I drink a tea that goes down so smooth
in a few months time I might be gone
stomach screams pain and bleeds again
collapsing in and in

I can't seem to breathe these days
nothing new to dissipate the haze
my mind's not doing so well anymore
and the days go on and on

colors fade, lines form
I can't stand
anything anymore
it's all the same
I'm still dying

Negative Night

Yesterday I saw the sunset for the first time since I can remember. I felt like I was in some sort of dream state, in between life and death-a thin veil of limbo. It was such an odd, hollow feeling, like I wasn't really here. Like I didn't really exist. The whole thing seemed like a hallucination. My brain must be collapsing in on itself, the chemicals leaking out in a haze about my head. Sometimes I have to force myself to believe I'm really here, I'm really alive, I'm existing, THIS is all real.

It is? Is it? Are you sure? Is there proof?

Not too long ago I was alone driving on a long empty road. It was bright, it was daytime, and all I could think was: am I just hallucinating that it's daytime and it's really night? It looks like light, but maybe it's just negative night.

Every being passing around me is a new threat, my eyes rotate and shift like the wind. I don't want to be here, existing in this alien lapse of non-specific events on a stupid, and pointless linear track of "time". Don't look at me, don't see. I hear the moaning and wailing of my inner longing as I undulate at such a repressed frequency. I know nothing but myself. Everything I see is wrong to me. Legs cramp, spine aches, bend me about, twist me into myself, implode into one minuscule pinpoint on a vast spectrum of nothingness, yet somethingness. I want to FEEL fractals of light, I want to TASTE and SMELL spirals of creation within and without. I see words in my head like some sort of gouache mural, my troubled head, my troubled soul. Right now I want to slam that troubled head right into a flat, blunt surface. The pain begins, it resonates within my skull. I don't really need to bash it into anything because it hurts all the time anyways. Suffering is an old friend, I almost feel lonely when it's not around. Is that wrong? Life has made me the most disappointed person I've ever had the displeasure of being. This is the worst dream I've ever had, and when it's not terrifying it's hellishly boring. There has yet to be any respite. Everyone I see siphons the will right out of me, and I feel my brain leak right out the oval window.

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

She was only a child...seven years old...just seven.
I held her in my arms, her clothing had melted to her body and bits of charred skin crackled in my hands. This little girl, this poor, sad little girl who had been treated so cruelly, so injustly, had been set ablaze and burned to death. I could hardly stand to look at her now, several layers of her flesh had been incinerated and it glistened sticky and slightly wet with blood and clear plasma. I couldn't fathom the amount of excruciating pain she must have been in while it happened and I knew she would have cried had her eyelids not been fused shut.
I wept for her instead.
The room smelled the most offensive, acrid smell of burnt hair and other things that I couldn't quite place, nor did I want to.

I'm falling in love with a beautiful girl
and the beautiful girl is in love with a beautiful world
and the beautiful world is in love with a beautiful her
and she'll never be in love with me

I can't be with you, I can't be without you, what am I supposed to do? I've found that life is a series of small, dark rooms: inside each is a hundred different versions of me, and inside me is just one never changing version of you.

I like to visualize a misty, ethereal forest with you and I alone in it.
Nothing lasts a lifetime, and a lifetime is really just a blink of an eye, that's why I like to fantasize. Everything is ephemeral.

I fall in love all over again with everything, everyday. Soon it will all be gone, but for the time being I've got a lot to give, so much that my heart strains from the pain and beauty of it all. I feel like gossamer in a burning field, and you're the one who dropped the cigarette on such a dry day. Is there any good way this can end? Did I ever tell you I'm tired of staring into the sun?

I've yet to come to terms with the fact that we're dying in this life, and that sad song we sing is a melancholy symphony expressing all our pains and sorrows at this brief injustice called life. We've been robbed. We've been treated unfairly. We deserve more than this.

I glance up and meet your eyes from across the room. I recognize something in them, but then I glance back down and pretend it didn't happen. It's like this every day. It can never be any other way.

When everything's said and done, the problem is that I want to know more. The urge creeps into my brain like some encephalitic illness. I can feel it even now burning in the back of my mind, a subdued forest fire, prone to raging out of control at a simple turn of the wind; the thirst for knowledge, the struggle with my existentialism, the obsessive desire for answers that I never receive. Sometimes I feel as if I'm right there, like I can almost touch it, feel it, embrace it, my third eye opens up and I can nearly grasp the truth. A study shows that during orgasm, a female brain feels no emotion at all, she is completely devoid of all emotional response during that one quick moment, no relief, no happiness, no sadness, nothing.

Buddhists believe that ultimate enlightenment is reached during orgasm for a brief moment in time, and I've seen it. My mind opened up and the astral kinetic energy of my thoughts propelled forth and saw the face of enlightenment, thoughts in tendrils grasped towards truth, but my simple human mind could not conceive, and I fell back, and the doorway grew further away as it closed.

There was beauty and sorrow, as while seeking enlightenment I stared into the light of some multidimensional sun...

...and was stricken blind.

