A Nail in the Coffin

That was not what he was...

But what life has been. 

The Think

No Dear, 

    I do not work linearly. 

My mind, she is a vast deep, dark whole. 

 Answers to no one, there are claws that screech as my abyss. 

Detrimental and wrapped in paper planes, and the light they fly on. 

  Dreams cost nothing..

And everything, 

All at the same point of time. Point in. Time. 

Perceptions are like masks, but the eyes, we will always see through. 

In a language we may not understand, I simply observe half the time, a mere child- 

     That is all I can do. 

      

Behind the Glass

It is a salivating, 

   worthless desire. 

 Behind glass, 

Chemistry walks away; shields. 

Eyes peak beneath shield's, 

Through character worn like mascaraded delight. 

I am the ball, and the chain, succumb, 

Like numb flesh, and scanty lures never worth the rendezvous.  

The shades will never matter more, than my hands as they peel away masks, 

Looking in

To their soul. 

It doesn't matter, I have learned, with scars from husbands and lovers who had tarred my flesh. 

Scars of death on Woman 

Time and time again, 

And the need to hide it in, 

For inherent, how man, we know, is our enemy. 

Marked by the womb, 

I peel away, the sensation of a world born to find bricks stacked out of houses of cards. 

Fixed, 

I dream into the soul agenda, 

Resting my head on a shoulder that will lean back. 

Love is fond in street lamps and nights, 

Where I have lost many a things upon these streets; 

All the most important to me. 

Man breathes in his notion, seemingly clueless to my existence sitting beside him atop the same flat. 

Against a wall we stare out. 

I know he doesn't see me, 

And I observe the fermenting silence. 

My love has always been one I know they do not understand. 

But for once I would like to be understood. 

Even if merely,

It is by my own self. 

I bind these bricks and put them a lay. 

In ritual, stating my truth. 

"I am from the material but not of it." 

No, I know, 

You can't 

Keep up, 

On the other side of the glass- 

Soul so cold to mine.

On the other side of the glass; 

World looking in. 

Looking out. 

The Fairy

Some moments, I think, 

"I could live this life, I really could...if just still allotted the time!". 

That is, 

Sometimes. 

Any direction turned amounts to just that much more, one could learn; 

I see this now, differently than I ever did. 

It is the age, of the Internet. 

It is the age of technology. 

It is the age of information. 

As well, it is the age of Propaganda, disinformation, and waged war. 

Not in my Country, but in the victims of..

decent lives are left decimated to rubble, and relocation. 

I understand things differently than once I did. I had indeed woken up to the dream and the propaganda sold to me, on the screens my whole life. 

All the things vile

All the things, 

We seek out without knowing. 

It is in love, 

It is in feigning ignorance. 

It is in choosing to turn an unblind eye, 

Or choosing to participate in what we have all become desensitized to. 

I know my world well, and yet lifetimes I have spent these years, 

To still miss the fathoming of man. 

And my "fellow" man, at that. 

The nature eludes me, 

And I am still observing each, with the trace memory notions that "none of them can be trusted". 

Isn't it true? 

Still though, 

There are those moment; SOME

Moments, 

Where I would give to see the coming, 

To be the coming, to live beyond it, into "Paradise". 

I know I am the coming. 

But I also know that this life, and all its notions, are not up to me. 

I watch, observe, and record keep. 

I involve myself time and again. 

Unable to feign ignorance

To this land 

And their ways. 

Nameless

Drifting, under the surface of rings, 

The hand Slips, I reel under, 

Closing my eyes and holding my breath, 

And feeling my body light, and my ears pressure. 

I forgive like another breathe taken. 

Underwater. 

Gulp. 

Done. 

The things that mattered changed; they seem to always, 

And unpredictably so, 

Though somehow I believe the gut still knows in occassions, 

As we ignore reasons to listen. 

Love, 

Does not matter so, 

When in it only a shallow word, no meaning, but a billboard of lies and convenience. 

