Saturday, November 18, 2017

soul food.

"From a shamanistic perspective, the “symptoms” of BPD include feeling intensely connected to everything; therefore, become highly affected by everyone and everything.  They are not bad, they have a spiritual gift. They can sense the emotions of others instinctively and feel things that we cannot. They know how to make people feel as if they are reading your soul.
Dr. Marsha Linehan, the founder of Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT) and leading expert in the understanding and treating of BPD, explains patients with BPD are like third degree burn victims. Just by walking by them, you may hurt them.
Linehan had her own personal struggle with BPD and was and hospitalized for 26 months in 1963. In her discharge summary it states, “Miss Linehan was, for a considerable part of this time, one of the most disturbed patients in the hospital.”
It is reported that she had attempted suicide multiple times because she could not close the gap between the person she was and the person she wanted to be. The gap was insurmountable which left her desperate, hopeless, and homesick for a life she would never see.
Living with BPD is like the earth beneath your feet is constantly shifting and changing which keeps you off balance, scared, and defensive. It is a roller coaster of moods, thoughts, emotions, relationships, self-image, goals, and even your likes and dislikes at such frequent intervals it is overwhelming and confusing.
Is this a disorder? Or, like the shamans believe, is this a healer in training that already sees the truth and is strongly dissatisfied in the current reality? Whereas, the rest of us put on a mask everyday as we get dressed to go to a job we don’t like, to make money to buy stuff we don’t really want to impress people we don’t really like.
"An interesting side-note about depression and suicide: people often say out loud that they just can't imagine what would drive someone to suicide; well, I can.  It isn't a decision that is made like what to order at the drive through.  You're sitting there going further and further down into hell, when something clicks over in your brain and the decision is made for you.  It is as though another person takes over, someone else in your brain, who doesn't question why, or who, but only what can you use to do it. Your death has become a forgone conclusion.  Yes, your brain IS trying to kill you.
" after the recent droughts, there were stories of men who'd lost all their cattle. and unable to accept it, they carried on herding as if their animals were still alive.

Friday, November 17, 2017

this is water.

when you are white
you are water, meaning, her antisocial aspects. you're

a rapist. a racist. pure shithead.

you put out fire
who just wanted to dance. flood the earth

with your imperialist blood.
you're the ambushing jaws of alligator

that snatch the song of the wind
who dies too young
because you're insatiable.

to top it off
you do it all
without awareness of power

because it's something
you'll never have to worry about.

you are raised without understanding of
these elements who shape you
and you wind up
betraying them all,

living two castes at once:

i. gifted with depiction of "wealth" we pervert ourselves with.
ii. cursed with associations of perversion against the earth.

i'm stealing without cause 'kuz
my ancestry is molestation.

water'll always be
the force that wakes the jagged rock from her needed rest, and always
without necessity.

she wakes up discovering her nightmare: being surrounded
by me.

and waters also the rain
that causes the owl to become helpless
feathers soaked, unable to go on being majestic.

i kill sacredness
and make them all believe in scarcity.

the rock says, "hey that sleep was peaceful,
go back to the privilege where you came from.

the owl says, "hey i was just zeroing in
on my little mouse,
and you fucked up my game for me

but guys...i'mma jus doin
what i was told ta do, meaning,

growin up to be a real boy. stealing is just

my communication, my sacredness.

being water means: i don't hold onto anything and
dharma molests me, all around me,

as i try to touch him. i'm...desperate
to touch...i like being dirty... i'll touch even
what is forbidden to be touched.

what's the matter, baby,
don't you like havin no flavor?
don't you like
being without meaning?
don't you like having both hot and cold temperatures and lukewarm too?
don't you like being needed for survival?
don't you like
being without the weight of the world on your shoulders?
you don't feel like a goddess enough? is that why you have to take everything away
from everyone else?
not good enough?
that insatiable?
where's your gratitude?

shut-up and sit in your fucking place which is ruling the world.

steal, and don't give a fuck about who it hurts, is who you meant to be.
coast coast coast through life.

we call that privilege.

yes. privilege (mature self speaks up), as in, my privilege is
knowing culture, including belief in both sacredness and scarcity within microcosm is bullshit and this is the root of people acting like self-righteous assholes. i've seen plenty of this and i know how insecure i am as a result.
and this privilege, as lonely as it makes me feel, and as based on unresolved pain as it is, is so precious, that i wouldn't trade it for shit, not even the absence of color my skin provides, not even
the colonialism strongly associated with it.

my only weakness is when i get caught up in my silence.

