masochist.

there's a storm of course, is why
i have anything to say.

lightning
has a way of extracting my power
from victimhood

so i'm now close, awfully close in fact
to believing in god again

it's not like i've been unsuspecting
that i could be struck one day

nor have i been innocent.
in fact, i've worked to procure it, toying around
in ways i'd been unprepared for

have even been so cavalier
to discard protection

against the great spirit world
i have no defense against otherwise.

dying
after all

has always been such a game,
an art i've mastered

let me show you
i could survive lightning too

in a way that i find death at its most raw

and gnaw away at its bones
until i suck out the marrow

and rise again

as someone made only
of this marrow.

starving ancestors
you spoke to me once and i re-live that periodically,

then i run, sometimes hide, bury.
and when i run, i do it to outrun you.

i run toward a volcano- in fact,
to throw myself in

i keep my eyes fixed on the mountain
and do not look back

see
you test me
why can't i test you, too,

on your ability to guide me
as the little human sacrifice

the pain in the ass
your capricious descendant
waiting
for the direction that i want-
for my own demands to be met.

you pull me back after i dive into lava,

charred and traumatized, and still
in one piece

your intentions being to hit me
it would feel so good to be hit again

hit me
the discipline gets me so hot

submerge me into the ocean

sure why not
what have i

got to lose

push me downward to the point
right before i would explode

where it's only us and night
night so black
even rape doesn't exist here-

meaning isn't dead here
as meaning has never lived.

this is me moving forward
from my petty world
into the macrocosm,

pushing past resistance,
oh yeah look at me doing all this hard work.
the mission is abandon everything i know,

this all being prison-
the symbol of fear i've superimposed
on its true face,

and on my own.

hello ancestors,
is how i greet the movements
lurking in night black night,

crowding around me
examining me like i'm interesting. you'd never
seen fear before,

isn't it stupid?

in both pleasure and in terror i kick and scream.

SOS to mommy
(i know you're here)
dear mommy it's me:

i call to you
to see fear from the inside,
from inside your womb

so that i may be the answer to my questions.

if you know what's good for you
in the womb,
eat your brothers and sisters

know honor as carrying all their stories
be the child that survives.

this is what your advice
has been to me

time and time again.

i've lost my appetite
each time i've tried.

today, i instead
watch them squirm in my jaws, one at a time
such big babies
in whom my teeth sink

i almost let myself taste it, past the cloud of tissue,

of blood,
of my vomit,
past my instincts to nurture.

this time
i face my determination
to not loosen my grip,

the lightning must strike me

the can of worms
that would've happened anyway

let it
and see if i care

(hahahahahaha)

it does not matter
that i've been so helpless anymore

only that
it no longer serves me

and now i hunt
after the parts of it that it'd taken from me.

glue trap.

war is everything, the backbone of life

said mommy
said daddy
said death and rebirth

whose uniform you're wearing.

war is transformation
is why the spirits are mean

at the same time they doggedly believe in you.

the only thing a warrior must learn
is extreme patience with this shit,

as the spirits play around with
your pain tolerance.

you've buried master phoenix
in the tangles of your diseased heart.

we're opening your chest
and luring him out, we want to die helplessly

as we lose awareness of all
except the loud bird sounds from the sky
who take us apart.

you are hostile
like the devil you worship; whose love you crave.

we release you into his fields, watching you run
before catching and torturing you
with your own starvation,

you being the only one master phoenix
will not eat,
there's nothing else left for you.

"
My son is in prison, I received a letter from him. I do not care, but it bothers me. Please prescribe me something to cry.
"

i call anaconda

yes i know it's a cure i seek
yes i know cures exist

outside the realm of possibility.

weave throughout my energetic fabric. wrap me
in your warmth, holy fuck do i want to get this death shit over with

now see me as smoke rising from the mountain, a disturbance

to the clouds,

underneath being
a cry of desperation

no longer welcome to me

the storm i house
is the only part of my life i
don't set free. she's the chakra
i've set fire to, somehow a part of my real
body, as in

the one buried underneath all the others. she who
bites and scratches at all who come near.

i offer myself

to the storm forever
to keep it going. let me have a way
to be myself. keep the storm going forever.

i'm not gonna deny it, not gonna lie by saying
my center is a pit or a seed

like how it is for the others
operating on the other wavelength.

mine will expand one day.
mine will be huge and it will change.

"Stigma formed by community reactions and displayed in the media is extremely damaging for any person experiencing any form of mental illness. It is damaging for an individual’s self-identity if they accept the stigma attached to mental illness and start to view themselves from the perspective of the person or social group who is stigmatizing and labeling them. The stigmatized individual internalizes, feelings of shame and guilt and will generally start to isolate themselves from others. This then contributes to the individuals changed sense of self-identity (SANE, 2011;). Becker (in Roach Anleu,1999: 28) states that the label of deviance has been successfully applied by the oppressive other or oppressive segment of society, if the stigmatized person accepts the label placed on them.

"

"Why is it that the United States armed forces have a bombing range on a Hawaiian island once filled with temples and sacred sites? Do they seriously believe that bombs can destroy the gods? I hope they will soon recognize that what destroys can only destroy itself[...]
"

despair of the endless.

it's a beautiful day outside.

the atheist.

it would make sense
that if two opposing forces
are actually two ways of looking at

the same truth,

than the leeches
who harm me- no, i haven't forgotten this-

also serve as the bridge
that brings all of humanity together

under which a river of spit shit vomit pussy juice cum flows

and since nature dislikes strong people
that deny their strengths, such as myself,

i must cross the bridge
else continue misunderstanding the fortune

of being one bound to solid physicality forever-
misunderstand the lesson behind it

that gives one the choice
to either sink or to swim

as infections rot through the surface of
my outer-most body, stuffed with

the same spit shit vomit pussy juice cum
that i must carefully

conquer my fear over, transmute into light

and declare
that i've created something, that i'm god somehow

hey look yes look look see haha yay
i've given everybody a river.

there are no drums here
sending me into a trance. no animals

making noise
over how they're watching over me
guess they sensed

i didn't care about saying "thank you" to them before we'd part
for the same reasons

they did

no variation of the thin tall black ancient medicine man
that shows up and

gives me the exact surgery i need
every time. i made him all up.

kalima is not here
nor's her most terrible aspects
because this fascination has all

merely been a flight of fancy.

no great mystery threatening my life
or offering me hope, either.

this finality i embrace is all that i'll allow to
get me high, my only ally.
yes i think i know this storm by now

i think it's safe to say we're more than just friends

watch as we wait for one another, not even
needing to do anything really
before we just merge

without a sense of urgency, without a sense of
much at all

other than

one one thousand
two one thousand
three one thousand

zip
zzzzzzzip

we're setting an example
of how one truly transmutes a sea of all the bullshit one has
fed oneself with
and turns it into light.

you can do it with anything when you find
direction, when you suddenly

are all self-possessed with certainty.

me
and the blood running between my thighs, or

the river,

swallow and

fuck
zzzzzzip

no one
is home

because this is
my home
where there is only
just me.