Jacob Louis Buckley
Bio
Hi, I am Jacob. I am an artist.
xm99.bandcamp.com/music
instagram.com/jacoblouisbuckley
Stories (4/0)
I Think My Mom Was Right
They say never run with scissors. Everyone knows that. But the rest of the picture can be blurry. Here’s why. I was raised being told that respect, above all other principles, was top. I have held onto that my whole life as one of the most conducive iterations to my existence. Respect is of the utmost importance. Without respect, there can be no love. And with no love, there is no respect. A fun little diadem of wisdom. Now, in the same household, I was also raised understanding that sex was worlds different from porn. I think my Mom was right. Porn isn’t really a good example of sex. And without adding much else to the point. I’m going to come back to scissors. I moved to Hollywood January 2020. I had about a month or two of living under my belt before “we all know what” happened. The time of living after the world closed down was turbulent. Alone and wildly accelerated. This led me out into some new artistic fields. At this point, I’m living with my girlfriend — to be wife. And it’s safe to say — I don’t watch porn. Before she had moved in and the world moved away — I had made my way to an overcrowded, dusty, and fantasy esq. bookstore. It was of course ran by a lovely old man in an olden chair. I was searching philosophy, psychology, poetry, (the best three P’s) and I found a book by a woman, Sexual Reality: A Virtual Sex World Reader — her name was Susie Bright. This book was a fierce cultural escapade diving headfirst into the world of sex. Stories ranging from strip tea, the virtual orgasm, and to men who love lesbians. I went up to the old man and he carefully inspected my choice. He then said to me, “You know, we’ve got a ton of vintage playboys, VHS tapes, and various porno mags.” I halted at the proposition. I had no ‘need’ for these, but then I thought an even better thought! What if I make some radical collages — I could use the designs for anything. Turn something pornographic into infographic — at least! Next thing you know, I’m going home with three. I get home and start fishing around — my lady doesn’t love the initial purchase, but the idea of turning porn into real art… does the trick! Right there — turning porn into art meant something more to me! Love is art… passion is art! This had helped me understand what my Mom had meant all those years ago. With every glide of the scissors across the page I felt like I was recovering an area of existence with such depravity, addiction, suffering, and abuse into something that could explore true femininity, true beauty, and true passion. Scissors are such an oddly aggressive tool. Sharp like the teeth of a shark. The cutting made me feel strangely uncomfortable even though my mission was freedom. My mission was unadulterated redemption. I was slicing through a web that entangles so many. Freeing porn… to be something beautiful. It all meant something divine — the scissors, the tape, the paper — I was in the construction zone. I was re-constructing and it was a holy mess. I worked and worked and found myself truly loving the process. I knew what I was doing was worth my time. I could see the collage coming together — all of its colors and myriad objectives. The experience ended up convincing me to change my ways and learn to live a life free from constriction. I needed to free myself from the bindings of existence and unwrap my mummified state. All I needed was a pair of scissors to do it.
By Jacob Louis Buckley3 years ago in Viva
My Everlasting Future As A Writer
Never thought I’d be 23. Doesn’t seem like an age anyone considers. Damn near said ‘BEND’ to a Drippy King. I can’t contest with the mounds of Hollister dogs barking at horny ghosts. I just stray black and wear my picket fences out behind the dog-pound — shock-collar a few hoes and stay as focussed on my money as I can. Seems like a not-to-do list? Our life of constance really must’ve taken so many lives over time here on Earth. I think the amount of suicide built around depraved individuals seeking another way — something else worth something more — an emotion that doesn’t come with baggage… I thought about my dead friend today. ‘Why’ never crossed my mind — I only thought to tell him that we’re still suffering here — still striving — still trying to make it better. I’m sure he’s somewhere worth his time. Somewhere not wasted. That inherent threat that Death carries isn’t more than someone shouting for curtain call. Then the curtains raise and the whole world is watching. You perform and when the show is over — the story has been told — you walk off. Maybe go get some food or drinks with friends, maybe go home to your lover for a hug, maybe walk the streets alone dreaming ‘that show never ended.’ It’s a personal preference universe. Something each of us take into consideration when we awake day by day; what’ll it be today, Doctor? Something new? The usual? I try and not pay attention to the crowd so much nowadays. Every performer needs intermission… and so does the audience! Time to get popcorn and a drink. Quarantine doesn’t even create fulfillment. Those that pray for the audience though won’t step out when it’s time for a quick change. I call sickness! I call depravity! My witched dreams full of crucifix and seasoned bread spoiled water. My body is quiet and my mind is curling. Day by day the Doctor says, “Hold.” I find no time to relapse. I find the same audience as yesterday. Waiting to be amused, made to laugh, to giggle and forget. Just for a moment. A springtime virus to be held for ransom. My sickness hasn’t passed. Only another day on the stage that leaves at noon. I had a good day to start. Only when I arrived at my car to find I had a parking ticket.
By Jacob Louis Buckley3 years ago in Futurism
The Legless Man
I returned from the war legless. From the knee down, I had nothing. My legs were blown off in battle and now, I’m bound to this wheelchair. While I was away, my wife sent me a letter saying she was leaving me for a better man. A stronger — more intelligent man — better suited for her needs. I don’t blame her. I’m a legless fool, now back, from a cruel and unusual series of battles I can not think of being just. My father died while I was away. He was old and died peacefully, but it tears me apart I couldn’t say goodbye. He was always a hero of mine — someone I admired — someone I found to be in my thoughts when I was amidst the hailstorm of flying bullets. I can’t tell what I’m more distraught over. My wife leaving me, my father’s death, or my legs being blown off. Despite the gut wrenching sadness and peril I was now facing in my life, I was at least glad to be home. Finally back from the treachery of war.
By Jacob Louis Buckley3 years ago in Horror