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

book of the dead.

this poem is gonna be the literary companion piece for this picture.

land where water earth and air, don't exist. not to say i saw red but red saw me and r-a-p-e-d meeee simplistic me.

just fire as mentioned and spirit. the latter i get angry with, 'kuz she don't stop searching, and she keeps getting disappointed 'kuz she can't get no where that fire blocks off else she get burned. because she's naive, she's been a burn victim time and time again. like us all, she's an expression of cruelties.

look, this is where my attention is at: death as somewhere you go rather than another life force you parallel. it's like trying to force shadow to have shadow.

one kud tell i am so sick of my hair being on are other things such as my skin, teeth, eyes, ears, nostrils, nipples etc. powerful symbols on our bodies we mistake as little. i'm hungry but it's not getting better, so i'mma turn it into a protest. #socialcommentary
my bones are brittle, my shits brittle when i ihave it, my veins are dried-up canals, and i don't breathe.
fires been getting out of control and recently became a parasite. i know i'm nineteen, but like sometimes i get really upset and need to lay down and seek solace in squeezing my stuffed animals in my bed. butit all really creeps up on me, all around me, even my fav color pink, i feel so claustrophobic...from anything, including abstractions.
anyway, like i laid down and my stuffed animals felt so small, and like i was abusing them by holding them. i switched from crying spells into letting out a cray drone, maybe i been thinkin bout the exorcist too much and my mom said, "you're scaring me, you're not even crying," and left the room and closed the door and i continued to release a demonic force/parasite (thing that's bad for me).
this has to be fire somehow, 'kuz i suspect i supress fire, internalize the fire of other ppls...kuz the way i think about fire is it's out of control, and i feel out of control all the time. but nevertheless: feels like it's my responsibility, one i mishandle. (#life-story)

this is the new che guevara t-shirt- MINE anyway, and i hope i inspire you: the new property stripped of backstory. nobody kno who the fuck i am except i look bold from this angle there- stacey be playin' tha role of che today.
this is a landscape of destruction that keep revivin itself, or gettin revived somehow.
but that don't matta much, 'kuz the revival of destruction manifests as statements of destruction, sort of a precautionary tale of death being just as alive as anything else.

we only pay attention to those for half a second, and all that happens is we feel haunted. i don't wanna be that haunting entity any more.

and what i'm sayin' is like, "i don't care that there's problems no more."

and, "i'm allowed to treat myself unkindly," i call out. "i'm an athiest right now! fuck bitches everybody go diiieeeeee!"

here there be only walls offering no answers. so i keep asking questions, which get reverberated back to me.

dying is somethin new tho these do to pass the time 💔💔💔💔💔

Saturday, November 11, 2017

"death finds you already annihilated, and there's no one to kill.

Thursday, November 9, 2017

elephant grave.

the windows are closed; it's real cold out.
i'm the only one home. it's real quiet. can only mean

i must face myself.

the lamp has been broken for forever
not that i need it.
got mice i don't prevent. fruit flies. ants.
i'm so accepting

of all forms of life.

got no shame 'kuz aint want none.

phonez to my left, got her hot wet thing
on my mind and pinned to my bed, bitch

wrapped around my finger and my dick. got her
waggin' her ass by my
laptop's side, got her

by my big mac's side,
she's on my side, west side.

i'm the tramp who died young. cause of death
still unknown.

i'm doing stupid things
'kuz jaws is inside
and jaws only smells blood. i feel the weight

of her tail sway from side to side. pendulum
of my mind,

i am an ocean so my troubles can go left swipe,
vulnerable in these waters.

my bed is unmade
my sheets are stained

and my room filled up with smoke,
it's just fucking weed,

your disdain is just jealous,
and i am just careless.