Still though, 

It is all that matters, 

When whatever the fuck it is, 

Is true. 

You will know when. At least some of the time. 

I forgive him, 

Like eating up something already died. 

I don't expect much anymore. 

I don't expect anything. And would rather box it up. Put it away. 

And really, 

Just let it drown. 

My love for him, 

Needs to remain nameless...

Because he is. 

As so, were we. 

War, Man, and Me

(Dear Man,)

  In me, is a hovering of blossoming insights, though some of them, poisonous and leaking. 

In my mind, it makes more sense in whirling notions, though words slow so, only to make sense of but a mere percent of it. 

I wish to write it down on paper, and organize it as simple tasks; outlines, drafts, for podcasts and informative video posts. Just as quickly as it had come, it was lost, and flashes of only more empathic weight; back again in the flesh to wait, for inspiration to brush, 

And brush over me, as it waxes and wanes.  

My heart has grown sad all in the same day it knew moments on air, of profound peace. I think perhaps it's just the processing in me. 

So much comes into my consciousness like reconciliations and ideas vast. Like memories, and visions, and impressions, ever passing- An Antenea; the aerial kind. 

I will pick up where I resume, ever still in an ever changing middle...draft. 

Like the draft in veils. 

I feel the death and haunt in my bones and chest, like breathing in a sinister age.

It is an age I was born into. An age now, I know all too well. 

Around me, things are burning. I'm talking with my spiritual eyes too. We are sucking up and eating complacent empty luxury for the cost of lives, and freedom bought, and brothers murdered at our Money-hand. I have been trapped here since I got here. I knew it too. But not everybody else did. It really is like "waking up out of the matrix"; and some people are just born to sniff out it's falsehood like a mere mirage. 

I am an eager girl, and yet more stifled by  "the everyday normal" than my peers seem to be, or at least than they are willing to admit. Not to say, I almost have never seen a time where someone won't admit to it; being stifled by what today's 2015 "Norm" is, around the world. 

Sometimes, at the end of the day, the only thing I know how to do...is go back to the drawing board; start again, carrying over what one wishes to, from the previous operations, to the next. 

I have since I can remember, done this many a time, and each time, gaining insight, yet still paying the cost of my decisions. There is indeed a "karma" on our decisions; not a "Judging" superstitious energy,  just a consequential, inevitable, energy reaction. As I pass "through the gates" of my choices, and my choices anew, I learn just a little bit more about a world I thought I knew. 

It is true, I believe, that greater intelligence may very well be, a gateway into insanity, especially in the world we have all been born into. Today, we have to assimilate more information than ever, just to keep up with everyday tasks, real news, hidden agendas, cititzen duties of knowledge, being "well educated", running our own business', and the etc. There is so much information and energy input and output to assimilate daily, without the proper knowledge context to sustain peace, health and solutions in a rapidly expanding information-war era. 

I have married the insanity that is genius in today's modern world.  As I write my inner most thoughts to address before a judging audience, and as I confess of the depths I have plunged into... I would like to think that I am but ONE person, writing on behalf of the many who feel outcasted and misunderstood, for caring, or even just being different. You see, in today's modern society, Psycopathy and complacency are being bred and programmed into our everyday culture. Fear mongering, mainstream media, Hollywood industry, television and video programs, are teaching us more and more to identify and glamorize the "bad guy"; the sociopath, the Psycopath, the "vampires", and to make them the "hero's" of our Hollywood narratives. 

So empathy, concern, patriotic citizenry, and "Big Brother Watch" are practices purposely kept repressed until to play on empathy is the goal of the establishment, as in the case with the SANDY HOOK shootings and the UCC Oregon shooting just this month.  What was the first thing out of secondary witness testimonies? Leading statements on needs for gun control out of what sounded like stammering rehearsed crisis actors. Notice the first three letters of the word control: CON. But our government would never stage a hoax, drill or false flag, right?! Yeah...

