visual

I woke up today and realized I was more than my body.

I woke up today and saw through the eye lids of another woman.

Defending all that is holy

I lift my head to the world and stare into the eyes of all the muses which

have shredded my heart to pieces over the past few years

And with lady like affection, I pound my fists into the womb of my mother earth

Ridding my bones of selfish pride, fear and a Modern Philosophy 

The purring of southern traffic shakes me to tears and I remember believing

that I could someday change everything.

Art used to be a safe house I could fall asleep in at night

And even if it was hard, I somehow felt okay with the risk of dying within a painting, like how I felt when I first read Bataille. Parts of my heart were not the same 

and accepting it believe it or not provided me with the endurance to love and be loved. 

I woke up today and did not find bitter breathing or wishful thinking 

I woke up today and did not want to eat from the tree, but rather be the tree that feeds all that is around me

Resist the ideals of being more than a single entity 

Even when we die, although the compositions add up and recycle within a pool of hell bound ghosts, we must remember that with or without any God we will always

be the only thing we've got

I woke up today and did not look for an answer

I woke up today and realized I was more than my body

Words, breathing, heart, pain, blood running the energy box which moves my feet, silent laughing, internal mind fucking, selling it short, over talking, deleting, meditation, exiting, pleasure coma, mind meets body, body meets dirt, conscious folklore, history is dead and will always be. 

tonight i saw something id never seen before

death to dead language

death to the invisible common ground which shows no sign of life

surrender is a second coming and if we close our eyes now we can devour the 

ultraviolet hell. 

like tiny mice in a bed of flowers

we lay silently and listen to the beat of the moons heart.

with our feet curled like soft ribbon, we hold our souls close

and bath in a symphony of conscious dreaming.

our bodies stay warm as the night flies above the sheets 

candy

To further emphasize on my not-so-typical lifestyle: Although sometimes I feel that I am but thousands of years beyond my generation, I have found a peaceful medium in dirty jeans and late night board games – waiting for “that” day (but who isn’t? [dying]) I have no recollection of the womb, or the first time I thought about sex and what it meant (although it is lot different for kids these days [thank you late night television (the Spanish channel and Spice)] and Charter Communications of course.) I’ve got an empty house half the time, a mini refrigerator in my garage (where I frequently store my social soda), too much self criticism and a jar of sea glass (where most of the memories of my father come from; The Footbridge Motel, raspberry ice cream, old fashion cars, the infamous farmers tan] I miss you terribly, who ever you were). But back to my self (doubt), more human than a human, half correct, a quarter wrong, and always asking, and asking and asking. “When?” “And for whom?” I am the epitome of a  mountain girl, driven by scratched up Bikini Kill records, stuck on the smell of diesel fuel and 90s flannel button ups. I learned how to forget the bible and toast to the dead and Mom wasn't proud of that [ still isn't ] but fuck her. I’ve been evicted from a clear conscience and every day its a race to the tip of my tongue. 

Moving like mechanical figures

We played four square in grey-scale shadows

Tongue tied, touching teeth as we speak

Talking in death

I feel, in a vague sort of way that

Your sentimental battle with your world and your agenda

Is perspiring so, that I can’t even remember the last time I passed you

Without sulking into my blazer and laughing

I still remember the white powder that cut across a glass top table

(And who you became post Enlightenment)

Pottery pieces clung to whicker from your fits about taxes and the free market

I found a piece of mind on the bloody sidewalk outside your complex

I was lusting there in your synchronized walking patters, your vertical contours,

And a choreography of the love that I felt in my feet

Oh the way you won my heart in a lottery for Fools.

Of course you’d die for the game and sit on your hands

 DEAD LANGUAGE 

 DEAD LANGUAGE

 DEAD LANGUAGE 

 DEAD LANGUAGE

 DEAD LANGUAGE 

 DEAD LANGUAGE

 DEAD LANGUAGE 

 

sigh

666: God help me if I take one more step in THAT direction. I'm riding a hell-bound horse to a cold area of new england and I wish I could say I felt my back breaking but nothing touches my nerve endings and I all of a sudden go numb. Sing in my ear; I'll tare each note into pieces and pretend like I didn't hear a thing. I can't help it: You haven't a clue the hell that resides in my mind. My account is negative. I lost my heart in a fit of rage at the hospital the day I collapsed to the floor, I felt my heart stop. I felt my brain explode and my feelings fly out the window into traffic, underneath the bed of an eighteen wheeler, smeared on the pavement, saw it all in front of me -  blending in with the dirt. Till death do us part: i feel my living body, my hands, my feet, my lungs getting bigger and smaller with each breath, I feel alive and dead all at the same time. Sometimes I cant believe I survived the winter; the majority of the days I spent in the corner of my bed vigorously reading Artuad, finding answers/feelings/anything. Time is inescapable - true, but where does it go? I literally can't find sleep in my days; and I can't believe I believed. 

I can't believe I believe anything.

rest in peace. 

 

Malevolence

Dear ghosts and landlords:

I am sorry but I have lost parts of myself in

Computer technology and drunken friends.