"i am africa," is what i tell myself
to feel significant. to justify my shit.

my herd members turned their backs on me.
my tusks got ripped out.
mice are crushed under my weight.

i lay here wondering how i'm alive.
i cry while cursing the stars.

my history is ancient
and we're stuck on persecuting our elders.

i remind people where they come from
so they must just be scared.

i don't need to learn how to shoot an AK.
those who come from shadow
seek shelter in exploiting me, the virgin mary.

there is no hierarchy: people be
hungry ghosts, every last one of them, saying they
know me by heart. that i am not
corrupt enough.

but i'm the baddest of them all,

there is no chance of diamonds
forming inside me, no
oxygen, even- i'm pure void. there's

only the beetle on whom i
sit, who- almost just like me- knows nothing.
i've got a skull in either hand- skulls were once dogs

who took me over, which is why
i'm now the one going, "woof. woof".

there is business to attend to, shit
i need to sit with.
mind on my money
and blue light sucking my balls.

dusk crushes my weight
with her own. women are evil: *high-pitched cartoon voice* i'mma give you

something to  grieve over, but i'm not gonna
teach you how. tra la la la la la la la la la.

you ain't gonna make me break a
bead of sweat, not gonna
get me diseased like how you be. my soul

is older than man. my soul is pure

and unable to get fucked with.

it's SO me with the
serpentine tongue unfurling
from which a hundred baby spiders scurry out,

crawl down the throat
i choose to cum into.

they spread throughout the body.
each muscle cramps and spasms.

i know this affirmation is one which victimizes you.

perpetrator you think you fuck me up.
perpetrator fuck you, i'mma show you

who's whose li'l bitch, who's boss.

Friday, October 27, 2017

soul retrieval.

this is not the devil, girl. (i said to my cell phone.) this is only where i originally lost myself after the rape began, rape being all the actions of others in my relationships with them. i use the word rape because it's so serious that it transcends that whole heaven and hell dichotomy, and i want to be taken that seriously. this all being said: in a sense, this is where i left off.

it (re: rape aftermath) doesn't hurt less these days, or anything like that, and it doesn't matter that i'm in amazing shape now. 'kuz being talented don't matter no more for me, and i'm still gonna be a graveyard haunted by the rhythm of rape no matter what. people are still gonna hurt as my impressions of them become buried inside me and stay there forever. feed my soil and overtake my essence. i'm gonna look up each time something happens with them, "what does it mean that this is happening." not to be met with satisfaction, but for the act of looking for food. i'm a shark. people who don't ask themselves every once in a while if they're really willing to hang in there for this thing don't know karma like how we do.

i'm not afraid of the ghosts, and i wanna tell them i love them 'kuz it's good for them and somehow good for me. this is a graveyard of course there'd be ghosts. i just don't like that i'm more them than me, and i feel creepy forming new secret friends on a day-to-day basis.

a poem (shhh....i write them sometimes):

why would he tell me i'm unclean.
why would he call me racist.
why would he tell me i make everything about me.
why would he call me lazy.
why would he tell me i sound really stupid when i try to be smart.
why would he try to change me.
why would he tell me i'm the reason for his anxiety attacks.
why would he constantly tell me i smell bad.
why won't he let me meet his family, real reason.

why would everyone i know pay me compliments about my balls except my boyfriend.

am i unclean.
am i racist.
am i selfish.
have i not been good enough a girlfriend.

signs of an emotionally abusive relationship.
signs i was neglected as a child.
signs he was neglected as a child.
signs he's been more abused than me (read: AS HE KEEPS INSISTING.)

