Thursday, March 30, 2017

"We do not kill rape and abuse victims in this culture, but we know how to respond with such psychological abuse, coercion, victim blaming, and failure to protect the victim from further harm we can make them kill themselves.
"Ideology is not something we can escape or banish; at best, we can maintain a healthy suspicion of our own.

Wednesday, March 29, 2017


faith undergoes testing to be faith but really (the most loyal
to dogma of them all).

how much of gaia do you submit to?

i'm her bottom girl
proud to be a love object this time

"you're my everything shhh"
"i'm your everything shhh,"

that's the script in the game we play
that we keep secret.

i know the impressions i make
make me
shapes of light
weighing atop face of the earth, urging me to sex-sex-sex

the dirty gross sex that robs us, that is

that we all look for in others
in hopes of looking outside self

ultimately about producing physical babies
which teach me how to love. me seeing myself
reborn in all of societies sons
until i am reduced to

inner child

(this isn't even it speaking. this is myself as
an orphan child
that was supposed to be the fate.

(i'm not gonna deny the shadow people speak up for me.)

tv/computer screen's the torturous landowner who
still owns slaves, too reared
to get its own hands soiled.

i'm not gonna deny i'm the snakes and the hand
that threatens their habitat.
i'm not gonna deny i'm cleopatra, i, who witnesses the
world through all perceptions
would be unable to deny without knowing
i'm lying actually.

i've asked mrs. day of light, the art teacher,
to find the remote for me so i can
change the channel. she's compliant

state of inert

when it's like: impatient, shocked,
and not relating to my ignorance
'kuz it's too foreign, shadow person different
from the others

i sprawl on the couch uncertain
keep still that way

this being what i look at as my voice
yes it talks to itself so what
when translated, it
be life's worth

gauged by a thermometer, mythical, as in
hides from us, we hide from it.

i'm gonna find it. transmute it
through me if i can, and make it be
black magick because

bats are the angels today.
i see them
releasing themselves
out of reach from my hands.

what's within needs me to tell itself
to let it all be wind among winds; being a hero
is how i like fucking up best, isn't it?

reflection after reflection one seamless image
pasted together. sloppy amateur shit.
i know only the light passing through. i like
being extraordinary.

take pictures of me.

astral projection is you walking around my house
of all places. and i see you.
you want to know what it's like being other people,

but without leaving evidence.
i am nice, pretending
i don't see you seeing

okay you see these objects
now that makes them messages from suppressed-mind

i know your approach so you are no stranger.

look over there, at what
i point toward. blur your eyes now, look at it
that way.

look around it
you are doing your best, only
you've never been good at keys and this is a key

where you give your eyes to
look look no really really look

and look within
look further within
you can do more damage than that
it's only looking deep inside yourself and
you can do that, right? anyone can
do that

unintended image reflected; i name it "planted knife", weapon
again the slaughter of my romanticism

go hide it upstairs
the part of the house that's a ghetto
surely a sunflower will become of it
if you let it separate like how it wants
that's what i was pointing toward
for you to look at.

alligator challenged me to sever his head
so i can fit myself inside without getting my head bitten off.
i feel alligator warmth now, wanna try?
i've found out where red (blood) ends and green(ish skin) begins

i did not know this in myself
without doing it to estrange it from
present experience.
"it's my nature," said the scorpion, or whoever it was, in the passage
people refer to
to assert relevance of zen.

it's my nature, said me
doing the same.

Sunday, March 26, 2017

wearing a dress with short hair.

this isn't the part of me deserving of love. this is the part whose next life is gonna start in hell
'kuz it doesn't "deserve" love. this is the part without will.
the threatening. the part that's not fat stupid ugly lazy. no. i'm good looking and sexy. i prove the other parts of me bow down and i don't, so i'm queen and they're little bitches. i have nothing to prove. a good example of evil, a satanist in all ways there are 
i am the dangerous part. the part that believes in dying young. living life fast dying young. chewing
with my mouth open, eating
whatever i want and staying skinny. 
having fun making profit
off the suffering of other people. calling it art. the discriminating term the rest of me is against.
my male parts make me big and strong. you have no power over me.

time-out corner.

