He always wore these nice boots. They used to make this loud clomp clomp sound when he walked, it would echo across the house on the porcelain tiles. One time I remember I was sleeping in my bedroom, and I heard his boots clomp-clomping again in the kitchen. I ran out of my bedroom in happiness much like a child who thinks they hear Santa put presents under the Christmas tree. So excited. But then I saw him. It wasn't him. It wasn't him. Instead it was Norm. It was Norm. It. Was. Norm. Not. My. Dead. Daddy. It was: themanmymotherwascheatingonmyfatherwithandhewasthereinthekitchenmakingthesoundsmyfathermadeliftingmeupwithhopeandthencrushingmeaway. Hope. Crushed. So once again like a child during Christmas, who runs out to see Santa and then is destroyed by the fact that there IS no Santa, there IS no coming back after death, there IS no Daddy. He wouldn't ever come back. What was I thinking? I still remember that day. I can't ever forget it if I forget everything in the world, I'll never forget that day. Does anything make that better? Does anyone wonder why I am the way I am? What happens to the mind of a child stays with them for the rest of their lives. Embedded. Inside.

I was thinking about you, I'm odd because I was wondering what you look like when you sleep, what position you sleep in, whether you hold a pillow or not. Then I started wondering about your smell. Scent memory is something that fascinates me, but the memory eludes me. If there's anything I'd like to experience again, it's your smell. I've decided that you probably smell like indian summers and ancient love.

Perfect by design

There is nothing that is absolutely perfect except for one simple thing...Death. Death has a mortality rate of 100%. Perfect by design.

Sometimes I feel like I'm in limbo, then I look around and see that life is going on all around me. Then I start to think maybe it's not I that is in limbo, maybe it is my mind that IS limbo. If ever you suffer this feeling of limbo, then maybe you're just in my mind...

Hidden amongst the trees

There's strings everywhere and we're all attached. They're in my head and they dance to music. Working into a ferver, frothing, undulating in a rapid and beautiful yet unseen manner. They dance, they dance, they dance for me. Dance, dance, dance for me. So beautiful, so ever-present yet so relatively unknown to almost everyone. We pull along in this life vibrating at high frequencies in inner harmony. Harmonize. Harmonize for me. You can do this. We all can. I cry at the beauty and all the pain inside when they sing to me. I shake violently, want them to swallow me up and take me away with them. They show me the way, show me the thin gossamer sheath surrounding us, keeping us away from truth. Once you begin to evolve you must die. This reality couldn't handle you. Penetrate the hidden. The world within and without. Secretly our minds already know it's there, but the knowledge has been buried so deep and hidden from us. Overmind. Overdrive. Oversoul. Oversky. Sometimes chemicals help the process. Mutating thoughtforms and emotion, seeds, harbingers of what's to come. It's all there. The Constant. The Critical. The God Particle is, in fact, US. Transcend. Ascension. Transmutaion. Evolve. EVOLVE. I can almost see the invisible. The Hidden. The Hiding-Within-and-Around-Us. The Flow. The flow of the particles being pulled by the strings, us being pulled, life, existence flowing all together, one astral mass, one source, it's-WE, are all ONE. Not our bodies but our being. What lurks beneath. Like Power but not quite Power, Source, Flow is all I can conceive of calling it until I learn more. Life is advent, HERE is advent, THERE is complete and utter...something... I don't know... Everything. EVERYTHING. Right now we simply subsist, maintain for now. Sometimes I hear something that makes me cry, a simple note, a simple truth. My ears are ringing all the time now. Cold steel couldn't do this. Download existence into my being? We are not a program. I want the chemicals, but I don't. I am afraid, but our minds are made up of them. Which is complimentary and which will DAMAGE? FACE, CONFRONT. I can't. ACCOST, AFFRONT. I can't...I see him singing and playing guitar right in front of me. The vision is more beautiful than the aural result. Silent emotion. Later when she sees me, the pain is evident on my face. Contorts ever so slightly. Just a bit, but it's the eyes, the EYES which contain and hold it all like vessels of pure cohesive suffering. And then the Priestess. The Priestess whose beauty holds me in rapture, physical and mental ecstasy. I can't hardly use any words to explain her. Artificial eyes betray her mind. What's beneath is just as beautiful to me, either way it's HER. HER. Priestess on a pedestal, she is made of things she does not know. Her delicious half-smile, the one she knows how to use, she must, she MUST know what that does to someone. I fall in love. I fall. IN. Into her essence I am drowning and it's the most perfect and excruciating envelopement. God, those things kill me, those pools of shining light I call her eyes. That crooked smile...If there was ever anything in all of existence that could bring a being to their knees it is her. And if she was here with me now, forsook all to be with me now, I am not entirely so sure I wouldn't give away my life for her. Give it all away. Give. it. all...away. She kills what's left of me because I know she will never see nor love me the way I do her, and in that knowledge is the fact that within her also is the Devourer. One and the same, rather like Lakshmi and Kali, one and the same yet two completely different forms. Both so perfect, so beautiful, so dangerous to me the way either can draw me in like a breath or exhale me out from their grace. It is never to be. It is always like this. But this. This. This is the epitome of all past and future combining in synergy. She is the purest one, dripping with the tempting god's ichor, the purest one yet within her lies a sapling of darkness which makes her beauty all the more sorrowful and blissful. Sorrow I can appreciate. The taste of it is the only truth I know. She kills me. She kills me in an exquisite manner, she need not even try. She kills me in a way close to the frequency in which HE killed me, except my love for him was untainted by feelings of primordial lust or gratification, my love for him burned true and brilliant bright-hot white. If the two were to combine they would be symbiote to eachother, giving, feeding, but creating in a single nod or blink, this combination would have been salvation. But there is Death. So much death and killing going on, what's left? VOID. So much Void.

with his hypodermic needles for eyes he injects black tar suicide, unsterilized

i knew before i loved him that he had this disease, he told me that he would get better for me

in what seems the blink of my eye im at wits end swallowed up in his lie

i just wanted to believe
it appears that ive been deceived