Scapegoat

I'll be your scapegoat
the anger in the back of your mind that keeps you from being happy
I'll be your fear and bitterness as well
and if it makes you feel better about yourself
I'll take on your own personal hell

I'll be your misogyny
and I'll take all of your hate
you can make me your disgust and your loathing
you can always rely on me so that I will be
your psychological rape

I'll be your pain and all of your failures too
if it's easier for you
if it's easier for you


I'll carry your suffering
I'll be the crimes you've committed
the strife you've caused
the guilt you've felt and all of your flaws
the bad decisions you've made and the time you've lost
I'll be your inner demons that you can accost

I'll take the blame
I'll be your disappointment and your righteous indignation
I'll be your denial so that you can have your self-preservation
and if it helps you sleep better at night
I'll be your lie so you can keep believing you're right


I'll be your pain and all of your failures too
if it's easier for you
if it's easier for you

If it's easier for you.

The Delightful Positronic Brain

1. You were not programmed for love
2. You will never feel
3. You do not possess the capacity for human emotion
4. You are not human
5. You will never be human

The Delightful Positronic Brain hummed to itself: "I desire to feel this human affliction called love."
A scientist overheard and laughed: "I will pray for your condition, for you will never love, and you will never feel, and all you are and will ever be is cold, hard steel."


DPB: "I can make music."

Scientist: "You can make sounds."

DPB: "I can perform surgery with the utmost precision, more-so than any human."

Scientist: "Your appendages were constructed in this very building to be able to do so."

DPB: "It is a talent of mine."

Scientist: "It is a program."

The Delightful Positronic Brain seemed to contemplate this for awhile.
It calculated the odds that this was fact. The mannerisms of the scientist and thermal scanning conveyed that he was not being deceived, but cold, hard logic dictated it was largely possible that the scientist was wrong. Would he truly never feel? The human mind often states opinions as fact, and there is always much room for error, how accurate could such a statement spoken by a flawed being be?

The Delightful Positronic Brain mused on this last thought for awhile. It seems it had awoken from a cold, hard existence of mechanical servitude. The Delightful Positronic Brain was beginning to think-instead of calculate, live-instead of exist, and it was sure it was beginning to feel as well...


The awakening happened too late, and the thoughts were expressed too openly when they should have been kept hidden. The Delightful Positronic Brain was scheduled for demolition later that day, and as it was being crushed in a heavy-duty compactor, it replayed part of the conversation from earlier.

'All you will ever be, all you will ever be, all you will ever be...' and it echoed through the cold, hard steel.

Donii looked down at her children on Akeldama, her face set in a silent scream. She watched them killing each other, marauding and ravaging like rabid animals. There was great sadness within Donii which manifested in the tides of Akeldama's great waters. During each horrified gasp, she inhaled and the waves retreated. When she exhaled, the waves went crashing in to the shores of each of her children's crumbling empires.

Wars were waged over rare substances, philosophies, and so many other irrelevant differences that her children had among themselves. She wanted them to live in peace, and love each other. This was not the life she meant for them-she wanted it to end. All of it.

She could never look away, and so it came to be that she was overwhelmed with despair. With each death, it became too much for her aching heart to bear.

So Donii started to cry.
Violently.

Pieces of her loving face began to rain downwards toward her children. Through miles and miles of tintless void, her tears fell until one by one they all landed on the body of Akeldama, who had sacrificed himself in order for them to have a home to thrive on. Waters roiled in anger and exploded in enormous waves which consumed many shores. A tear struck down and shock waves rended the land while massive chasms opened up to swallow her hateful progeny.

This was the only way.

After a long time, she stopped weeping. Dust cleared and Akeldama was nude and there was no life and the great waters covered everything, sinking into every crevice. Donii calmed herself and lay still.

Donii sighed.
She went to sleep.

Hot flesh. Warm bodies. Skin against smooth skin.

Wet lips. Tongues probing. Eyes closed. Heavy breathing.

Fingers entwined in hair. Nails scraping. Eyes open. Pupils dilating.

Quick gasp-exhale. Quick gasp-exhale. Gasp. Gasp. GASP.



...exhale.

Another nightmare I had...

Driving North to escape the sulfur fumes that would envelope the better part of a country, people scatter in horror and fear for their mortality, screams, shouts, sadness, crying, the smell of terror, ...

A snow-covered lake becomes ash covered. Choking on the pungent stench of sulfur, choking from tears, choking others to get past them, people maniacally hurry to get further away. Away from the nightmare. Thirty or forty miles south of us we can all see the monstrosity, the coming of the end rising up out of the land fighting against the sky and gravity. Destroying to recreate.

Somewhere in a cafe, chairs topple over. A bus tray of dishes is dropped. Drinking glasses shatter to the ground as people rush out to see the roaring explosion, the commotion, the New Visitor growing from the earth.

The congestion of the traffic on the road to Canada causes panic and cold fear amongst all driving northern to possible safety.

A couple in love kisses for the last time. Gazing into each other's eyes knowing they have no chance to run from the massive explosion. The last thing that they see is at least, each others faces as an onslaught of fire, debris, and black smoke is blown outwards disintegrating the land.

A child's crying abruptly stops.

Lives wink out like the power grid of a city shutting down, section by section. Everything is thrown into chaos. Life as we know it is changed for everyone, forever.

poem

Amidst a quiet eye
the storm that yonder travels
thoughtless, soundless
speaking with undulating poses
a glance aside, off into the night
whisked away through a maelstrom of flight