get it. You do what pleases yourself, as long as it doesn't hurt anyone around you. I do believe that people should have a choice but I don't think that if you have the urge to have sex with someone, you should act upon it. There should be a stable building block between the two people, first. Then, by all means, have a blast. As long as no one gets hurt.
Since I no longer need to finish the Satanic Bible, since I know that I am not a Satanist, I will be moving along to A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle.
