I’m Doug.
I'm exactly the same as everyone else that claims they're different.





I can be a complicating person, but I try to present things as simple as I can. I will admit I’m not the nicest person on the block. Sarcasm is a gift from above. People tend to call me a bitch quite frequently. It’s the smart people that follow it up with “… but I deserved it.”






I hate people. It's easier that way. What? It's not? Yes it is. I've tried liking them. It's WAY easier to hate them. I like to read books. Books are friendlier than people. Except for books by Andy Warhol. He should have stuck to commercial painting. My god, does he wander in text form. And I didn't capitalize god on purpose.





I hate stereotypes. It’s true, no one’s unique. The turn of the millenium signaled when non-conformists transformed into posers, and anything non-conforming to that was just plain weird looking. Labels are presently overrated and incredibly misused.







I'm not afraid to tell someone they're a fucktard. Even if it's a twelve year old girl with zits trying to sell girlscout cookies. If the shoe fits and they deserve it. Okay, I might hold it back, but it's a chancer.





I hate when people follow me around and try to talk to me. Especially at work, when I'm on break READING A BOOK.





When I get angry, I've discovered that painting gets alot of the emotion out. Painting along to music gets alot MORE anger out, and ends up with a beautiful finish. But only certain kinds of music. Kate Havnevik's "Melankton." Regina Spektor's "Soviet Kitsch." Not Ozzy Osbourne. I tried. It just wasn't meant to be.

I tried painting my dreams. I mean, come on, who else can paint them but yourself? There's no visual plagerism. They won't get the meaning.

Then I started having nightmares that were too gory for my eyes. Nightmares I couldn't possibly imagine myself having... and there's no looking away. What does it mean? Am I destined to be a murderer or something? I really don't hate people that much I guess. I'm now on a search for a dream reading manual. Or a nightmare one...

And I've stopped painting my dreams.






I'm not shy, but I have severe social anxiety. Is that even possible? I've just figured this out about myself. I won't let people touch me easily. I really have to warm up to you to have some sort of contact, unless I'm in a severe state of lust. Better run for the hills then. But in most cases, if there's a "touch" factor... I won't freak out. I'm not a freak like most retards. I'll just kinda freeze up, like I'm thinking hard of what to do next. I didn't even think there was a such thing as a mind block, but evidently I AM a freak. A freak that hates other freaks.









Everyone's going to become a piece of history, while I become a piece of pop culture.
That's MY fucking quote.






My Myspace.
My Facebook.
My ProjectPlaylist.
My Listology.
My DeviantART.

Relationship Status: Seeing Someone
Orientation: Bisexual
Looking For: Friendship