I Can't Get It Up!

I woke up, less than two and a half hours before work and with what little time I had, I turned my 'defective at the moment' laptop, April on and started checking emails and surfing the interwebz. Needless to say, I managed to catch Cosplay Fever and couldn't focus. All I could think about is, 'I need that camera I want so bad.' So that I could take pictures of me being so super badass with my badassery.
But it was as I was thinking about cosplay and anime and camera... I remembered the sailor moon tutorial I was suppose to upload, so by the end of this day, it shall be posted. The End.

Peace.

One Whole Year (Anime North 2011)

I cannot fathom how one year has managed to go by this rapidly. To think that the brief reminder of Anime North is what reminds me. All those dreams and goals I sought to accomplish have yet to be reached. It is the maximum of disappointments. And here I stand, a changed man. The things that troubled me, the things I fought to obtain have been crushed and Anime North marks that a year has swept by.

One year ago I dreamed of making a low budget movie with a a $5,000.00 HDR-FX1000 HDV Handycam #174 Camcorder (or any really good professional camcorder.) going to a university aboard, getting rollar blades and ice skates, an external harddrive, a graphic tablet and fabric. I also wanted to work out and better my body shape.

In one year I bought rollar blades that hurt my ankles, enrolled in night school at a prestigious college that frustrates me beyond belief, bought a graphic tablet that I rarely use and joined TaeKwonDo.
I did manage to get a part time job with hopes of making some serious money.
In one year I went through heartbreak, experienced first hand how love can change you, had a soliloquy and went through a phase. In one year I got back together with my girlfriend and mostly returned to normal.

For me, not a whole lot has happened and this convention marks a year of a wasted life. I cannot believe it's been one whole year.

Mitchell A. Burton.
I make a promise to better myself.

Sailor wth Moon

If the title of this blog wasn't enough to give you a proper assumption of what this post is about; nothing, aside from reading the entire thing, will.

Anime North 2011 is coming up and so far I've survived a whole 'nother year long enough to make it to this anime convention.
I've decided that this time I will cosplay and in fact; I have bought material needed to make a from scratch sailor moon cosplay.

Possibly, tutorials, how to's and videos will be created, I'm not 100% sure yet. I mean, I've searched online for patterns and how to's and I had no luck. Maybe I should follow in the interweb foot steps and be an ass and not show you how to create your own...

Mitchell Burton: A Weekend of Firsts

Mitchell Burton: fA

A Weekend of Firsts

What can I say that probably hasn't been said?

Let's start with the first of all firsts!

I went to my fucking first Furry Convention (Held at the Double Tree Hotel) thanks to my lovely and overly friendly (a polite way of saying flirtatious) girlfriend; aka my roomie and Red Velvet.
And it was the most awesome thing I have ever experienced.
The people I've socialized with were the most amazing people to ever talk to, incidentally, the most hyper and colorful lot as well. I felt like I could be me, speak continiously, be honest and get distracted easily and be accepted. That was the number one reason this con was so well done.
However, at times, I did feel out of place, and that was only because as a complete n00bie to cons and furries in general; I had no idea who people like Zen, Blindsight and Kitty were and hearing their names spoken so commonly made me go o_O? at most parts. But that's where the friendly furries are reintroduced, as they pointed guest speakers out, or even gave me websites to stalk mentioned names at. I thank you for this once again. And it is because of this that I have created this FA account. I hope I do justice with it.

My accommodations at the hotel was set up by my roomie were notwithstanding. Another first. (Never stayed in a hotel with friends and not family.) Now hear me out about the notwithstandings. We shared a room with two other guests, Benjamin Wolf and Shadow Kitty and they were fun to hang around~
However, housekeeping needs to step their game up and not leave notes about not cleaning our room. I didn't leave my house to make messes in public places to not have maids not do their paid to do jobs. Cookies were fucking delicious. That's how they get you.

I may have come off as a easily exhausted lazy ass, but I want to clarify that I didn't eat when I was seen. So in order to keep my energy up I needed to be moving or drinking water or doing something entertaining. And now you know. And knowing is half the battle motherfuckers.

I drank too. Another first. I have one cup of lemonaid vodka mix and got tipsy. I have no tolerance or countenance. I was told I should see a doctor...

I'm throwing in my two cents about the games room. Holy fuck. Yes! Do that more. I had so much fun talking to others and playing games. Thanks to that I'm gonna buy Bloody Roar 4, Left 4 Dead 2, RockBand and Marvel vs Capcon. Yes! Reminding you who I am, I was the one singing or screwing up on Guitar or banging the drums. I have three new favorite songs.

