Life is the grandest thing offered to us. Other people tell us we can do whatever we want, but it's hard not to be shaped by the world. What we bring to the table can be discounted, at least we tried, but the reaction of others is what effects us the most-- makes us for who we are. We think in terms of making others understand or reject that stance altogether because we are in the public sphere.

We desire validation of ourselves, but focusing particularly what makes us whole. Facts are the hardest thing for us to accept, especially when it is in relation to the self. The facts about us are painful and liberating at the same time, but the facts of others and the environment they are part of is what I am indifferent the most to. They live life in regression and idiocy; sake for sake itself, but for what purpose? The fact is I am invalidating others too, but is it more valid that my focus is not upon cultural customs or etiquette? Does it matter when something is being ignored about the world on purpose?

Someday, I hope to see that, to the end, our lives are fulfilled. However, all we have left are fixations, anxieties, and a lust to override all negative feelings, concerns, and torment.

I really wish to see this world crack open to reveal contents within for others to feel. To see the world for what it is: infected gaping hole, festering and oozing with pus, as an agonizing hell of internal pain. I want it for all.

Conscious

Waking with dream
lusting for desire
shifting while stagnant
enveloping into wilderness
shaking and torment

Approaching a life of wanton satisfactions, I further engage myself with a fluid existence. With deepening confusion, a lost desire to find my way anywhere.

I'd say look beyond what you want, but it is a hard journey to embark upon. Waiting for that catalyst can also be dreadful, for when it comes it hits hard and pushes you forward. Brother, sister, persons, I wish you all good luck. Keep those sails up and rudders pointing in the direction you want. There is only one direction you can go, against the ocean's currents to another destination to seek new lands, treasures, or adventures. Whatever you may find out there enjoy it for a brief amount of time and then move on.

With an erroneous existence,
I creak as I bend my bones
Entangled in a cloud of myself
Wreaked and disastrous
Blame goes not external
Only internalized and hatred
Do I dare to exist further?

Frozen, reactive, waste
Kneaded inwardly
In tutelage
Broken rusty soul
As no foundation
Within arms
Wrapped in slumber and warmth

Cocaine blues

Two damaged souls out there holding each other up.

Sometimes one collapses and the other has to carry a lot of weight.

Others fall down at the weight of others.

Then both get back up to strengthen their resolve- to possibly start over again or to be stronger making it insignificant.

For us

Doing it all. Overcoming my fears and dislikes. Cheers, for us.

Lost it

Agoraphobia and unnerving state of mind. Collapsed composure, lack of self. Waiting for the tide to pass

Too much; too empty

In excess, glorified, but in feeling, hopeless, meaningless, and lack. My life full of boredom, lonely nights haunted by dreams and unconscious physiological effect.

It takes a lot of courage to confront what ails us, especially when they are figures and shadows of the past. The power they have over you is insignificant. Take me by the hand; I will assist you through the hard times and joyful times. Fight off your demons and off they will be-- ripped off by the hands of liberation.

I've relive myself in past days again. In fright; dejected as my wrecked self. These states given me all-- but it's truly nothing. Emptiness is all it gives me-- expectations for nihilistic renditions.

Haunted by the days of stagnant states.

Oh! So that's what it is. As myself felt empty, I forgot that I should never stop defining and redefining my existence and meaning. I have to keep moving; otherwise, everything I have so far will destroy itself in my mind.

I Don't Want To Be a Shadow

I was once interpreted to be a shadow. Dark lust with a jest in his eyes. Motives unknown and with motifs of ambiguity. The fear I brought, frightened her to pieces. I mourned those times. Next time I shall brighten the way for you to see through any, seemingly, façades to understand that I am not a shadow, but a partner for you in this life.

Perpetual Motion

I must keep moving. Otherwise, I will get rusty and never get to where I want to be. There's this other thing-- when I finish them I must make new destinations in my life and with the people there. When I am continuous I shall be eternal and great.

The world has entered me in a stage. It is now my will-- to engage in what I am thrown into.

Feelings of aliveness and faith overcoming my being. I am very appreciative for life and what it has to offer in this world. A Satanic Christian atheist who believes- absurd isn't it? Not I!

Ah that familiar feeling of sorrow and hurt. It has come to wreck my condition and soul. Whether the rapture comes matters not, for my wish is just peace and niceties with you.

Limited

I live a life of limitation constantly reminded by my constraints of my physical self and sub/conscious paths that I take. When I take a look at others what comes out is the utter unabashed selves in expressions of carelessness, rawness with less regard of folks around them. Sudden spurts of energy, maybe even built up over time, sometimes hurtful, and at other times with lack of accountability to the self. They seem to be responsible for no one, even themselves.

However, how others live sometimes brings out some envy on my part. Sometimes I wish to live in complete idiotic hedonistic freedom. But I am constantly reminded of my limitations. Perhaps I shall live in a bridge-- in between, in limbo, in middle path, dialectically.

I love her.

Response to our ups and downs.

