Unhinged

Paint me docile, ( you son of a bitch!) ehem, 

While I correct my smartphone's auto correct mistakes, 

And stumble over the joke itself! 

Paint me Fuckin Docile!!!! Ha! 

Try. 

Words are formed, 

Everywhere, from everybody, 

As if they are relevant and superior to others' formations of. 

I calculate, and forget, and scramble 

All too often- paradoxical traits all abided by me. 

My mind's madhouse is an Einstein's desk of calculated storehouses from different sources. References and files I abed away, to return and flip through. 

The Smelting Address

Garnered. 

Shaped. 

I lay my head on the white railing, peeled and coming out of the cement. 

Dreams, far off, while life is a snapping finger, for me to "hurry; hurry up!"

My experience is stale- yet I have never become more alive...

I tremble, heart to heart...watching love so inevitably die. And grow. And live. 

Nothing is basic, so I stare at the would-be world, and watch them. Watch them all. Even when I pretend not to notice. 

Screening reactions, sometimes it feels so good to just let it out. 

But she does cry often. 

Comparing the broken against the broken, I have become rubbled bits... 

Loving others, even less whole- trying to forgive it all, that this is my lot in life. 

Words echo, and I must remember to put mirrors to their faces, and reminders to their heir. I am wandering no more, lost woman. Losing myself, I may be. 

Doubts creep up like roots and join with my heart- snare or connection? I love like leaked mass all over white clouds, because simply, God gave me spectacular eyes to see with. 

And while they Drench their women in deceit, I see still the small essence of love underneathe, and forgive even the most cowardly. Forgetting that to do so, tip-toe's my brave.  

It is a pointless dip, in a mighty pool, to love, the way I do. Fallen. So wretchedly in love, with beauty the way I do. Forsaken, for bimbo's and mean things.  As I tread so not to be, and fall short; 

Raised by wolves and growing with snakes, I must learn the charm of all things; moon and men.  

They will never know how I have loved the each of them. Watching them pass it all by. For something so small sometimes. 

So small.  

I suppose it is the means that would justify the end, to these...."types", I hiss...

For they may find happiness in luxury and idol things. 

While most simply, I can not, 

When there is a lulling by the drenched under sea, that has been my life through birth. 

The eyes, I see through, rapturing.  

I pour my smelt tears, and ash, and blood all over this fire, 

For loving has been my every 

Way 

In. 

Initiation. 

I can not tell, if to stay, is like waiting for the lava to stop at my feet or Bury me. 

I love hollow things. Seeing their vast in ways, perhaps they ponder on. 

And ineffably in ways, they will never fathom. 

I loved man. 

Time and time, 

  And time again. 

Breathing myself to sleep, 

Breathing you out. 

Every night. 

With every breath. 

Because you refuse to love as I have loved thee. 

And this to most man. 

And this to every. 

Dark Magick

I will refrain, like the witch in the night. 

I will obey the will, as not to manifest it, by Ego's Oligarchy. 

I have had so much time to perch, on the bonsai of my own mind; 

To dance, and flee, and bombard, and travel, and run.  

I have had time on the banks of two moons, and seen so many a thing, my skin tingles with memories unknown to me. 

I ask Eywa. I ask Eywa. Gaia. Mother Earth, and the hissing in my ears like high buzzing is no unexpectation. It is deciphering, that takes the time, so I 

Close my eyes. 

I am breathing him lately. And he is everywhere, when I close my eyes or think. I know it is love, 

But has love cursed me? 

Before I could ask God's forgiveness, for being so weak... Spoken back to me, was "not to"-"There is simply nothing to forgive here; not even yourself. You have glimpsed being done with this already. It is time now, to grasp your power".

I want to love him... But it almost seems that he makes me weak? But it is perhaps just illusion I chase, I can not tell. 

Too much is untouched. And the cat in me pokes curiously with the crow and the fox, Deer Medicine guiding me. He...is a Wolf. 

Two moons. 

Long ago.  

Tingling. 

Calling. I close my eyes and feel you calling. Dis-coursing me, you do. As you have always done.  'Tis what I love about the Earth. The dark magick of Love- the only natural dark magick there is. Neutral, but so so jaded by man. 

I am merely a woman, trying to love you, and not. Hear you calling so how can I ever let go? The only way I say, is to force you out, perhaps as you have done me. By remembering every reason you gave; one enough to despise you a lifetime. 

Why then, Old Owl, have I loved you so unjustly? Unfairly? Unconditionally? With so much forgiveness? 

You, are a dark magick, my Long Love... 

And I am once again becoming all too aware, of what is here, really...

Between us.  

The chords call. I feel you. Miss you. Hate you. Love you. In Darkness. As in Light. Neutral, Bitter, and Wise. Growing still. Leaving you, with me, and behind. Loving you into Eternity, no matter what you've done, forgiven you already. You may have smeared my name sideways and painted my face in red; but it never changed the girl you tied up, and left for dead, dear Love. You may have never seen me, but that didn't stop me from loving you, and loving you now, above all else. Really just because, something said. Call it Dark Magick. Call it Love. Or Sickness. Or Kindness. Or Compassion. Make me a fool, for loving you, and I will seek to resign that pain.  For Loving you, child, has never made me weak. You...have kept me on my knees.  