It is a darker morning, on the third day I take to finish this. The light is in and out behind white clouds, turning something grey all around, for any given many moments at a time. I hear crickets out' my window, and the water of my mother showering. Cars pass on the street now and again, and I am tempered here, with Genki beside me. 

Work is soon. 

And these thoughts, they are mine- 

  They will not go away, nor would I want them to. 

I can tell, in myself, as I stir a little bit more today...where the angst is in my body, my gut. I let everything sit, and rest, as I have for many, many days now. 

  I have become a different person. 

The archetype in me lives; she is many many shifts and faces...some of them more depressing and dark than others. 

Nonetheless, what I have become is an evolution that can never go back; a version of myself, almost a doppelgänger.  

  I search now daily, as perhaps I always did, out' my eyes and through a lens that views a world completely separate from me.  There is life all around me every where I go. There is also static, and invading frequencies.  I look out, as I always have, assimilating ever still with just as much unknown to me, than ever before.  In a world where you are supposed to grow up, I have easily become only more lost, enveloping myself so, to the empathic weight of what is sad and atrocious around me. 

And that which has also been done to me. 

  As for what I have done to others, I make my peace everyday. As so, do I make my peace with what is happening in the world. Perhaps even, this will be my greatest feat as man. Perhaps still, who's to say? I have lived such a life, I can't begin to imagine which feat I could hang my name most upon. Was it my Love? 

My perseverance? 

The feat of staying alive. Around. To still attempt to live?

Perhaps in my motherhood to a small animal, or in his training of me? 

Or in being the friend to some that I know they needed? 

And while I would like to say that none of that matters...I don't believe that it is so. I believe in fact, it all matters. Very deeply. Most impactfully, it matters. Like "the butterfly effect" rippling AS history, and as the conscious decisions and actions we have made and become throughout our lives. It matters very much, for it must; it is man's evolution. His Story. His purpose. Without this, would we then have lived in vain? Without our comprehension of it all? 

I have looked out, and analyzed my whole life. I can not say, that I like what it has made me. But maybe I do. What is destainable is the weight it has put in my bones, and the ache in my chest from running a maze in an illusion with sleeping people all around like zombies, to the stench of death and burn.  Unlike them, I process the death of the living. I feel the tarred flesh. I die, without dying, only to do it again, as my brethren around me suffer, to no avail. As so do I.  As so I have. And as so, it does continue.  The slight change in me now-a-days, is the warrior within that burns like a Protective Lioness to her cubs. 

The cause is my cub. The people. My loved ones. And our liberty from tyranny and murder. Without her, I might have nothing. Because everything else just hurts. But it is in her, within me, that forges the fire of anger to win victories after all. It is a Loving, angry, and wrathful fire, but one that burns with a heart for justice. 

If perhaps I have changed, it is that I have become more willing to lay down my life for the cause. What more, could one ask for of a life of torture anyhow? 

Torcher is screaming out in pain your whole life, and nobody running to you, and no end in sight. Torcher is remaining invisible while feeling everything imaginable. Torcher is not being loved, or loved "right".  

So what more could I ask of this life, but to give cause to that which matters most? And "the light" can not win until the "darkness" is exposed and understood for everything it does and creates in this world; for as long as it is here, I die, I find. It takes me, in bits. 

I am indeed, unraveling. But at least I am grasping at the world as I go, and screaming out my last messages, until perhaps they catch. No...my work is not done just yet. And I have fled from this, and begged God to release me...but...it is not so, and it is not time. 

So my life has become a surrendering. A grasping. A waiting. 

Anything good within me left, I do not trust to remain. But, like an elder to a girl, I grasp my own hand, and guide us on a hike to find water. 

In this case...the water is the hope that remains. For life. For new life. For love. And for Peace.  

I can not save the world. 

I do not know if it is worth it to die trying, or if it must be so. 