I come to the raves now.
I dance like a crazy acid taking bitch and we know those on the dance floor loved it. You need at least one crazy, right?
The DJs rocked. End of story. If I praise them, their egos will swell and they'll become jerks. (cyberwulfe)

The fursuits were all so expertly made and proudly worn. The heads worn were worn with confidence; I make not a ridiculous or megalomanicial claim. Those who were there saw that and those who weren't cannot begin to fathom. It also blew my mind how many people made their own suits and heads and I just had to get emails for skype or msn tutorials. I am formative to make one. Believe me. But now I rant. In fact everything about this con was so good that I swear I cannot write anything quintessential to what this con was. So I give up. (I'm the best writer ever!)

I must come to a close.

In conclusion. Best thing ever. Next year is a definite thing. I hope my dreams of going to the convention in Montreal becomes a reality.


O yeah, I apologize in advance for my rather colorful language. I swear. I like to swear. I probably break rules.

I'm bored with this journal now.
Love you babe.
Peace!

Dude, Why Do I Bother to Try?

So I finally got a graphic tablet. I like it so far, I've got no complaints, though I wish I had a program to use with it. I'm working on getting cs3. I had it before, but I managed to lose the disc. I tend to misplace things like a rich chick missing her diamonds.

On a zombierific note; I have anger issues! I'm being serious here. I have anger issues so big, it's bigger than the love a rich chick has for her diamonds and that's huge! I should probably seek professional help, but I haven't 'hurt' anybody yet, so why spend money?

If All Our Words Were Left Unspoken

Please note that Travis has quite the multifarious mind which is both perplexing and difficult to write. Getting into character was more of a task than it should have been and although Travis Erik Layne is my own fictional character, I wanted future readers of his story to be able to truly sympathize over him. I do hope that my words have stayed true to his personality and that you understand his pain. I also hope that I have succeeded in creating quite a captivating story, like I aimed for.

________________________________________
If All Our Words Were Left Unspoken
________________________________________
His heated gasps; his moaning screams cling desperately to the bedroom walls. Anxious grunting echoes in the sealed darkness. That same darkness blankets the chamber; and merely a silver light—from a poorly curtained window—outlines the arched body of the person who screams out. He initiates the self mutilation upon himself. And he smears the thick and pungent liquid over his semi-exposed figure. That pungent liquid has a sharp and distinctive aroma. It’s the fragrance of blood. Blood intoxicates his senses, messes him up and confuses his body. He mistakes pain for pleasure. What he wants is unambiguous, clear as crystal and he cries out hungrily, “more!” The screams don’t fade, locked in, to fuel his sinful heat. The lava in his body and the blood coursing through his veins are all directed to his sex. Hot and burning, spurting and discharging, pleading to be touched from how hard it is—and yet he deprives himself of that one need. He punishes his oh-so-deserving person. His murmurs draw softer and softer, while his consciousness slips. He chuckles insanely; he’s so blissfully ecstatic, completely high off his pain.
His fingers finally wrap slackly around his dick. He twinges at his own light tugs. Sharp, stinging, burning pleasure. Ice, thin, precise metal runs along his human covering, tearing it smoothly. Fine lines first itch before they throb, before they let crimson shine. Again, he cuts. The sexual intensity eats at his insides. He fucks into the mattress and pillows. He cannot contain his ecstasy. “Oh god! More!” He masturbates while he mutilates. He chokes on his saliva, hacking air and more spit before a wave—an electrical sensation that pulsates—signals his waited release. He violently gyrate his hips while he curves his back more. And he cums blood.
And that just turns him on further.
Exhausted. Satisfied. Wonderful. Dazed. His crazed laughter now fills his chambers and he verbalizes to himself. Repeats the words that brought him to this state.

________________________________________
Dusky lighting with artificial flickers to simulate an ambiance of a candle lit room. Soft jazz plays above an undertone and plays to his voice—slow and clear;

“I’m tired of this! Bein’ fuck’d up, I mean.
Guess what I am. Some say; worthless human bein’.
Yeah, that’s right, somethin’s gotta be wrong wit’ me.
Gettin’ ass raped; violated by them who should be lovin’ me!
What’s that yellin’ fo’? Yeeeeah, all I’m sayin’ are all lies.
Whatev’r lets you live your life without tears in yo eyes.
I already knew, lemme apologize.
Sorry I wuzn’t born a girl too. I heard vaginas are fly.
Whut? Why else would I be sufferin’ for bein’ what I am?
Pfft, cuz I leave all these words unspoken and instead eat shit? Damn.
Then listen up while I got somethin’ to tell.
I believe less in Heaven; more in Hell.
Don’t you look at me like I’m fuckin’ dumb.
You can’t understand my struggles. You don’t know where I’m comin’ from.
Grew up surrounded; but I was the one left alone. Out casted.
Previously my mindset was, ‘should a buried me in a casket.’
Though, never once did I cry.
Too busy soaring high.
No longer dreaming dreams, just hallucinations.
You should be proud. I created quite the reputation.
Must admit, I snapped, final thoughts, ‘just run.’
‘I don’t need to live on as your son.’
Haaa, that’s right. You can keep on pretendin’ I nev’r really exist’d! Cuz we’s done!”

