Tell me your secrets…

We all provide tells.  We tell on ourselves.  To come right out and say... This is my secret!  Isn’t it.     People usually say one thing, then do another; actors upon a stage for the great performance!  Most of the time, it’s not very convincing but once in a while, you get a player prolific at his craft. Then it’s  Game on!

When men ask me to reveal the secrets of women, what the hell do I know about the secrets of an entire gender?  I’m just one woman.  I can only speak to my own preferences and offer my opinion based on what I observe in other women.   I do however prefer to keep it real, so let’s get real shall we?  It’s just beating around the bush.  What one really wants to learn is the secret to me.   It’s a courting game at best, and at its worst  a game of  Cat & Mouse.  Who gets the cheese?

 I’m not completely heartless, I’ll offer a little insight from time to time.  I have a soft-spot for the under-dog, always have. Not because I pity him but because I’ve learned through personal experience, I’m about to get my mind blown.  The guy who has it all together certainly doesn’t need my help.  His strategies are already at work.  Make no mistake it’s just the competition of the thing, he’s in it for the challenge.  No guaranteed win.  He’s using the secrets of other women as if that is a sound strategy.  He wants what he wants but why he wants it is typically rooted in some deep-seated issue.  I’m no stranger to being a trophy.  I’ll permit it from time to time as a means to my ends.  People use each other, I just happen to be more realistic about it.   I’m not offended by it and can’t help but laugh when people get their panties in a twist when they find out they were just being used.   If it’s mutually beneficial to all parties involved, I don’t see the problem.

The under-dog pays attention to detail, while the top-dog is busy convincing himself he’s already won.   While I can admire his confidence, his unfounded arrogance has him blinded and the tail wags the dog.  The under-dog isn’t expected to just cut through all the bullshit, not play the game and just steal the cheese right out from under you.   He’s no stranger to conflict, or losing a few.  It’s helped to build his character and conviction.  A set back doesn’t make him frustrated or angry, it gives him cause to persevere.


The game is fixed anyway and I cheat.

I admit to dropping details.  Thing is, you have to be smart enough to know when it’s genuine and when I’m just testing what you’re made of.  I’ll even offer a few guidelines to save me the hassle of an obvious handicap:


1.  Don’t interpret my facial expressions – you’ll always be wrong.

2.  Don’t take everything I say as Gospel –  I’m a liar.

3.  Don’t have any expectations – Or else be disappointed.


Simple right?  Not exactly a secret either.

Yet the top-dog seems convinced he’ll learn to read the signs, teach me the value of truth and why expectations are important to fulfillment of personal standards.   It never works.  Even if I provide some leeway.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not beating down Casanova here.   I’ve learned more about myself through my experiences with this type than I ever would have if I shot him down from the get-go.  These types keep you on your toes, they keep you honest.

It’s all:  “Hey baby, I got a great job, a car and my own house!  I’m a catch!”

Nevermind that he’s probably a psychological train wreck with a metric ton of baggage and sucks in bed, but hey he looks good and has a check in all the proper boxes right?

I’m reminded of this associate of mine that spent her early 20’s bragging about the gorgeous guy she would marry.  It was all for appearances.  She wouldn’t be caught dead with an 8 escorting her to dinner.  No way.  She’s too hot for that!  Flash-forward, she finds her beau, married him but he’s given her nothing but grief since.  She took on his mental baggage, his procrastination, his poor-performance and his skill for selling her bullshit.  He’s the quintessential snakeoil salesman.   She wasn’t even smart enough for a pre-nuptial agreement so rather than giving up her assets, she’s in a loveless marriage with a lover on the side.  She’s in a mad love affair with guess who?  An under-dog!

I told you so, is an understatement.

 Sin Jones








How do you live?

Do people really live their religion 24/7?  Does it permeate through everything they say, think and do?  Or, is it just an obsession to discuss on the Internet?

