Showing posts from April, 2010

A Luring Heart

There is a place were the heart severes itself and lures all thirsty and famished predator.

In deep love with there temporary fixation and swarm towards the willing and desperate prey.
The violence one needs and must deserve.

Decay of the sight to feed the tired and promised self.
Delieverance of relief that shows no end or consequence...

Love the Creep

There is a crippling sensation in this forward motion. I write to explore and you can witness and please stand by, on guard because you can be trained in a beautiful way to charish the creep. A satisfaction awaits in lonely times. A desolation and removal of what may be restless. Tying a rope around tight whatever cannot refrain from leaping out in impulse. Train it and see it. It is the culmination of all learned depravity to retaliate against the surface society, the right now reality. The ego of survival, the parallel drive of what is destructive and painful. Charge the divine with a question mark and look within ones self. Grab violently at the hidden child. Continue to rise to some surface, known but new. Progress on and know. Accept but know. Accept through resistance. Heavy flow will drown the easy demons within. The escaping restless lashings upon ones self. Drown ones self and see what floats to the surface. Continue to see what screams from within to escape …

Impulsive Recognition

Impulsive recognitions of ones other nature. A retreat to a certain kind of exile. A luring of the lost child part, bring him out into the open for an attempted recognition of the once understood self.
To seperate from the collection of bias retaliating against this fixing form of ones self. Letting the self child loose to play and to remind.

Allowing the progressive self to first start in a dream like state...

Romantic supression

This Romantic version of the world I have created canvas' my whole perception. Tying down with a difficult kind of acceptance. A cradel of sorts for an inner child understanding. A hold back from typical drone. A kind of promiscuous curiosity, sometimes almost to late to turn back. On a terrified rampage, a search for that recognizable hope. That on more than just an occassion, it will have a beautiful epic ending, like in the books.
That my almost coached narcissism, my too eager, presently false self image, my faded humbling, will no longer, minute by minute, need supression...

Craving the Difference

Ill do anything to feel different. Ill do anything. I want to see it all. The good , the bad, the normal, and definitely the ugly reality of the things not warned about or talked about openly at the dinner table. I hope there’s so much more. Here or even there, there in the future somewhere. It doesn’t matter what it is as long as it makes sense to me. Something different, ill do anything for something different. To feel solid, all me, without any anxiety and without a hand full of these nerve pills. What will they think of me now that I have said that? I can’t satisfy this craving addiction of vice. Punishing myself because I want to be different and its mainly bad self-worth because of all the buried torment deep inside, but showing out through the eyes and violating. Punish everyone sacred to me. My heart feels like a ticking time bomb sometimes. Ready to explode itself all over the faces of the people close by. Of course it’s going to be the people who care who get covered in my b…

Time and Space

Give me a chance to prove my worth. Grit your teeth for me as I rip my self apart. Its for a reason and if possible I need the space to understand myself. With self destruction, with this shit something might grow from it. Branching apparent to the world.

Paper Containment of Silhouette Urges

She sinks her teeth into the leather of the steering wheel as I pound out my self satisfying urges. I don’t care that she is young. I don’t care that she’s inexperienced. Her roundness bounces in my lap and she moans in a painful pleasurable moan. The moment makes me feel large in every physical and mental way. My aggression pulses through sweat and flesh. I role her tight blue shirt up the small of her back to expose the spread of her dark needled ink. I look below to see me enter and exit. I tell her to look at me as her face expresses the she is feeling every part of me. She grabs the steering wheel and leans forward. Everything speeds up and she means to yell stop but it is over taken by a groaning yell. She wipes the fogged up glass in front of her. I feel every part of her as I pump her flood of wet. I smell the smell of bodies, lusting bodies.

Shedding Cryptic Layers?

Everything is cryptic. Everyone has a hidden agenda and they want you to discover the enigma. They need meaning in their form. Needed abstraction for a bit of creativity in their many shows. A narrow path ever widening down the rabbit hole of themselves. Shedding layers of the world by tightening the focus on their mystery. Leaving bread crumbs, whether through a certain phrase or an open book showing a certain page. Whether through a circling of a passage in a favorite book that has been sitting a hundred years after their passing. More meaning in the search. More intimate understanding of them by forcing the binding of you to them. Hoping that their troubled view can be unraveled by another. Hoping it can be understood by another, freeing themselves from the isolation of their own original view.


A hyenas laughter or a babies cry must have been the last of the echoes I heard while unconscious. What instant interpretation should I make of these distortions? If you are out there, searching, caught up in dull static quality, dynamic quality slipping, rise. Rise and create something meaningful. Rise and move through the picked bones of someone elses attempt at there ideas. Force yourself through the depression of yet another sinister age of survival. Pick them apart....pick all of them apart........let your laughter echo..echo as they direct you on how to put it ....all...back together........