Peace would be my dream. Something I have almost never known, not really. It is a dream. But it would be my dream. 

And if the world can not have it before I go, I wonder, if I could just a bit. You see...my life has been the sacrifice; The whole of it. So when I ask, "can't a girl be done?", it comes out of thinking "I must have served my time"! "When does it end?" 

And it hasn't. 

So I surrender. Wake up each day. And wait. And do. Lost, or Alive. 

Hand in hand, with fate...waiting. Waiting. 

And nowadays, pretty blind. I believe we as man have reached the stage I was born to see my whole life. Now that I am here, I am lost. And found. Ready, and not. The step outta' bed and the breath in my thinking are contracts with God, that I am here to remain in purpose, even if I do not understand what it is exactly. 

Whatever it is, it drives me, in compulsions, in endless analysis..and in the insanity it takes for discovery. 

I may be a lost cause. But choosing hope and magic and miracles are the only way I can prove that to be a false notion. I have no reason to believe that I can be anything more than I am...except of course that hope could be the only way through. 

Writer. Idealist. Lover. 

Artist. Healer. Thing. 

Lost. Caged. Pain as insanity. Genius as difference. Cop-out excusing away anything greater. 

Greater action left by our own illnesses within, and at home. I am man, trying, and merely losing hope. Documenting the journey. Looking for peace. For a miracle. For a way. 

It is a long evolution and yet none at all from the girl I was as a child. We are the same warrior. The same archetype. The same disdain, love, and melancholy. She is a spark. 

And somewhere still...so am I. 

Knowing this, is different still..than making the way; than walking the path. It becomes many things between then and now; things we'd never heard of, and couldn't have imagined. And you get lost, you do. You can. 

Now that I have traveled the lands and back, darkness sits in my soul from what I have seen. The inner landscapes were the worst Hell to dislodge anything good left to keep from the madness. 

So the madness overtakes you. 

And gives you new eyes. The "Eyes of Death"; a blessing... And a curse..if you are anything like me. 

Reborn. 

Again. 

Always. 

Still. 

Again. 

What remains and comes again, is this Warrior. She is almost, Not me. 

I...

Am some other love, some long-haired version of peace. Ready to pass. But we are bound. And so I stay. And so I fight. 

Destiny bound to this other form, as me. 

She is ravenous. And Done. With all states of things. Destructive...but purposeful. My light bound her. 

Just the same, 

She binds me. 

Regurgitate

I am trying to spit out your memory. 

To regurgitate the thoughts on repeat 

That seem to revolve in my gut. 

To forgive and forget, through the lost notion of being disregarded like flesh and sex, 

When it was love and honor that brought me to you. 

 

I 

Am trying to throw you out, for you have already gone, but like a music box, 

We play over and over in my head. 

 

You lied. 

And pretended to be clear in conscious. 

And took...

While never feeling the same. 

No explain argon, but a coward's. 

No sanctity, replaced by what's stolen. 

Precious memories, like cakes and circuses; never genuine; 

How do I swallow that? 

When I swallowed you? 

The Seed, the Mirror, the Man

The words, they will mean nothing

As I box away our memory, 

You and I. 

Like sand leaking an hour glass, our hour has past, as like your words, 

We can never get back. 

Like a bubble popped, 

Dreams quickly become blighted realities. 

I was real to the possibility 

Of waking up; 

And allowing you to shake me, up. 

It was no more real, than I imagine cheap words would render; 

Things said without half the integrity they deserve, 

And other things almost blatantly taken...

Had I not been so willing to give them up. 

I pulled your hair, 

Like it was me, gasping for the breath our touch would take from one another. 

I let you pass. 

Because you said you might, and so what more have I, but to bow-  

A loving respect as I suck up the blow. 

Tears blocked. Locked up. 

Too, I allow you to pass once more. 

It is a loss I can take. Calculated. And still lost nonetheless. Rather today than tomorrow. 

And there will always be, 

Your slight memory. 

