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Friday, November 30, 2012
shit in my yard and get your anus torn open to bleed forever
Driving home, feeling my heart in pain, sorrow, sadness. I contemplate, gin or scotch?
I feel strong. I feel solid. I am alone.
Sailing through the darkness drifting my beast of an auto, old, not perfect, in need of a little work, me, sliding through traffic, not of it. Mainstream can suck my dick. I just might put a condom on first. Mainstream is so waisted on cheese and glam I shudder what holds it up. Like a soufflé will it deflate soon?
In pain I feel. From pain I grow. Change does not happen on sunny easy days. I want change. I want becoming.
I feel relaxed. I feel solid. I am surrounded by animals that are my family. There is love in my home.
Family is what. Did I really choose them and they me? Or was it as random as blood spatters from a bar room brawl?
The moon shines through the thin clouds as a lone Goose honks in the night sky, looking for a safe place.
Safe is an illusion. Cheeky fucking pasty glamorous turd makers trashing our only home. Safe is an illusion of rationalizing and paving over the soil burying one fear for the narcotic of your choice.
Rationalizing glamorous thin people starving from the soul petulant in pathetic attempts at grandeur and importance.
Fuck you shit sucking people you died before you were born. God is dead. Upon this hubris of self important wanting we are the virus killing off our host.
Driving home I feel a pain in my chest. We could be more than we are. Our egos lost sight of the sacred lost sight of the significant lost sight of the reason we are here.
To grow and change and become aware of the creation in all of us the oneness of everything the God in us all. Dogs and cats and Snakes and spiders are all the same. The garden of Eden my ass. Knowledge is nothing with out understanding and as victims we are the same slaves that Jesus looked upon and tried to help.
It is up to each person to choose. Run from or embrace life, pain and joy. With out the night there is no sunrise and sunset and no appreciation for the warmth of Love.
Friday, November 23, 2012
Forgiven
To be forgiven
You have to forgive first
To move on
You have to let go
To let go you have to
Love yourself
Unconditionally
Unconditional love is what we all want
To get it
We have to
Have to be it
Do be
Be unconditional
In loving yourself
Only when you let go of self loathing
Can you love
And be loved
Unconditionally
You have to forgive first
To move on
You have to let go
To let go you have to
Love yourself
Unconditionally
Unconditional love is what we all want
To get it
We have to
Have to be it
Do be
Be unconditional
In loving yourself
Only when you let go of self loathing
Can you love
And be loved
Unconditionally
plastic flowers
an insatiable person
a wounded soul
seeks validation
from others
food for vanity
seeking strength from others
feeding on lust
desire and want
to know
am I wanted
because i don't want me
i am afraid of me
if others say
i want you
maybe i will too
no matter how much
no matter that many
no matter that one
a special one
daily feeds favors
and affirms your beauty
when you are lost
you never will find
you never will find
peace
if not peaceful from within first
vampires
succubus
zombies
are your kind
wandering
plastic yard sale flowers
trying to hide in the garden of life
seeking validation
from others
food for vanity
am i not beautiful
no - your soul is dead
seek your soul to find
your radiance
i can not find you
you must find your
your own way
first
a wounded soul
seeks validation
from others
food for vanity
seeking strength from others
feeding on lust
desire and want
to know
am I wanted
because i don't want me
i am afraid of me
if others say
i want you
maybe i will too
no matter how much
no matter that many
no matter that one
a special one
daily feeds favors
and affirms your beauty
when you are lost
you never will find
you never will find
peace
if not peaceful from within first
vampires
succubus
zombies
are your kind
wandering
plastic yard sale flowers
trying to hide in the garden of life
seeking validation
from others
food for vanity
am i not beautiful
no - your soul is dead
seek your soul to find
your radiance
i can not find you
you must find your
your own way
first
Sunday, November 18, 2012
about a live blog writing written writ
write wrote writ right wright rote
a verse a song a said saying spoken
in the minds playground
query mind dream scape recall logs
context movies poems stories
told seen watched written
domain equals Ireland
sweaters wool home made stew dew ocean fog cloud mist brew ale brown whiskey sound of damp ground smell coffee peat bog smell wet wood creating leather dampness felt in the bones melodies wafting across landscape of the absurd dream random stone work standing stone desolate farm equipment somewhere cowbell silence wind in the moor
spirit soul poet romance longing always longing eternal mists of veiled worlds close yet far fairies goblins a troll or two mermaids harpies and maidens with curly long hair and ruddy cheeks impish suggestions in the eyes the landscape says all this
narrow lanes to inlets straight over the moor roads in mists drips windscreen grey the souls of ancestors who are familiar that I never knew
ireland calls me
dreams wool sweaters and stories in human pathos rich wood dark from oil and soap low rooms long and narrow fire smoke and laughter murmurs in the corner how many working blades here
whiskey and wool oatmeal porridge and stew strong cheese and bread
ireland calls me
wandering in my dreams the ancestors leave notes to find my way home
home
to the mist
a verse a song a said saying spoken
in the minds playground
query mind dream scape recall logs
context movies poems stories
told seen watched written
domain equals Ireland
sweaters wool home made stew dew ocean fog cloud mist brew ale brown whiskey sound of damp ground smell coffee peat bog smell wet wood creating leather dampness felt in the bones melodies wafting across landscape of the absurd dream random stone work standing stone desolate farm equipment somewhere cowbell silence wind in the moor
spirit soul poet romance longing always longing eternal mists of veiled worlds close yet far fairies goblins a troll or two mermaids harpies and maidens with curly long hair and ruddy cheeks impish suggestions in the eyes the landscape says all this
narrow lanes to inlets straight over the moor roads in mists drips windscreen grey the souls of ancestors who are familiar that I never knew
ireland calls me
dreams wool sweaters and stories in human pathos rich wood dark from oil and soap low rooms long and narrow fire smoke and laughter murmurs in the corner how many working blades here
whiskey and wool oatmeal porridge and stew strong cheese and bread
ireland calls me
wandering in my dreams the ancestors leave notes to find my way home
home
to the mist
... xml
... rss
... rss in Beta
