Saturday, May 7, 2016

necropolis humility.

this isn't my story. all stories i know i learned of secondhand as i spent my life stretched in a shoebox to see the moon, to see the sun- both of which i have, without astonishment. with apathy. with guilt. i continued to stare and clawed into the truth that i know everything can change, even all at once.

i want my thinking to be beautiful, unforgotten, and aware of itself. to become candescent. what am i waiting for. i ride off the realities of others to spite my own which does not seem to exist. my fire will not cry but bore those who pass. i will sit perfectly still. i will run around lighting others on fire screaming about how i've made a horrible mistake and i'm experiencing regret.
my naivety has been taken advantage of. it seems messy. i don't want to touch it.
i am my naivety as my naivety is my solace. i am a child that looks at a television all day. i am a child that lays down on a bed when not looking at a television all day. i am a child distant from their molestations in spite of the short memories surrounding or within the memory blocks of the child that these did happen. (molestations, so it seems, are a rite of passage to rebellious religions for those who feverishly search throughout themselves but cannot find what they want in themselves or others in our communal tendencies.)

today, with little effort, i orgasmed after about two months of trying as i face difficulty grasping onto my thoughts. i still find myself obedient to my thoughts of my abuser as much as i don't seem to suffer much effort staying away. i had given up today, so dried out that my vagina feels like the flesh of someone burnt from the sun in a tropical country. it seems to me as though it will just rip from how thin and taut, the stuffing of a teddy bear will extent itself outward, and i will fall apart.
it began as i thought of a boy i dated, years ago: we were dirty cousins. "we don't have to do this." i tilt him backward, lightly pressing my body into his. nobody was to know aside from the cameras i had hidden around my bedroom for my manipulative and evil father to review the footage of, or whatever. i still couldn't feel anything other than the disconnected motion of my fingers attempting to nurture my clitoris and bring wetness out of my vaginal opening. the dirty cousin's football team friends crowding the room to dictate what was going to happen next- i'm such a slut, i fuck everyone, don't i- and what was to develop next was my fucking their nugget-dicks. this where i began to feel; when i began to control my focus. i resent my fantasy, but i do not resent my relief at my capabilities of experiencing control or focus, even if briefly. i roll my eyes at this with impacting annoyance.

i was the only one that knew how to fuck rhythmically and with awareness of spiritual opening and connecting. my evil father bombards through my room, tears the dimension provided for the realm of imagined concepts at the beginning of my experience of a slow climax. he chokes me with his huge hands, spits on my face and tits, slaps me back and forth, without consideration, fucks me with sole intention to get himself off, and calls me names as my climax rises. it weakens, and seems to diffuse into strongly discomforting spasmodic motions.
"fuckin' fucktard fuck you god."

i have experienced rape. it has stunted the growth of my spiritual maturation.

*
(we are primordial stunted of acceptance to such we are not righteous achievements we are globes of light that are negligent of the centering of movement of light bringing change between one another between our abilities.)
*

i am in the house of every star, every drop of rain sinking into the limitation of gravity. i am denied within and refusing to move. i have been sent to clean and to soil. my confidence lacks concerning my work as assigned however i know i am taking advantage of at least some capabilities. i drag my back along the water and the water buries me to its bottom. continuously i contradict myself and split away from a part of me in order to continue.
new things begin to happen, though not insofar that the world is heavier than its humbling gravity.
the sun comes out.
i know not to look but i stare until i'm blinded. the frequency of my movement is more apparent to myself. my heart beat begins to flutter a language never to be understood. everything will split, rearrange, ascend and disintegrate into molecular creatures until there is only emptiness upon a cleared landscape- and perhaps a magnificent fog.
i sit and get up. i seek and say i seek not. there is no time. there are no boundaries. ignorance is adorable. why are you hitting me? i am being hit because i am an intrusion. i love you- you know you can treat me with more kindness that i know you hide inside yourself, which is the only reason that your violence is painful. i do not know how to handle when others love me because i do not know how to receive the feeling. the possibility to converge seems obvious to me. people seem simple to me. people seem to just want others to be nice to them.
you love me?- i don't care and i'll take care of it later or never. why aren't you letting me hit you up for drugs? i know you know i know how you hold. you know how i am, reliable, bearing of genuine desperation and craving overriding my maternal bearing to cradle god in my diseased womb.
i am pure light moving restlessly in a thick phantom inversion and i am lacking in energy, ugly in reflection. there is nothing for me to hide from myself except my exorcisms i militantly attack myself with (i masturbate regularly uncontrollably to my former abuser- my oedipal experience, that rite of passage- and this is the only thing that i can seem to go through with- otherwise i can't feel the beginning of my sex). i am one of several children, each abandoned at birth on the shore of a beach so none of us are sure who to love because we don't know what our parents are or were like and we lacked relationships and their affects. i am disgusted at myself at my apathy toward the sun appearing. pride seems to disgust me yet i seem to seek it. i learn to embrace the delicate "nuances" of such before degenerating such sensitivities found through apperception.
i am a tall, angular yellow flower by a pond in which a youth gazes into his reflection, unconcerned with all else, self actualizing. i am echo lost in the woods, she who guides lost soldiers with her plaintive mourning.
i am underwhelmed and it pains as an old lover acknowledged slowly to never return pains- arrows extend their narrow bodies from the front of my torso, which they cover. the insistences and expectations of my mother and father are relevant as they guide me to the true form of my mother and father: i am my own mother and father, my own untouched experiences (the commencement of the healing of wounds); my own growth is myself as a mother-father relationship.
i am taking advantage of my own naivety (i am tired of this happening 01.)- my feelings are hurt (i am tired of this happening 02.). i find it embarassing and indicative of my self-sheltered upbringing. this happens after several actions i'm involved in carrying out.
and then, perceptions of others mushroom and i see it from the sky of nagasaki and i can't see anything else and i do not sleep because i feel anger mushroom upward from my belly, back in the day. my naivety is frequently taken advantage of in spite of my poise and my behavior seeming disclipined to myself, however, i will not carry on without my idealisms (father the philosopher) as i am loyal to my naivety (mother the aspiring activist). my consciousness remains open. i will not know soundlessness without my knowing of sound. i know to learn earthly debts owed to itself without an idea as to what this knowing is as a substance.
give in. give up. embrace the sobriety of the indoctrinating method. you are to live under the holy water on the back of your head and the kiss of a holy man on your forehead. death is never not watching over you as death clings with loyalty (mother so lovely and kind) death notices every detail of your non-meditations and blows them away with gentle winds into your dreams one must learn to wake up from and see in primary radiance (father

this moment is all you will have to live for and you will die and you will die thinking of the moment you have to live for and your consciousness will remain as open as it always has been.

i believe you.