As much as I'd love to bury it or set it aflame, 

It is a seed now, I journey from. 

A goodbye. 

A knowing, that I must walk away. 

And so I shall. As so shall she. 

Angry Johnny

Dear Johnny...

  The wine, she invites me, as I sip, just sip, and think of the picture I saw today; Kyra's face was a sweet memory to the one, I had long forgotten.  Abuse changes so much, including the way we remember things. 

Nothing could take the love out of her face though.  Time came back. It breathed to me once more; told me

I was worth loving- showed me

I was worth loving. 

The tragedy, is not just that...but what followed. I died in ways she'd of hated in me.  Gave myself over to those who'd only see garments for flesh, and hearts for prized tales to be sold amongst circles of friends. 

I became barren after Kyra's love; perhaps broken by it...
and then squandered to wonder, like a lost soul, destitute and increasingly frail. 

My white knight never came.  Instead, life kept building up, and pressures caved...
But no...
my light never came, but in pieces;
pieces.

I am the saddest chords playing, and the sweetest of slow crying violins painting me as midnight masses; wretched I cry all over the sky; weeping in silently heavy rains.

You are my God, Johnny. My goodbye, and my invisable, wrapped all in someone I can way my woes to.  Fabricated, I need you.  I need to tell even the face of my journal.

It all means nothing to me, as men gain momentum with my heart, and I remember why I never dated them at all.  I am already stripped, but here I remain cold. I can not love like this.
I can not love like this. 

And I am doing everything to see differently. But how un-good-enough even that is.

He did everything, said everything...to push me away. I stayed, and came to... and came to...
and came to.... until I realized how trivial I am to this man. How trivial I'd always been.
I can't do it again, weeping on knees.

Dear Johnny, oh Johnny...

Won't you take this pain from me.

A Wish Far From Fair

"A Wish Far From Fair"
                  by Ariel Dresser​

I melt. And I mean, drip all over; they're gonna kick me out.
I have wilted to a way-side disposition; stepped aside to watch all my happiness's quite simply, just disappear.
I breathe, sure...tucking away every tear that well up to greet me.
I smile, but really just stay silent in my mind...turning over memories and thoughts like I'm on a search I can't refuse; search for what?

What is a face that smears?
Or one blank?
What is a map of the stars, if merely it reveals that we are stranded?
What is the spirit of a broken horse?

Sure, I can gather up the lies the make-up creates,
but how can I cover or paint something that is losing form?

I am a heaping mass of dying beauty,
no longer, from the battle I have done.
All, to win nothing accept for decency.
And that is it.

But in the process, I have exposed myself,
in what are purely indecent inscriptions, for how many will look and think,

"she is broken"?...I know I do.

Like starring at myself in the mirror every morning,
my lie is that "I can make it okay".

It keeps me going, so I can smile, and release myself from the pain that wells, amongst strangers I must repress...most days, having completely lost the point of this all...

Because it is more days than not...
where i think, "it is just not worth the Hell"...

and it isn't.
So I subside. Die another day.
Paint another sad face...and pretend everything will be okay tomorrow.

Every upon a moon...
something even helps me escape this pain...

But it is not today.
And I am seeing what it's like to live with it;
and to let it melt me.

There is nothing I want to care about anymore;
A wish Far from Fair. 

The Wild Mane

The sugar elates 

As chocolate and nuts 

Sweet with cream, crema...

      Fathomabity eludes me 

As my senses engage 

And I tame, attempt, the wild and disgruntled horse, beneath my mane. 

I get wild, 

And let a calming hand tame me...

Gentle, soothing, 

I am quick to realize where I am...

Once I'm touched upon. 

Like memory sweet, I am in the grasses again, resting. 

They are green, and there is shade, 

And there is no place I'd rather be. 

But alas, 

It is only a memory, 

Til the hand of God 

Touches me. 