People often ask me why I write seemingly random posts, to include my cultural study interests, social analysis and folk songs.  “What does this have to do with Satanism???”  They ask.  Last time I checked, this is my personal blog, and it isn’t ‘The Satanism Blog‘.   Look at my archives, clearly I’ve stated that I am not here to teach you how to be Satanist.  I’m not your guru.  I address social issues fairly often, and these are issues that most people deal with, it’s not distinguishably a ‘Satanic’ problem.  In fact, replace ‘Satanist’ with your (fill in the blank) religion, philosophy or way of life and I’m sure you’ll be able to relate to my point of view.

I don’t know how you live, I can only ask the question: How do you live?

I share some of my thoughts and ideas for perspective and introspect.  Is my blog telling you how to live?  Why would you allow anyone to tell you what’s what anyway?  I express myself, and if you can’t handle that perhaps you should just unsubscribe, or else grow a set and tell me what you think about my content.  Is it really that hard?  I suppose it is, when people seem more content to go running off into oblivion with their paranoia and authoritarian world views.    “That woman is an abomination!  She’s too damn blunt!”

News Flash, no one is an authority over me, so why should I expect that you would accept me as your authority?  In fact, I challenge you to go live your own life, and on your own terms.  What the hell do you need me for?  I live my life on my own terms, and people will always have opinions and critiques about the lives of others.  If that’s too much for you to bear, go wrap yourself in plastic wrap and stay in your protective bubbles where it’s safe.

I live out loud, but I do maintain a level of social privacy because I’m not obligated to share 100% of myself with you.  I don’t owe you shit, and you are not entitled to the best of me.  If that sounds callus, I never said I was a nice girl.  Why should I be nice?  I treat people how I have been treated, call it the Silver Rule, or what ever the hell you feel comfortable with.  Some people live by the Golden Rule:  Do unto others, as you would have done unto you.  And some people live by no rules at all, they just roll with what life dishes them.

“You’re so vain, I bet you think this blog is about you, don’t you?”

[Sing it to the tune of Carly Simon’s ‘You’re so Vain’ maybe it will sink in]

Take for instance my interest in murder ballads, if you were familiar enough with my personal expressions, read my writing and learn something about me; you would know it’s directly tied to my Memento Mori.

Some people invest.  I’ve been conversing with people on the net for many years, and those people that do, seem to get it just fine.  We have a good laugh at the ridiculousness of most things people obsess over.  To include Sin Jones.  

My BOOK OF SIN piece should give you a fairly clear summation my personal axioms.  Do I walk my talk 24/7, absolutely!  Do I need to talk about it every minute of the day?  No, I surely don’t.  I do have a great sense of humor, and perhaps my sarcasm escapes you; it’s all “Oh Sin Jones you are so mean!” I can’t help but laugh, I mean really…How ridiculous and overly dramatic people can be.  Get a sense of humor.

Out of the mouths of babes right?  If a 4 year old can’t be convinced, how are you so easily swayed?

Maybe you live in a dead cell, in fear, and behind some false sense of power. Or, maybe you get it and you just smile the devil’s grin with each word I write.

I know I do…

Sin Jones

My life

My life

Isn’t it amusing when others point at you and tell you what you should be doing with your own life?  I find it amusing.  It does make you wonder though, what are these finger-pointers avoiding in their own?  Why are they so concerned with how I live my life?

It’s not as if they can know what I’ve done in the past, what my aspirations of the future are, or where I believe I should be heading.  At least, unless they ask me.  Even then, it’s not etched in stone.  A girl has the prerogative to change her mind.  Reminds me of my third grade teacher Mrs. Turk, who would ask:  “What do you want to be when you grow up?”  She wasn’t referring to an occupation, that’s something you do, she was referring to what you wanted to become in your adult years.  She was a favorite teacher of mine when I was a child, she was kind, and very thought provoking.  She didn’t treat us like we were children; she treated us like we were aspiring adults.  And I loved her for it.