(bonus: signs i'm meditating all wrong.
signs i am meditating.)

back to the subject:

signs he wants me back.
signs my ex-boyfriend wants me back.
signs my ex still loves me.
hidden signs my ex still loves me even if he insists he doesn't.

do all our mutual friends hate me or are they just really that fucking flaky.
signs i annoy people.
signs i make people uncomfortable.
signs i'm rude to others.
signs i disturb the company of others.
signs people are just being nice to me.
signs i don't deserve the people i want to deserve.

i let him be a passive-aggressive type of abuser 'kuz i know he was in desert storm and i know wot it's like to have PTSD or whatever. what evurrrrrrr. hell, i would begrudgingly drive him to the liquor store upon his request even though i was concerned about his alcoholism and my opinion of peeps drops significantly when i learn they drink, or use social media. *my addictions are more idiosyncratic*. but for reals: empathizing without boundaries hurts too much and i just wanna be the kinda girl that cares about other things than boys, or that can do that imagining a bubble around myself meditation. but i don't seem to be ready yet. after all, i'mma reiterate: people don't know karma like how sharks such as me and my ex do. hunters awful at hunting.

update: here i am layin' on my bed all depressed n' shit. boys boys boys boys boys boys boys. what will i ever do? i love boys but all they do is ghost when they're under the age of forty. the ghostly fingers of boys, a colony of them, lightly tracing my skin all over me. hundred of ghostly boy fingers at a time, of every monochromatic shade of the rainbow. they all suck at communicating and that's the opposite of wot i need. i want the extremely non-douchey image the boy sold to me, 'kuz i'm still so convinced that's who he must really be and paid me the honor of letting me see. caveat: THAT IMAGE is the projection of my self, not the douche moves they pull when they turn superficial.

my history as it continues:

signs this guy likes me.

how can i tell whether this guy likes me or is just being nice.
how can i tell if this guy likes me or not.

signs this guy either likes me for me or just wants to fuck.
signs this guy feels better when he's around me.
signs this guy loves me.
signs this guy wants to marry me.
signs this guy thinks i'm true love.

signs this guy likes me but won't admit it.
signs this guy is gay.
signs he has a girlfriend.
signs his girlfriend oppresses him and i bring him hope.

this weight is bringing my ass down and i wanna ask these guys why they still haunt me. i guess 'kuz they're not really dead, but 'kuz they started playing dead to me, like baby possums. my object constancy is thrown off as is so i'm shedding tears that translate as words to the boys, or, those who make up my silent audience: "i don't wanna liberate myself from my romanticism so i'm gonna think of you fucking me over and over, even after the shape of a dick don't make no sense no more. this romanticism i speak of, it's wot kept me held together as a neglected child, and a big part of me is *still* that neglected child."

update: every time someone doesn't reply to my texts right away or doesn't make eye contact with me i feel like i'm being abandoned, like i'm an object of sadistic fetish for the universe, who's actually the devil #i can't even
actually the devil
actually the devil
actually the devil
i see
i see the
i see light in shadow
musta sold my soul
actually the devil

signs i
fuck oh god crrreative block musta sold my fuckin soul

fuckin history, cont'd:

signs a guy is crazy about me.
signs a guy i just met is smitten by me.
signs of attraction in the first meeting.
signs a guy i barely know is interested in me.
telltale signs he likes me.
signs of flirting between a girl and a guy.

signs a shy guy likes me.
signs a shy guy likes me.
signs a shy guy likes me.
clear signs he's in love with me.
signs he's falling in love.
signs a grown man is falling in love.

why would a guy who likes me suddenly disappear.
why would a guy talk himself out of liking me.
signs a guy is ghosting me.

reasons why a guy would ghost me.
real reasons why a guy would ghost me.
absolute real reasons why a guy would ghost me.
why the fuck would a guy ghost me when he just liked me five seconds ago.
what the fuck.
what the fuck.
what the fuck.
seriously, what the fucking fuck is missing from the diets of #millennials, except me.

quiz: why would a guy ghost me when he likes me.
quiz: why the fuck would a guy ghost me when he likes me.
quiz: was i too eager.
quiz: did i do something.
quiz: was my childhood trauma showing.
quiz: is it always this transparent.

