you are a vapour trail

[ this is what i have ]

First you look so strong,
Then you fade away.
The sun will blind my eyes,
I love you anyway.
First you form a smile,
I watch you for a while.
You are a vapour trail,
In a deep blue sky.

Tremble with a sigh,
Glitter in your eye.
You seem to come and go,
I never seem to know.
And all my time,
is yours as much as mine.
We never have enough,
Time to show our love.



the way is to climb

Dear Fate,

You may tear the flesh from my chest piece by piece, leaving me with naught but a bloody mess
You can cut everything I love into jagged shards, so that I become blind and cannot see the end
And you may steal everyone I hold dear, so all that's left would seem a dim fragment of a woman once known vibrant

But you will never conquer me. You will never take my memories, or my love, or my hope. You may not have them.
They are mine to keep. I can now only wait for hope to flee Pandora's box. There is always hope.

"the way is to climb
the way is to lie still
and let the moon do its work on your body

and then to rise
through forests and oceans of lives
and through the way of the black rocks, splitting, wide,
and flow
ten thousand miles."

well, i've had enough,
wasting my body, my life

but can this sullen child,
as bound as the ox that i ride,
climb to the heart of the white wind, singing, high,
and blow
through my frozen eyes?"


there are different kinds of alone


Well, I've been absorbed in mediocrity
Been hollowed by uncertainty
I've taken all of my beliefs
And given them up
Cause there's no guarantee
Of a god of longevity
Admit you don't know anything
And give it up

Singing, I don't know if I've been reborn,
Lived a past life, suffered in another time,
I don't know

Give it up, give it up, give it up

Well I don't know what to believe anymore
But every now and then I feel a moment of awakening
But then it's gone, then it's gone, then it's gone
I'm blanketed by the warmth of ignorance

Singing, I don't know if I've been reborn,
Lived a past life, suffered in another time,
I don't know

If I'll go somewhere special when I die
If I'll go somewhere special when I die
So I'll just go on living my way

There's a strength in duality
Penetrate mentality
Give it up, give it up
Learn from casualty
Don't have faith in anything
Give it up, give it up

Singing, I don't know if I've been reborn,
Lived a past life, suffered in another time,
I don't know

If I'll go somewhere special when I die
If I'll go somewhere special when I die

where have you gone?


What Sarah Said, and The Void

"And it came to me then that every plan is a tiny prayer to father time
As I stared at my shoes in the ICU that reeked of piss and 409
And I rationed my breaths as I said to myself that I'd already taken too much today
As each descending peak on the LCD took you a little farther away from me
Away from me"

So who's going to watch you die?..

Tonight, I watched this. And for the first time in my life, I felt nothing.

And yet, this soft child's voice whispers to me-

there is always hope.



Following a good glance through the past, I found that I have rarely shared fully comprehensible/non-abstract thoughts in this space. Well, I suppose that's what "blogging" can be for anyway, so I'll give it a go, just for tonight.

There is nothing special about this evening, it is peaceful and calm where I am. It is quiet, and I am reasonably alone. I'm not sure who will view this, but my trusty stats page tells me the faithful few I have from university, Stockholm and Sydney probably will. Either way, I find this cathartic, so here I go.

I've experienced quite a bit in the past few years. I suppose I've dealt with a few of the same situations repeating themselves from time to time, be it financial strife, brief bouts of supposed mental instability or turmoil, loss of love, loss of a loved one, or the age-old crisis of faith: the "Sorry, what am I doing here again?" I guess many of these feelings and emotions are a bit magnified at present, because they seem to have come as a party, altogether and at once over the past few months. They don't understand I prefer to entertain individually, because someone can only put on a pretty facade for so long. Unfortunately, sometimes we have no say in the matter.