Gunhandling

The dark barks..incessantly, as a form
from as far away distance as the kitchen, to a backdrop of direct TV in the front bedroom
of the house I grew up in.

I dodge, the bullets, that would "wound' into me
as I pace my mind over the analysis
of the bullets instead.

Love
is the ficklest, scariest, most contradictory creature;
as magic as it is deadly,
I refrain
from gunhandling while imagining it in my hand, and how heavy the metal would feel; how the bullets and metal would look, how the paper target is perceived, how the shot, itself would go. What the purpose of it is?



I am analyzing bullets
with the mind of the Buddha.
- He is a simple man. a Wise one. Knowledge is mostly just a gut response with a life-full of thought around it.

I mean...
     I'm sort of in love with Life;

says this girl who battles suicidal thoughts upon days and days of chronic pain, and mere beg for release.

"sort of in love with life" might explain a lot of things-

things like the bi-polar love and hate of just what it is, love
     is and brings,
what
     it is and brings.

I am afraid, because my heart already set sail....and I am simply trying to manage a ship I'd known I'd surrendered control over.

I fear, the worst;
A voyage doomed.

I love him...
like seeing the Sunrise of the Hawaiian shores; an ocean's view, looking back as perception towards foaming sands, and twilight hues.
I love him like Heaven's singing the song of my life...
and him walking in tune; Silence is brilliantly melodic
and when I met you, we shy-ed to the cue; a melody like sweep,
I was afraid to believe
That you might so seemingly, be hearing it too.

I dodge wounds like bullets, and bullets like wounds.
It attacks me, I try to see it.
love it.
Leave it.

It challenges me, and I sniff.
I pace, tail out, cat indeed.
I learn very quickly,
but am forced to heed;

but I always knew I loved you.
And I was afraid to admit what I knew would be true;
I have a knack for these things.

I saw it coming, and gave up long ago.
as tempted as I am again now.

still...
maybe simply I can not.
Afraid to lose,
and then afraid to lose...

I calculate around how
I'm afraid to lose...

but step out now.

I step out,
like a quick slow motion on a busy highway;
step out and watch them drive by, the bullets and analysis, like
wounds and trains.

"Fuck" is the word of the day,
she says shaking her head, to herself, the smile of curiosity already sealing a deed.

I am the bullet train,
and the train is me.
Slight, slight it to will,
but I do not will to Love him...
simply, fuck, that I do.
simply,
I do.

Gunhandling.

Moon & Shadow

  I pull up. Breast bare to the open air; 

Ropes squeezing, as my breath portrays in frosted air..

It is as though, the light, a midnight electric hue, is my soul essense rising from me. 

 

Breathe, excretes from me, like smoke signals into a night, starry, 

Eyes tied. All senses baring, the brunt, 

Of my Dominant's Side. 

Cold, baring, shivering, 

Excited, until maps grow outdated. 

I have been one thing, wild in air 

and adjacent minors keys, and off notes. 

Wailing, ties me, to bondage, 

And shadow lights, 

Of being completely a slave, 

For freedom, 

In the dark of night. 

I know the things these creatures bare, and watch them look in...

Undressing me, 

As we see things we never imagined in others. 

Bring out my god, and I will bring out your sadist; heaven is merely the gate between. 

Take me hand and tie, me. 

It is the only time you will see me, 

Give up my sovereignty; to be fully in Your trust. 

In our lust. A shade. Between you, and I, creature baring. 

Hide. And I will go on living my life...

Wrath In fingertips like rains, 

And soul fire shaking mantles. Earth's crust breaks my body open, 

but inside You will find core light;

The place you may render in me more deeply.... 

Navigating this lost forsaken world, I do not believe all shadow is a sin. Won't you dance with me there, showing you things in me, you might never imagine. 

Holding up a mirror, 

To everything you've never surrendered to so that you, 

May surrender it all to me. 

Lost, is sometimes the more longed for sight, but I'd rather you maintain a light, 

While we walk down this darkened off-road.