"wot's yr disability?" he texts me. ooooo, someone's worked up the nerve to express his curiosity-guess he found out somehow that i'm retarded, probably by "happening" (<---yh a="" around.="" disabled.="" follow="" it="" me="" p="" re="" real="" rt="" s="" that="" to="" turn-off="" you="">
"what on earth. lol," i imagine myself texting him after he comes crawling back, "i have a bone to pick with that word because it's enabling of our collective belief in weakness. and like, do i seem disabled-like to you? i'm happy, vegan, a white witch as in: i have a buddhistic twist on my practice, my totem mainstay is a phoenix, i value compassion and community, i've committed to multi-level, tremendous amounts of work toward my emotional well-being, i volunteer/participate in activism (read: used to...i feel bad that i don't care enough about changing the world) at food not bombs, i'm in touch with shamanic past lives, i'm a straight a student, i love the people in my life and life itself, i meditate everyday, i'm a prolific writer and painter, i take care of my dog who had serious issues until me, i'm good to my family, and i'm grateful for the universe for her shelter. *but* i do need validation for my expression of my belief in disability just as much as i do when i express capability: i have complex trauma and epilepsy. a combo that makes me special and makes me see the world in a way other people would wish to so that they could die famous artists. my mind is a constant seizure and i still can't figure out whether i was sexually abused or not and if it matters anymore that it's served as my center. and what do YOU do to empower yourself? well? WELL?"

"*genuinely shivering, intimidated*," him. "what i did was wrong. i feel really bad i just...i don't know. my feelings for you were so strong that i didn't know what to do with them except chicken out. i regretted it right away. and...i don't like confrontation and girls scared me off a long time ago, lol. may we try this thing again; may i take you out sometime? i'll take you anywhere you want."

double text: "and honestly i don't do much to empower myself."
third: "i'm just so hung up on being a coward."
fourth: "i've been pussy-whipped a lot and i feel insecure in the face of a girl that's obviously not that way."
fifth: "i'm so sorry. really."
overkill: "i'm just so remorseful over this shit."

"with all due respect," me, "giving this another shot would be a disrespect of myself to myself. your flow disrupted my flow, and i've been finding it hard to accept. i understand this points to my own inner-world of attachment to certain house-guests in my emotional body. i'm still projecting nevertheless. all the best to you."


the fairies are biting at me hardcore (re: caprice is wat upppp): i'm doing all sorts of stuff in my determination to find true love. i'm bored without it. in addition to burning it, i've been annointing myself with the oil of cinnamon bark along the chakras aligned with my spine, and dots of apple oil around it, like i am an apple tree. i've also been dabbing dragon's blood up and down my legs, because it's sexual. this morning, i massaged my face and neck with the secretions of my vagina.
i carried around two apples today, ate them both out in public at different times so that the air would pick up the externalization of this energy i wish to share and spread its pollen. i did stuff like, i imagined you coming along and saying, "stacey, i'm just...gee, i'm so sorry, and you didn't deserve that...i have internal conflicts, and it has nothing to do with you. let's try this again?" and i pass you one of the apples after blessing them both with the malachite wand i carry from my neck, and break off a few leaves of a small branch i'd been carrying, sprinkling them over you.
a bee joined me as i ate the first apple. i don't think this was you, because you have not been a warrior yet. it occurred to me that this bee, true to his brethren, is a warrior, as are hummingbirds and butterflies. i imagined this bee would carry my intentions back to his hive, where all the bees would leave to spread my intention along the vibrations of the great mother. while charging the circle tonight, i asked the moon to send out my intention, as i annointed two pale yellow candles and a lunar candle with apple oil. then, i made a deep red and pale rose smudge wand.
all sorts of folks come and go, but you still haven't wandered back. you're a ghost that split in two: yourself as a force of light floated away from my graveyard, and the other part of you, won't get off my fucking case. the role of this part of you is to represent the part that went AWOL. i hate to say this, but it's the illusory experience of you i created in my mind that's my lover right now. your mask i bear inside myself is worn on the face of love i extend toward myself.

current sex partner i'm interested in: a guy that's never fucked before that stays hard forever who recognizes and respect my prowess, who will let me do all the fucking, who i can look at myself without denying my glory through.