Some finger-pointers are even so bold as to state that I’m wasting my time.   How can they know that my time is being wasted if they don’t know what my goals and aspirations are?  I find that odd.

I manage my time and have plenty of it for all the things I enjoy.  Whether that be writing, my artwork, or projects I’m involved in.  I suppose next they will be telling me to get new hobbies?  If you find that as weird as I do… Keep reading.

I’m 38 years old, but I feel as though I’ve lived an extra decade as an adult.  I was emancipated as a minor, had my first paying job when I was 14 and have been completely independent since I was 17 years old.  I look at my own son, who will be 17 in barely a week and I think to myself:  “I am over joyed that he is enjoying his childhood.”  Teens get anxious to be on their own, get jobs, a car, and all the responsibility that goes along with it; and as parents it’s our duty to give them the reality of the weight of it all.  I think it’s admirable that my son wants to help out around the house, and even contribute money of his own to buying our needs.  I tell him it’s not needed, I got this.  I tell him that his money should be used for things he enjoys, or taking his girlfriend out on a date.  I tell him that after he graduates High School and wants to pitch in on expenses if he chooses to live on at home that is fine, it’s responsible of him to do so.  He is holding himself accountable, and I know that my guidance has fostered that in him without me having to remind him of responsibility and accountability.  That makes me proud.

I don’t tell my son what he should be doing with his life; I ask him what he wants to do living it.  He’s young, and so he has a million ideas and possibilities and I explore them with him.  I want him to be happy, but I know that there will be times when he’s not.  I want him to make good decisions, but I know he will make mistakes like the rest of us.  I want a lot of things for my child, and all of them good things, but I know he’s his own person. I respect his individuality, his own mind, and feelings.  Even when he doesn’t always respect mine.  I’m his mother.  I can take it; it’s all part of parenting.  He’s growing, he’s enjoying the last part of his childhood and it’s almost over.  Soon, he’ll be a man in his 20’s in the blink of an eye, and I’ll be looking back at baby pictures wondering how the time went by so fast.

For me?  I’m raising my son.  I do the things I love.  I am driven by what I’m passionate about, and what makes me feel alive.  I am living.  When I ask these finger pointers what I should be doing with my life, they offer that I should live like they do.  That’s absurd.  I am not a clone.  I am an individual.  Why not let me worry about my own life, and you worry about yours.  If we meet some place in this small world, we can connect, and then sever ties.  There are thousands of people I’ve met in my life, some for a reason or a season.  It doesn’t mean I have to become them.  I have my own life.  Just as you have yours.  I wouldn’t demand that you think like me, live like me, love the things I love, or be just like me.  That’s absurd.  I enjoy the diversity and differences we all have, and often find our similarities.  That too is part of life.

Some finger pointers presume to appoint me a guru.  I am not your guru.  Hell, I’m not even your leader.  Some choose to follow me because they enjoy my thoughts, ideas, or are interested in my personal projects.  It doesn’t make them my clones, my drones, or sheep in my flock.  That’s even more absurd.  I too find inspiration in colorful people who think critically, create prolifically, and I consider them my muses.  I enjoy our musings immensely, as they always offer me something I can benefit from.   

Some finger pointers are parasitic and cannibalistic, they want something from me, and because they believe they are entitled to it.  For those, there’s the whip of my tongue to be finished off with the heel of my boot.  This is My Life, and I decide whether you are entitled to any part of it.  You have to earn it.  I don’t just give it away, although I may offer you a glimpse into my world.  

My life is not for the faint-of-heart, or those that seek comfort.  I will disturb you.  I mean to disturb you.  Any person that has passed through the Halls of SIN will know they have been there.  They may run away kicking or screaming, or pass on through again for its temptations.  In no uncertain terms is it a tourist attraction.  I have no need for tourists.  Tourists are often finger pointers.  

Keep all extremities inside while you pass on through, or you might pull back a nub.  It’s just how I roll.

This is My Life.

Sin Jones