I am in its midst, I believe. I am in trouble's nucleus, I'm afraid, and I'm not positive how to safely leave this place. I've taken the wisdom that if one exits too quickly, casualties are a risk. People could get hurt. I could get hurt. A bit of a catch 22, it seems, for lying trapped in the center has shown to cause pain, and yet throwing the towel in (or, running away, as it were) feels the far less desirable option. I am in this place and I do not know what to do.

I am in this place and I do not know what to do. What I do know? That we are strong. We are not as strong as we think we are, and yet, we exceed our expectations of our own personal courage every day, some of us. I do not know what will happen when I am an old woman, or when I meet someone who will love me, or tomorrow. I do not know what God intends for me, or if God intends for me. I'm not sure how long I will provide for only myself, but I do keep going. I get up every morning, and I move. And I see beauty. Everywhere. Everywhere. Everywhere. Where you'd most and least expect. I'm not finished yet. The fates may laugh and dance together at the prospect of my demise, or my friends and the ones I love, but we're not finished. All is full of love.

I will close in this way. Sometimes, as I have stated, I find myself at a loss as to how to "carry on," or simply keep going. If you know me, you know what this video and concept means to me, but if not, allow me to show you. Maybe you will see it for yourself. For this concept, and this beauty, I live and I breath and I love. When I fail, day and day again, I will seek grace, and I will love. No matter the pain, no matter the consequence, no matter the death.

All Is Full Of Love.


in a thousand years, or maybe a week

Out at the train tracks I dream of escape
But a song comes onto my iPod
And I realize it's getting late

I can't take the staring and the sympathy
And I don't like the questions,
"How do you feel?"
"How's it going in school?"
"Do you wanna talk about it?"

Way out, way out of here
Fade out,
Fade out, vanish

I'll try to forget you
And I know that I will
In a thousand years
Or maybe a week

I'll burn all your pictures
Cut out your face

The shutters are down and the curtains are closed
And I've covered my tracks
Disposed of the car

And I'll try to forget even your name
And the way that you look when you're sleeping,
And dreaming of this

Way out, way out of here
Fade out,
Fade out, vanish

-Steven Wilson

give me a way out


i shall never leave this must that tempts and dies to find me damned


We're both trapped but I'm the one who's bleeding
We're both suffocating but I'm the one who'll die

I don't trust You and I trust myself even less





Not. Yet.




and i remember

And if I didn't have You as my guide, I'd still wander lost in Sinai
Or down by the tracks watching trains go by
To remind me: there are places that aren't here.
And I had a well but all the water left,
So I'll go ask Your forgiveness with every breath,
And if there was no way into God,
I would never have laid in this grave of a body...so long, dear.


Amoryn, March 2009, When The Bottles Break


i wish to god i didn't

"To think that I would die this time
Isolated in the room where the bed rises
Photographic ordinary people are everywhere
Extraordinary histories, ordinary histories, ordinary histories

I'll find sleep, I'll find peace, or in death you'll sleep with me.

To figure that it was my fault
Or so I've come to realize life is not about
Love with someone - (ordinary people are everywhere)
Extraordinary people are, ordinary people are, ordinary people are

Everywhere you look, everywhere you turn, illness is watching, waiting its turn.

Did I go at it wrong?
Did I go intentionally to destroy me?
I'm suffering in noise I'm suffering in - (touching ordinary body)
The burning from within the burning from with - (ordinary is scary now)
I could not be at rest, I could not be at peace - (extraordinary is scary now)

So do yourself a good, or do yourself a death from ordinary causes

Or do yourself a favor, or do yourself a death from ordinary causes

Weightless lights, oh, I would rather be, but I would rather be fine

I want to be well, I want to be well, I want to be well, I want to be well.

And I forgive you even
As you choke me that way
With the pill or demon and the shrouding ?
Under conversation
In tremendous weight of
A crowd of ages outside
Dressed for murder

I'm not fucking around
I'm not, I'm not, I'm not fucking around

And shall I kiss you even as you take me that way?
With the pill or demon as my body changes
Apparitions gone awry
They surround me, all sides
From what am I seeing, only changes

I'm not fucking around
I'm not, I'm not,



I wish to God I didn't, but now I get it.


and for all the pain and love which it entails -

Go Long; Joanna Newsom : 20844 Vanowen St.

