Tag Archives: love

Journaling 8

i don’t know what is going on.

i have been trying my best, to make sense of all this, but it makes little sense.  Should i go wait for her every morning like i did before?  But i’m a partnered man now.

whatever…  I don’t know what to do anymore.  i just did what i do best; but i’m still unfulfilled.

find an apartment?  make love to my partner?  the power of the question?  i gave sam half of my power; it was a gift.  no take backs.

2. i’m tired.

3. i got to get meatloaf tattooed on my knuckles.

4. this is for Australia: It Is Finished.

5. i feel dead, but i’m alive.  What does this mean?

6. salvation for Lucifer.

7. and satan and samael.

8. Forever.

9. Tech got me in.

9. anarchy for the win.

no title

GFW # 8 10.2 moral of the story

GFW # 8 10.3

GFW # 8 0.1(e)

GFW # 8 0.1(d)

disaster struck down river, engineering a fall from grace you enter remission. permission was given for the pass code; those explosives were too hidden for the oblivious guard. turning toward the sun she and you thank, thankful for security. Guarding your soft spot, reminiscent of descent, the quiet place silence made into the hole. packed, gird with plastique. where else to hide dissent other than vaginally. she asks you if her weaponeering has protruding visibility. you say, 'you are such the weapon.' she asks you if the plastiques will implode her uterus first. you look to the sun and think about craters. --=-- Cracking the lip, the blood reminds me of deranged faces, coming to me in my home, descent of the veil. Real intrusion into the body. Qualities of space disappear, forget for a moment, do something Goddamnit, do something already, break the vase, crack the lip, switch the players in the game, move the profusions below. the appearance of a possibility moves against submission. you raise your voice then, immediately the wind picks up, you listened to it, your own voice carried through you. the ashes left the urn. in the trap the costumes came to pieces as the players caved into the clothes they had always worn. the underworld danced to avoid oblivion. --=-- she loved the ball and not the chain; a breezy tree shaking it's good stuff. and all this is bare before the winter; she was your shadow. she danced at night. the lights are off.

resistance to the current, fight my friends,
fight for the coming of a golden age,
fight for your children, remember the
decision to bow, to cower before
your enemies, to give them your
desires, your thoughts, names,
personalities, even meaning itself
taken from you, for what?
is it about money? is it about truth?
is it about accountability, or justice, or
truth? is it about what it should have been
and what we should have had? is it about why
we feel so mad? in no way do such digressions speak
of your body, right now, as you read. in no way do they
tell the fucking reality, the possibility of your body.
this space, these hands, are yours.
this way, this clause and tongue, is yours, and your life
to make the day you want. now go. find
a way, a movement, a ghost to ride behind you, to
play the movement, the entity that is you, that is
a place for the head to start to turn and turn and enjoy the
getting, the going, the gone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

never again

never fight
for a girl
again,
angel.

the four sacred things are good.
and womyn are for more than children.
and means are still sad in the light of the more fair.
and i still have my destiny to attend to.

thirty more years, and then there’s that, and then…
all i want is lots of fucking Clonazapam and a few cigarettes, and some dope.
fuck the state.
showed up today but they weren’t there, so i have to go to the full moon gathering and become a werewolf.

never fight for a girl again, angel.
she’ll come to you in time.
she’ll come to you, because of your writing(s).
so stop looking and just wait for her.

please…

they want to buy us

they want to buy us.
they want for us to work for them as slaves
until we build up enough cred
that we can work for ourselves.

fuck them.
fuck cops, fuck pigs, and fuck the police.
fuck capitalism, it has stopped working.
fuck communists who are statists.
only anarchy. only the dynasty of the poor. only the meek inherit.

the one ring will be burned.
the witch will be crowned.
the good witch will give me her honor,
as i give my brother my honor,
and as he gives his to her.

fortune favors the weak, and it favors the bold.
smoke as much weed as possible. it’s like a sedative.
just remember:
eat the snake, don’t go dealing drugs.
‘there are some things i even refuse to believe.’

ray gun.
particle ray in the fields of wheat i gasp.
‘there are so many dawns that have yet to break.’

so many.

butterflies

tired. need to write. butterflies. 21 apostles. spirit.

signed up for rehab today. have to deliver presence. presents.

tired. need to work. play. 13 chorae. the whirlwind.

looking for my wife. can’t look, cause i have to heal first.
i thought she was my best friend, but my best friend is just that.
i bought her white fucking roses.

inward sneeze. you may have emailed me that one time. cause i’m a witch.
and you’re a witch. time to be sober. for a week. but i can smoke. good.

bored. alone. crazy crazy crazy. life is life. death is death. i get both.
not everyone gets both in the same way that i do. but my mother is proud.

lonely. looking for my wife. i have to give up and just get better. i am that i am.
at least we saved the bees.

Today, While Looking For You

i asked this girl out on a date

but she already has a boyfriend.

the super dykes want my balls in a vise, it seems.
‘Screw you!’ they say at me,
maybe only half in jest.

I don’t know what is gonna happen.
I don’t know what is gonna happen.
I don’t know. I just don’t.

Back, on that avenue, where i made a hell of a holy fucking bloodly mess
of everything
my dad could do nothing but stare at a pencil
so much did he want to kill me. Or something.

so, what is the point of all of this?
I have to die, for you all.
And i will. One way
or another. Rope
or Guillotine. And the brother, the ammar, says Rope.