Happiness is all-- and a fleeting cyclical spiral that tends to lift but then drifts away. Like awe-inspiring deities gnostically leaving you to your own devices. To be in despair, anguish, anxiety, but to be responsible for your own. That is the motivation. Strive to be god- happy and this time stay a while.

Tender Self

Once arrived
I understood what you mean
This being
Swayed by winds
Warmth or chill
Felt soothing
And growth
Or shivering in roots,
losing leaves
Recognize the fleeting
Existence we lay
From whence we came
In days of calm
Alone and well planted
But the urge
To feel stands strong

The Currents

Shit descending a narrow bottomless pit to only hit up against a wall and stick a brief moment in time. Once free, falls again deep down forever-- appreciative of those minor breaks and the anticipation for the end summons anxiety.

Adapting.

"The red candy, along with my memories melts away, until there is nothing."- Dir en grey.

New endeavors leave me blind, but focused. There is a lack of assurance when doing anything, but the biggest question is: is it worth it? It must be worth something in our meaning making or our paths to become full human beings-- otherwise we will fail to grow and continue having infantile neurosis, which I still suffer from. 

Every time I hit a roadblock or go by individuals who discourage me I feel more and more stuck. I lose the energy and leave behind my will to power, will to love, or will to live. Independence is extremely important because if it's not the case then we're still free to become independent. The very important thing for me now is whether I will effectively do what I say or live in a hole some place else.  

Suffer well, but suffer with motivation to independence.

Ride back

I look at myself, staring naked into mine eyes. Reflection off subway window. It collapses my being for inner demons appear and surface the conscious self. Man, I recognize. Monster, I relinquish.

Sleep is for my old frivilous self.

Can't sleep. Too awake from dizzy consciousness when I faced reality. Now, out of hiding, I shall be deeply contemplative about my desires and errors of the past. Forever, carrying this deep regret, I shall, with fiery effort, become anew and more grand for you, but more importantly, for myself.

My actions as they are

Why do I keep breaking the trust others have of me?

I am a fool; a wretched one-- with too many chances. I admit and face the facts that I am wrong. I will take the responsibility being conscious of barriers. Partaking in a journey of relearning how to be right, once again.

Knowing myself, I will make many mistakes, but will never stop trying to become a greater person each time. Forever, I shall carry the burden of my mistakes and the shame. Forgiveness will never arrive, but also my vigilance shall never be vanquished.

I won't stop-- no I won't. It is being deeply reflected upon, but I will still feel hurt, regretful, and deeply apologetic in how I made you feel.

The second error
Once uttered
Guilt spews forth
Constricted beats of chest
Disturbed in repentant trance

The change not here yet
Soon- an inevitable arrival
Soon- a better presence
But for now shaken up
About my negative

With her, I want to be with. Into her eyes I awaken seeing with clarity a reflection-- that is my true self. Into a trance, but conscious, I desire. Indeed, it is a great meaning that awaits. But patience should be my forte.

In Dreams, Bound by Affection

For Denise.

---------------------------------

The world for the reduction of the peace of mind
inflation desires waking in midst of phlegm
arbitrary clock cycles move a piece to entomb
when faced with the consequences of farming, shit, dust, and digestion
one walks with a gait denoting behavior
then judged by their opal-eyed mugshots staring into flash
in corridors she revels and reveals herself to the hands
from where it came dark wishes flow into cavern solicitations
where archetypes approach the upended, undermined, uprooted with gaudy lustful eyes
watch as speaking patterns cause angry retorts because they want to keep their prize

when thought metathesizes into arbitrary conclaves
when life springs forth from your ink to form essence
when conscious hours turn into days or hours panning in image for an image
when words spew from in between nightless hours awaken by the anxiety of dizzy consciousness
when listening to the songs that spark ideas, enlighten neurons, and speaks to facticity

You dream of dreary light-posts throwing oneself into the world
For utter digestion of self, being species being to outside boxes
In late night chatter speeches of alcohol, odd dreams of accumulation
The will rises above, howling at the crescent to stark, stoic, seriousness

hands like a spinning loom, object formation of webbed designs
hands that hold the world between brush and cutting bringing truths
hands move to chest gasping from delight of my words
hands at the utter disruption caresses the body with permanent markings
hands that comfort the soul, holding the body, giving pleasure
hands that consume, create, catechizes the coordinates of flow

you think in ways glorifying bloom of harvests and perseverance
you drink from the glass, to ephemeral delight in chatter, talk, dance, living to celebratory desires
you dance in dreams, frightened, but you still awaken to endless dreams
you live in consciousness to strut and flail at the eyes of beasts
you fight to stave off the demons and egos in days next door
you carry a weight so heavy; a weight I desire to take from you and carry

I know it's extremely hot in this blanket, but all I feel is cold. Shivering, alone, dark.

The sense of looming blanketing,
Reflective of the mood greatly
To penetrate deep within
Hurt and loathing
Stagnant searching for relief
In moments brief,
happiness and calm
but in the eye
lies the sword held in between lids

Approaching darkness
wishful envelopments
wishful for death
in it will achieve
consolation in suffering

Under another torrential storm— symbolic of my miseries, bane of my existence, demons and angels of my disarray. Obelisks and monoliths crumble upon my self. From the stage I stand, juxtaposed in life, appearingly divorced and internally absurd. Here, I wait for the day to come when my body shall succumb to the earth; to lay rest my agonies— returning to the end.