Daphne Descends; Smashing Pumpkins: Corbin and Sherman Way

Question!; System of a Down : Jeremy's apartment

How Soon Is Now; The Smiths : a bar in Fort Worth, Tx.

Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me: ibid : A club in Echo Park

NARC; Interpol: The Paramount in Seattle/Space 20 in Hollywood

Politik; Coldplay : The ferry bench of Seattle, WA

King of Carrot Flowers; Neutral Milk Hotel : Camping with the commune, Castaic Lake

Burn, Don't Freeze; Sleater-Kinney : on the way to Charlie O's

Map of The Problematique; MUSE : Loma Verde Ave, Canoga Park

(and for all the pain and love which it entails - )


Daphne descends ("It's Not What You Think") -

With the sugar sickness You spy the kidnap kid Who kids you to oblivion It's the perfect hassle For the perfumed kiss HE MAKES YOU MISS HIM MORE THAN HOME You love him You love him more than this You love him and you cannot, you can't resist You love him You love him for yourself You love him and no one, no one else Past sidewalk ashes A last lovers arc You come apart to intertwine It was all so simple As you watched him move Across the darkness in your room You love him You love him for youself You love him and no one, no one else And the winding vines The pretty boys dive And thru the pinhole stars Into the shadow mind You will lose him then On some gentle dawn This boy is here and gone You love him You love him for yourself You love him and no one, no one else You love him You love him more than this You love him and you cannot, you can't resist

thanks Mr.Corgan


(and this is truly the challenge)

"And this is truly the challenge, for releasing the other into freedom, not demanding their reciprocation of your service and care is to place oneself in a posture of radical vulnerability. To love without seeking to possess is to live precariously. Such a mode of living cannot guarantee the outcome longed for. Of course, living by possession and domination cannot guarantee it either, though somehow we are easily seduced into thinking it can. But the truth is that all our strategies for control cannot secure our longings in any lasting way. These strategies and efforts are the heavy yoke of slavery and death. The vulnerable way of agape, of cruciform, kenotic love cannot promise the sort of fulfillment we often long for, just as the cross cannot guarantee the resurrection. However, such an ethic of self-dispossession is the only way for us to live in a manner that is open to receiving the divine gifts of communion that we have tasted in Christ."


Painfully, irreconcilably poignant. What would love look like, had we the capability to even conceive of putting the other first, above our own soiled desires?

There is beauty in the breakdown; and (but God) -


A final thought-

It’s 1:59am. I should be dreaming.

I hate to so frequently resort to posting the thoughts of others; but as long as I’m recognizing the beauty transcends my own potential, I'll go ahead.

Tossing around the idea of starting a new blog, I’ve been looking over the history of this one, two years and going. Many of the posts are so full of pain; some lighthearted and sentimental. But one common trend that sticks out to me is my own demon of frustration in witnessing the hurt in myself and in those around me-and being utterly defenseless. It’s a sting that still aches somewhat foreign-witnessing the wounds of your loved ones.

I’ve been doing a bit of reading on love lately-Spiritual vs. Emotional, Agape vs. Eros, that is-and until I’m ready to expound on that beast, I’ll continue sleeping with ghosts, and will share what's been racing through my head. I can’t quite explain what I mean when I say I suffer for the pain of the ones near me; so I’ll let her do that.

"Last night, again,
you were in my dreams
several expendable limbs were at stake
you were a prince, spinning rims
all sentiments indian-given
and half-baked
I was brought
in on a palanquin
made of the many bodies
of beautiful women
brought to this place to be examined,
swaying on an elephant:
a princess of india

We both want the very same thing.
We are praying
I am the one to save you
But you don't even own,
your own violence

Run away from home-
your beard is still blue
with the loneliness of you mighty men,
with your jaws, and fists, and guitars
and pens, and your sugarlip,
but I've never been to the firepits with you mighty men

Who made you this way?
Who made you this way?
Who is going to bear your beautiful children?
Do you think you can just stop,
when you're ready for a change?
Who will take care of you
when you're old and dying?

