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Lipstick. Star Wars. Chanel. Animals. Music. Batman.

I am Alle Monster, hear me ROAR!

ΑΦ - DePaul University - Chicago

I sing opera and derp. This is a personal blog.
What a lovely evening

Went out to PCJ’s to see some buddies and have a beer. Sang Part of Your World from The Little Mermaids as usual when I got in. A while later an elderly gentleman came over asking what that Whitney Houston song was. “I will always love you?” “Yes! Thats the one! Its one of my favorites! I’ll give you $5 if you sing it for me!” I told him I’d sing it just for him and that I wouldn’t take his money.
The entire bar, which at this point had ignored the karaoke stage all together, erupted with applause and calls for encores. It was the most wonderful self esteem boost, and my evening was made by watching that old man’s face light up. I know I killed it tonight, and that just feels amazing.

I only realize how creepy I am when I write down my thoughts

That face
I can’t escape this inexplicable, crude fascination with the black, worm-infested crater where his mouth once rested.
Flesh rotten, infected and darkened from the age of the wound, encapsulating any shred of vibrant skin or solid bone it touches.
A thought such as this proves horrific, unsettling, graphic, nauseating, yet I can’t stop thinking about it.
Uncomfortable as it may seem, I’m enjoying it.
I want to reach my hand into the wound, scratching out the blackened flesh, worsening it.
I want to add onto the terror.
He is not yet a thing of nightmares, he needs to be dissected first.

And I really creep myself out for thinking like this sometimes.

(All a reaction to my creepy fascination with the clown on American Horror Story)