There’s a thrilled feedback before the musicians fade. Scattered snaps and claps walk him off the low stage. Eyes and whispers follow him to the bar. He claims his stool and flips back dyed shades of mauve violet hair.
“You kno’ my favorite.”
And monotonously Travis responds, “coming right up.”
He pours the drink and hesitates, “Uh—where’d the motivation—you know, for-for that piece come from?” He clears his throat, looking at his buttoned sleeves. From the corner of his eyes he catches a shrug.
“Meh, I just spat.”
His head snaps up and he turns to glare his way with stern eyes.
“Rapping or not, that was inspirational. The way you let your body talk with you, the way you emphasize your words, the way you tell a story with the audience, it’s a gift, Luke and you shouldn’t take it for granted.”
“Get my dick outta your mouth, man. It is just spittin’.”
Lucien guzzles down his drink and waves the empty glass. Travis pours him another and hands it to him reluctantly. He leans down on the counter, cleaning the surface around them with a cloth.
“A lot of your spoken word really got to me.” Travis dictates, carefully analyzing him.
Lucien raises his brows in question the same time he ‘hmm’s’ in his drink.
“Yeah. Uh—one line that hit me was, I leave all these words unspoken.”
“I fuckin’ hate that!”
Travis stands up, taken back from Lucien’s outburst. He doesn’t respond knowing Lucien has more to say so he puts the cloth under the counter and wipes his hands on his apron.
“If you’ve got somethin’ to say, say it! Doesn’t matter what it is, say it. Why do people just suddenly stop talkin’ or decide what they were gonna say ain’t important? Huh? What if all our words were left unspoken, Travis? America would be one helluva quiet place.”
“It’s just insecurities, fears, self esteem on both parts and feelings that stop us from saying what was on our minds.”
“No Travis, that’s just you.” He sips his drink, obviously not in the mood for it any more. “You and the rest of the got-dang world. Completely worthless.”
“Excuse me, I’d like a Sex on the Beach.”
They both turn, having somehow forgotten that they weren’t the only two people there. Travis nods, breaking away from his conversation. He sighs as he combines and blends drinks together. Why do I always get stuck with the rhetorical questions?
“Here you are, Miss—”
“Sometimes what we don’t say don’t make one difference, but if you’s need help, why the hell are you keepin’ it unsaid? Sometimes it’s those words that save. They’ll come out sooner or later. Freudian slip. Anyways, Manuel and his girl are outside waitin’ fo’ me so—catch you later. Add them drinks to my tab.”
“—one Sex on the Beach.” He sighs.
And he hands her the reddish pink drink.
________________________________________
He gasps shallowly, arching, writhing in pain; hiccoughing and sobbing softly. He’s bleeding and he doesn’t seem to care. The wounds bring bliss to his battered body. Oh fuck him, take him, screw with his mind and manipulate him more.

Mess with his inexplicable insecurities, irrational fears and above all; his incredible quantity of self loathing. Those are his upmost traits. The things that make him him. Fuck with his brain and let him be his own undoing.
Use him. Tell him he’s worthless with that heavy voice of your’s. Dirty him again.

He’s slowly going lightheaded. He’s been told a critical amount of blood loss can do that. He chuckles. His vision his foggy; if he didn’t have so many tears in his eyes, he’d believe that old wives’ tale about masturbating making you blind. His hand lets go of his burning manhood. The last few drops of his jizz sputter and drool down his prick. He reaches for a tissue to clean up his sinful mess.

He cleaned up half an hour before; the doorbell rings and he rushes to answer. He greets his boyfriend, locking the door behind him as he walks into the night air. ‘Hey babe,’ followed by a kiss. He smiles on the inside.
“Evenin’ hun.” He recites hollowly.
“You’re flushed. What were you doing?”
Masturbating to my best friend.
“Nothing.” He says and flips back his hair.
This is why we leave our words unspoken. Some things aren’t meant to be said.