You burn in the Mekong,
to prove your worth,
Go Long! Go Long!
Right over the edge of the earth!
You have been wronged,
tore up since birth.
You have done harm.
Others have done worse.

Will you tuck your shirt?
Will you leave it loose?
You are badly hurt.
You're a silly goose.

You are caked in mud,
and in blood, and worse.
Chew your bitter cud,
Grope your little nurse.

Do you know why
my ankles are bound in gauze
(sickly dressage:
a princess of kentucky)?
In the middle of the woods
(which were the probable cause),
we danced in the lodge
like two panting monkeys.

I will give you a call, for one last hurrah.
If this tale is tall, forgive my scrambling.
But you keep palming along the wall,
moving at a blind crawl,
but always rambling.

Wolf-spider, crouch in your funnel nest,
If I knew you, once,
now I know you less,
In the sinking sand,
where we've come to rest,
have I had a hand in your loneliness?

When you leave me alone
in this old palace of yours,
it starts to get to me. I take to walking,
What a woman does is open doors.
And it is not a question of locking
or unlocking.

Well, I have never seen
such a terrible room-
gilded with the gold teeth
of the women who loved you!
Now, though I die,
Magpie, this I bequeath:
by any other name
a jay is still blue

with the loneliness
of you mighty men,
with your mighty kiss
that might never end,
while, so far away,
in the seat of the west,
burns the fount
of the heat
of that loneliness.

There's a man
who only will speak in code,
backing slowly, slowly down the road.
May he master everything
that such men may know
about loving, and then letting go."

-Joanna Newsom, Go Long


Ian Heath on Sexuality and Ethics

Defect of Religion

"Religion has a major defect.
It is an inhibiting force to the cultivation of self-awareness.

Religion is traditionally used as an escape route from understanding the problems of sorrow and sexuality. What enhances the inhibitory effects is the prevailing attitude of denigrating the influence of the analytical intellect. Where religion is vigorously healthy then self-awareness is minimal or even absent. Self-awareness only begins to develop as religion goes into decline.

Dynamic psychology, because of its unusual ideas about consciousness, morality and sexuality, can only arise in a society where the influence of religion is weak.When a religion is healthy, then ethical debate is lively, but the ethical codes propounded are often just imaginative, or confused and self-contradictory. (Imagination might centre on a theme such as whether or not man is a Noble Savage. Contradictions can only be identified once the subconscious mind is explored).

Interestingly, periods when religion goes into decline are usually labelled ‘decadent’ eras. Up till now the value put on such periods has been confined to the artistic styles that the periods give birth to. However, such periods (and modern times can be viewed as such a period) offer the opportunities for psychological progress in ways not otherwise possible.

Once religion goes into decline and self-awareness arises, then ethical debate can become based on the realities of consciousness. In my view, the purpose of religion is to be an intermediary in the transition of the person from amoral barbarian to New Age psychological person.

The contents of the subconscious mind radically affect ethical thinking. The repression of sexuality leads to a puritan ethics. When sexuality is rampant and used as a vehicle (or even as a substitute) for personality then ethical thinking becomes confused and retreats from centre-stage. Once self-awareness develops then ethics can finally centre on forgiveness, compassion and acceptance. In short:

Puritan ethics arise when sexuality is repressed.

Holistic ethics arise when sexuality is sublimated."

-Ian Heath, London, UK



Aren't we all to You just lost causes?

"If Affection is made the absolute sovereign of a human life the seeds will germinate. Love,having become a god, becomes a demon. ..."