This is why...I will always be walking away...and towards you.  

The moons beckon. I am a heathen as well..to rage, and inhalation, and you.  I am a heathen too. Still, a shadow is cast where once I had my wings my love. Hell bent. We are both, just so hell bent. sometimes. I swear, I was sent here to love you.  You, never leave me.  But I leave you everyday.  And everyday, I have said goodbye.  That has been the nature we have created between us.  

I am remembering now. 

Remembering things I'd shut out. Remembering things long ago. 

Remembering. 

I love you. 

I can remember and know that at the same time. 

I can see how I felt then, so strong, and understands now, what of that has not gone away. 

I know you today better, love you better...forgive you...even if I am afraid to. 

My compassion has always put me at your feet. And on my knees. Looking up at you...in your dreams. In ours. Linked in death and sickness, and fantasy, and foresight.  Linked in pleasure and pain, and a killing game. Bound. Like a curse. But a Natural One.  

Love. 

Love...

Love's Hollow Grip

Dear Man, 

I am a simply girl; simply complex. 

And when you put your hands on me, I melt like I have not been fed. 

It is simply penetrating, leaving images and impressions for later, 

Of your hands around me, 

And the way, they made my body shudder. 

What is simple for you, is like breath to me- a reason to breathe.  Your touches edge, reeling me in, when I know my intentions are ill now. 

I can not want this, something that is not mine to want, but you press it, and I let that seal impress upon me. 

Your fingers, on my body, is something I need, craving always and hungry, 

As a stray to this worldly place. 

Covet not I remind myself, as I watch old molds unfold. 

You love her, yet reach for me; tease, and say things, she would never want to see, as you put your bare hands around my neck, and warrant a trespass I could be too akin to. 

Your touch is a hollow love, I feel. I'm supposing it is hollow, because you are man, trespassing, and luring in. 

I am a simple girl. Needing love. In a pin full of wolves, and clucking. 

Your touch has been enough to fulfill my days and bring warm-ness back into my heart. I am alive again. Smiling. Baring. 

And now needing, what I shalln't. Your intentions, unknown. But I imagine they can neither be warm nor deep. 

Yet you reach for me, your grip upon my neck and I melt. You give me craving for something unknown. You. 

And I believe that it must simply be wrong. Though everything in me wants to cave. For I am a simple girl. And touch is love to me. Before it breaks into hollow ruins. 

Yet there is love there, is there not? 

I am a simple girl. 

But no Bafoon. 

 

I wonder how much love is for my kind. Mostly because it falls to ruins, as these battles are fought. 

Weary, and old at heart, my youth forsakes me, much like your hands.  

All I need in the world, right there...

Just not available.  

A simple girl. 

A simple story. 

Re-run, as devastatingly tragic. 

She never gets the girl. Never gets the guy. And this world, was never meant to bare her here. 

Peace...

                    a far-off dream. 

The Swallowing

The world continue's to flutter, 

Like film reel, constantly in motion. 

I am the one who stops often, looking around; to look around. 

I must have been a part of a great swallowing at birth; for I am the walking memory of a living laceration, that breathes beneath my flesh, like the blood that keeps my body in motion 

With the film ever running. 

Melting away, has been the singularity of who I am, as I bleed in motion, and look around watching others just the same- they become a part of me; each time, I lose what I was, and become something more, AND scorned. 

A red cape on a high bank, signaling...Erie, as the wind resembles materialized being. 

She is an idea. A revolution. A riot. A reason. But an illusion. 

I am the red cape, not the imaginary girl, of wind you think whom is wearing it. 

The words escape me; for years. 

I have become lost in the long winding within; journeys, like holograms, and thirst as real as sight.

Sometimes, I can no longer see a separation between our eyes. Strangers know my tinge intimately, though not me. And I know their cut chords, their censored worship, their hidden dance, and their gagged voice. I know these motions, better than I know myself, in all my boundaries, and with all my imaginary walls, stacked towards heaven. 

Stick

The feelings want to sabotage; 

Nothing sticks, except for the synapses of these re-occurring emotions, like triggers, waiting to bust. 

Because nothing sticks. 

What comes first, love or the fuck? 

And while I know, nothing sticks, 

Not love, so certainly not THAT fuck..

And I am beaten and worn down from nothing sticking, and getting stuck 

Constantly. 

The fuck. Life, is a game, is a cunt, bitch, dick. 

Cuz nothing sticks, 

But I'm always getting stuck. 

The Dangling Vines

I leave my life dangling. 

She knows the dew drops of dawn, as morning tears and sweat. 

She is the devil that rides in cloaked flesh, and given the chance for redemption. 

We intertwine, dangling some more, as flowers become the blossom of our love on two branches. I make anew, where love was, 

As love will ever be, 

And as I will let it fly from me, and fly away, into another life once more. 

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.