I think about your statements that conjure up various negative emotions, except for two figures in your life. Those two figures are the only ones that possibly can never cause mistrust.

God and dog, funny how those words spelled backwards spell each other-- like a reflection of one another.

The god you used to believe in to the dog you love very much-- as a transcended linear path. The god you said you could tell you love can never betray that, the ultimate trust. The dog you love and get moved by can never break something in you that man has often done before.

This connection with man and yourself is certainly one that is difficult to mend, fix, remedy. Perhaps, it is after all, just the characteristics of men that is the real problem, that is, masculinity, machismo, misogyny, chauvinism-- no, but it is all men. So many men, the mistrust, the imagery, the constant reminders of the only ones who can not disappoint, for you, is god and dog.

The god that creates, breaks, and loves. The dog that eats, plays, and loves.

The only two objects considerably a man you can direct declarations of love with. But the god that is spoken about is beyond the concept of biological factors-- encompassing all and nothing at the same time. But the dog is not human, but is a male of the natural world-- one that is known as "man's companion." You've accepted them in your lives, devoid of men in this position. 

It may not be enough, but I give my utterances with great care-- encouraging, nurturing, warm, safe. I do not expect you to be grateful or accepting of my offers, but here I am, wishfully, beyond god and dog... No, just a portion equal to those two.

I reach within
out comes rot
thoughts express
for showcasing
enabling desires
trembling fears
the wait
for approachness
of trains grinding
upon bodies
willfully desiring
forceful will
but to earn
a fitting conclusion

Deathly desires of wanton urges

As I sit here, I let it creep upon me, dragging me into a descend-- this earthly desire for death. Lustful watchful eyes searching and scouting for ways, in imagination, in thought, in writing. Adorning myself with the motives to capture my essence. The weight carried is sharp and stabbing. The eyes conduct themselves in far distances. The will has liquidated into primal motions in wallowed, dark, cavernous interiors.

My mind searches for stagnant feelings. Enjoying the suffering, the pain in myself, the pain of others. The display of bodies and the disrespect upon when they cease function. Some day, I will, I will, I want, to return to where I came from. Dust and ashes.

Blood-thirsty monster or forlorned despairing existentialist?

For a long time, enveloping my mind is a living rotting animal, but how can I ever get rid of such things when I have an attachment to a living corpse? Rather, the pondering of questions often bring me great disorder, but consciously I realize the gravity of the situation. To stay to only become a monster thirsting for all of its blood to drench my mind, but live in prison now and later free or do I cast aside and admit the other path of my past as erroneous and, perhaps, unjustifiable for myself and others surrounding me?

Let me be clear, I wish to live like a human, monster no more-- to be banished, for I've thirst too long for blood to be shed and its life snuffed out. No more. It is time for me to be thrown into the world (again).

Thoughts while waiting; seeing subway rats.

I find it relieving to see that in the darkest parts of the underground there can be beauty and serenity like no other. People tend to only look at sterile examples of goodness. The latter bores me and leaves me unsettled with the world.

The feelings of time ending

Often times I sit with a stare, a gaze, to look beyond some place else. I generally feel nothing, especially when my eyes pierce with extreme scrutiny. All that comes into mind is color, texture, size, relational meanings, etc. But the feelings, the emotion, the judgements, all comes later. At times, when alone, I get sudden feelings of uneasiness and nervousness as if it were a delayed response to what was seen hours, days, months ago. Am I cursed to live with sediment at the bottom of my glass, only to be shaken up when in a relaxed mood, while in the act of quenching my thirst?

Awake

Up and juxtaposed to feeling
Alive, awake, aligned
Desiring death, rest, finitude
Awaiting for initial moves

Perhaps, maybe it is for worth
Searching for finality
At end, hard truth will seep
Into corpses to speak

Dread

Upon the ears hearing
frozen alabaster body still
pumping lifeblood paused
for a moment

Contained within,
thoughts dreary mile-stares
an inappropriate retort;
desire to retract spoken words

Apologetic existence
mine eyes like ocean
waves beyond beaches
in heart, in mind, for you

Aura of the night
blissfully chills
encapsulating
shrill agony
ego disgust
dark winter

Hungry and Cold Feet (December 26)

What I am is hungry too. My body yearns for nourishment, but my conscious self forbade it. Rather, it has disrupted the natural attempt to acquire prepared foods or the initiation of persuading oneself to make a meal.

The life I grieve for is no longer the life I desire. However, I still mourn over the lost objects, in which I never owned, but was invested to have. In here, within, much has crumbled and I know but care not to clean up. Once I had nothing for a long period of time, but near and upon within my reach there is comfort, but, once again, I have failed.

I am conscious of the factors in which enables and causes the destructive implosions, but what I am is naught -- so should it matter?