(and aren't we all to You, just lost causes?) -


and (love can only consist in failure) -

the breath goes in and out, in and out, and the words, the words, the painful resistance to the circumstance-

"The inmost kernel of Christianity is the truth that suffering — the Cross — is the real end and object of life. Hence Christianity condemns suicide as thwarting this end; whilst the ancient world, taking a lower point of view, held it in approval, nay, in honor. But if that is to be accounted a valid reason against suicide, it involves the recognition of asceticism; that is to say, it is valid only from a much higher ethical standpoint than has ever been adopted by moral philosophers in Europe. If we abandon that high standpoint, there is no tenable reason left, on the score of morality, for condemning suicide. The extraordinary energy and zeal with which the clergy of monotheistic religions attack suicide is not supported either by any passages in the Bible or by any considerations of weight; so that it looks as though they must have some secret reason for their contention. May it not be this — that the voluntary surrender of life is a bad compliment for him who said that all things were very good? If this is so, it offers another instance of the crass optimism of these religions,— denouncing suicide to escape being denounced by it.

It will generally be found that, as soon as the terrors of life reach the point at which they outweigh the terrors of death, a man will put an end to his life. But the terrors of death offer considerable resistance; they stand like a sentinel at the gate leading out of this world. Perhaps there is no man alive who would not have already put an end to his life, if this end had been of a purely negative character, a sudden stoppage of existence. There is something positive about it; it is the destruction of the body; and a man shrinks from that, because his body is the manifestation of the will to live.

However, the struggle with that sentinel is, as a rule, not so hard as it may seem from a long way off, mainly in consequence of the antagonism between the ills of the body and the ills of the mind. If we are in great bodily pain, or the pain lasts a long time, we become indifferent to other troubles; all we think about is to get well. In the same way great mental suffering makes us insensible to bodily pain; we despise it; nay, if it should outweigh the other, it distracts our thoughts, and we welcome it as a pause in mental suffering. It is this feeling that makes suicide easy; for the bodily pain that accompanies it loses all significance in the eyes of one who is tortured by an excess of mental suffering. This is especially evident in the case of those who are driven to suicide by some purely morbid and exaggerated ill-humor. No special effort to overcome their feelings is necessary, nor do such people require to be worked up in order to take the step; but as soon as the keeper into whose charge they are given leaves them for a couple of minutes, they quickly bring their life to an end.

When, in some dreadful and ghastly dream, we reach the moment of greatest horror, it awakes us; thereby banishing all the hideous shapes that were born of the night. And life is a dream: when the moment of greatest horror compels us to break it off, the same thing happens.

Suicide may also be regarded as an experiment — a question which man puts to Nature, trying to force her to an answer. The question is this: What change will death produce in a man’s existence and in his insight into the nature of things? It is a clumsy experiment to make; for it involves the destruction of the very consciousness which puts the question and awaits the answer."

On Suicide, Arthur Schopenhaur


why, why, why, why, why-
what is the reason or rhyme
what could possess anyone to continue,
to continue the breathing in and out, and yet-


(so Till We Have Faces) ...



"No one ever told me grief felt so like fear," and
this is a beauty i cannot comprehend,
and because i am but an utter failure in articulating such a thought, such a sound, i will
steal another-

('cause i can hardly see what's in front of me these days, and those days too) -

"They call holidays an option for a reason;
I heard you're coming back to life just for the fourth.
And I've been catching all your ghosts for every season;
I pray to God you won't come back here anymore.
Do you pray with Him, too?

They should deliver all my blessings
In small brown paper handbags near the porch.
While I sat and watched you reading with the Lord.
I read with Him, too

'Cause when you look at me,
I'll be digesting your legs.
'Cause I can hardly see
What's in front of me these days
And those days, too.

I've got to take what I'm making
And turn it into something,
I've got to take what I'm making
And turn it into something for you.
I've got to break what I'm making
And turn it into nothing,
I've got to break what I'm making
And turn it into nothing for you.

'Cause when you look at me,
I'll be digesting your legs.
'Cause I can hardly see
What's in front of me these days
And those days, too.

Joy, where have you been?
Joy, where have you been?
Joy, where have you been?
Joy, where have you been?
God, my God, my God, where have you been?
God, my God, my God, where have you been?"



I wouldn't hold my breath-

"Your body may be gone, I'm gonna carry you in.
In my head, in my heart, in my soul.
And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both live again.
Well I don't know. I don't know. I don't think so.

Well that is that and this is this.
You tell me what you want and I'll tell you what you get.
You get away from me.
Collected my belongings and I left the jail.
Well thanks for the time, I have to think a spell.
I had to think awhile.

And the ocean breathes salty, won't you carry it in?
In your head, in your mouth, in your soul.
And maybe we'll get lucky and we'll both grow old.
Well I don't know. I don't know. I hope so.

Well that is that and this is this.
Will you tell me what you saw and I'll tell you what you missed, when the ocean met the sky.
You missed when time and life shook hands and said goodbye.
When the earth folded on itself.
And said "Good luck, I hope heaven and hell are really there, I wouldn't hold my breath."

You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?
You wasted life, why wouldn't you waste death?"




"it's true

pain & suffering
helps to create
what we call

given the choice
i'd never choose
this damned
and suffering
for myself
but somehow it finds me

as the royalties
continue to roll on


btw, concerning art

someone told me this once.
been trying to find my way back ever since.

"To me the self-revelation required in art makes it a horrible, binding, and bottomless commitment, and I'm turned off whenever I sense dishonesty. I like your stuff because it doesn't have dishonesty and I think you sense the horror of the self-revelation it requires. The song especially was beautiful. Commercialism is dishonesty, and most of the time, the codes and rules that define a "music video" or "movie" are only repeated because if we break them, the thing will not sell. At the very least, we must examine the codes and ask ourselves why we are operating in them."

sing me to sleep


the smiths, asleep

Everything is changing, everything is different, but it's okay-
alles nahe werde fern-
so it's okay with me now, i suppose

(really, because it must be)

'Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
I'm tired and I
I want to go to bed

Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
And then leave me alone
Don't try to wake me in the morning
'Cause I will be gone
Don't feel bad for me
I want you to know
Deep in the cell of my heart
I will feel so glad to go

Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
I don't want to wake up
On my own anymore

Sing to me
Sing to me
I don't want to wake up
On my own anymore

Don't feel bad for me
I want you to know
Deep in the cell of my heart
I really want to go

There is another world
There is a better world
Well, there must be
Well, there must be
Well, there must be
Well, there must be
Well ...

Bye bye
Bye bye
Bye ...'


{BUT GOD -}, or, things i learned on the edge of a Rocky Peak

in no particular order,

-it doesn't always work out. yet, it does.

-blacks are not the answer. and the color red most certainly is not.

(there is nothing like, there is nothing like, Your love)

-God isn't condemning us when He draws us back. if we are willing (or many times, if we're not) He will break us and take away every vice until we are shown He only is sufficient.

-no matter how wise or cautious you may try to be, sometimes you can't predict the pain life's circumstances can bring.

(i feel like I just died twice, was reborn again for all our dirty sins) but,
(i dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus' name)

-as ridiculous as it sounds, it's okay to hurt. it's okay to scream, thrash, cry, weep. it's part of life, and expression. and it's okay to be there with God. He rarely works in the ways we predicted, but we usually find later that it's much, much better that way.

-trials don't wait for you to be full of energy, financial stability and a mental hilltop to appear. They frequently come in threes. in fact, sometimes they come in tens. it's all in the reaction.

(i'm afraid of everyone, i'm afraid of everyone) but,
(what can make me whole again, nothing but the blood of Jesus)

-God likes to work in ways from which only He can receive the glory. on that note, when you ask Him to strengthen your faith/break you for Him/draw you nearer...know what you're asking.


I am not near as strong as I thought I was, and yet at the same time-

God is stronger than I had or could have ever, ever imagined.


No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear

"[Pain] removes the veil; it plants the flag of truth within the fortress of a rebel soul."

--Clive Staples Lewis, The Problem of Pain

butterfly kisses
little girl dances
brushing my hair 100 times

taking me to soccer
letting me paint my room
and sitting in your big chevy

fighting about boys
fighting about church
fighting about everything

realizing the hugs are few and far between
needing the i love yous
and flying away far too many times

what can i do now
your body withers away, and i cannot save you
you touched my face for the first time when i left
i fear i've flown away too many nights

please please please humble me
humble my family
but not this way,
there's got to be another way
please don't take him
i'll do anything


the wound and the bow (Your voice has stolen my soul, soul, soul)

to strive
is to be crazy alone forever
why are some called, some not
and does He really gift the ones who are

honeysuckle's flaming blush
the creek that will not drown with black
it all is there,
and yet i cannot grasp it

why would He call and not gift-
or is it truly desire at all

going nowhere fast without a map
or even a compass to reign it in
listening to this will aide nothing
and he will not understand

[ but god ]


{ stay inside our rosy-minded fuzz }

the ordinary cafe of the world
by charles bukowski

new worlds shine in the dust
come up through the slums of the mind only
to choke on mosquito

it’s most difficult
like eating a salad
in the ordinary cafe of the world;
it’s most difficult
to create art

look about. the pieces to work with are
missing. they must be created or
the critics should be generous but the critics are
they think it’s easy to
put out water with fire.

but there’s been no wasted effort
no matter what they’ve done
to us:

the critics
the lost (men)
the lost jobs,
damn them all anyhow
they’re hardly as interesting as

this ordinary cafe, this ordinary world,
we know there should be a better place,

an easier place,
but there’s not;
that’s our secret
and it’s not
but it’s enough.

we have chosen the ordinary,
withering fire.

to create art means
to be crazy alone


paradise (is) lost, or, (take heart, little christy) -

"Only in destroying I find ease to my restless thoughts."
Paradise Lost, Book 9, lines 129-30

road flies under too fast
karen o screams from this lung
red ash caught in my eyelid
and i cannot make them black enough

i'm running fast without a map
not even a compass to reign me in
this is fear
and if perfect love drives that out
i have never known love before

(it's all a ploy, and I will die before making one more play in this game)

"I have given my pain a name. I call it 'Assault.'
Assault, I say, will you please go out for a walk and
leave me alone?
Will you please go out for a walk and
get run over by a train?"

What happens when one gets broken open? Writing gets made, poets get published, and humanity gets better for one fifth of a second. "Well I was once a (man) content to be alone. Now that I have been broken open, everything has edges-"

isis isis isis black and red/fucked by the muse/if even the savior has suffered confusion is there any hope for me hope for me hope for me no,

oh but this cross,

i know it now,

i shall never leave this muse that tempts and dies to find me damned (and this muse is truly but sin)
until things make sense for the first time, because
i am so easily given (to all)
i am so easily taken (with the muse)
and by this i mean the same thing-

oh but this cross, i cannot shake it, it's there, brighter than all these tears,
more terrible and beautiful and quiet and thrashed and tranquil, oh but this cross-

it screams to me in the softest voice,
take heart, little Christy,

for I have overcome the world,

and i run run run away faster than anyone ever did,

but god -


to the tune of a little folk song

look at all their pretty faces
lined up on the wall
i think i'd like to try on that one
then i'd feel ten feet tall

all this writing in ugly diaries
was bound to take its toll
maybe we could jump the next train
if i may be so bold


well i can't really understand
where i stop and you begin
you're tellin me that it's not true

and lies we breathe and beds we make
just strengthen this fool's parade
but damn i just can't leave this muse


just today
just today
just today


lifedance by charles bukowski

"the area dividing the brain and the soul
is affected in many ways by
some lose all mind and become soul:
some lose all soul and become mind:
some lose both and become:

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