Thursday, March 23, 2017

"[...]This made me wonder if my postpartum thyroiditis symptoms of cloudiness and fatigue so many years ago were representative of my feeling suppressed and oppressed by my unexpressed self. Perhaps I developed exactly what it is that I needed to become more myself in this life, and that healing it rather than fighting it was the integration that rendered me one with my very personal process.
Safety looks like ease. Trust. Curiosity. And even surrender. It’s not a fight. It’s not a battle. It’s a cooperative exchange and an exploration. It’s becoming more of our whole selves because we are becoming less fragmented and self-evasive. We stop hiding parts of our personhood from our awareness. We embrace it all in order to heal.
"Perhaps what I am sensing is present in India — this deep fabric of spirituality — is actually in its death throes and I am romanticizing a tragedy. I don’t know. But what I do know is that our struggles as Westerners, particularly those struggling with poverty, are made all the more poignant because we are struggling without this fabric — flesh robots on a dead rock in the middle of nowhere. 

Monday, March 20, 2017


let me get used to all that we're taking back
from the white man who formerly robbed us. i'm at that point
where i'm separation itself, that
in-between spot. of course, there's separation

in all of us. we're not stupid here.

let me look at this as a bridge to decisions
i've dreamed of making.
everything we're doing is for potentiality, size
of the grain of sand from the never-ending story. grain of sand
from which
many wishes come true, one after the other.

i may get all self conscious around those pale impersonators
but i'll learn to adjust
to the new living- me, the pair of fangs.

if our efforts backfire,
let me shrink to naivety, how it was before, so this will not
come back to me.

i'm gonna get this to be the part of me that feels so good to
let out. it does seem muddy
in secrecy (the backbone who can suck my dick).

sacred fire gets sick of me denying its rights, so
spontaneously it possesses me
until i release it
and wildfire is the world.

i guess wildfire is the world, no matter what, though, huh.

i guess this is me counting on fire to be justified in its rage
just for now; this being
my obsessing over the fat chick with pistols and perfect tits, who i salute
when i wear all black- one observes

i'm a trick of hers that's been turned.

her will broke me. determined 'kuz she says so.
she lives in caves in afghanistan and
sacrifices animals to nihilism.
has no problem resisting persuasion
('kuz it disgusts her),
does not read, is hardly effected by current events
unless they effect her life evidently

admits porn makes girls look bad at acting, and fucking is gross
even when doing it, only eats dirt

has never spoken a word
has never looked at the stars. seems obligatory.
hates obligation (believes
in hate). sees obligation
in things other people do, as in
they do the things they do to themselves.

complacency is the white witch.

i am under her wing
when i'm with her, you are intimidated by us both
raping your dreams

the ones you block out, or interpret
to exhaustive, or declare nightmares.

when i'm ready to wake up, whenever i want,
i'll be forgiving, 'kuz i'm liberated now.
i'll say, "sorry," in the vein of
showing respect, not admitting shame. shame is dead. i killed it
myself. i had turned into death
just to kill shame how i wanna. you just look shit in the eye
when you least have it in you.

blood, muscle, brains, will, balls.

we could be heroes.

Sunday, March 19, 2017

hungry hungry cancer cells.

what gets me to confuse smudged glasses
with glasses clear as day?
the inner lifelessness that gets things seen on tv to seem flat. watching tv
as the rest of the world, except binge eating, confronts me with my disinterest, frustration, and anger toward illness.
the cancer cell is green and lurking, chameleon personality, like mine. original sin.

starting sentences coming out like i just feel like
it just seems like
just leave the shit unfinished, forcing it
will not get me to admire myself, convinced
otherwise or not.
i just feel like
being out of control seems like
cruelty; maybe it's justified, not
superficial, not a pessimistic front
to say life is unfair, if i add
that i'm sensitive about it, and maybe
the superficial part of me is allowed to exist, anyway,
who the fuck seriously wants to be god? he's a rapist.

north shore is rocky and pastel houses for people
housing souls older, further ahead in enlightenment
than that which i host. two hundred, at least.
that's me on the south shore i'm taking pictures of, dragging my allergic ass across master's carpet.
masturbating to being careless before being careless didn't suit me anymore

and i refused to fuck anymore.

this is how i want. look at me look at me little miss visceral.
this is how i fuck deep down inside my heart.

Friday, March 10, 2017

"everybody has a metaphysical assumption which [he] can't prove. watch out for it.

Saturday, March 4, 2017

the goddess.

it is a shooting
it's in the school
my family must be worried
this is what it's like to be in a hostage situation

the rage is the thunder storm
baba yaga wears masks; they all wear masks
when exercising radicalist uniformity

my idol keeps me alive. who am i to judge.

i'm feeling disappointed
it is all so boring, and, i hope
they like me. i hope i could be the one
they'd let get away alive, seeing
hope in me. being seduced.
seeing the goddess. seeing britney spears.

i refuse to tell her
i believe in god
even though i do

i am turning this into a movie, called "columbine",
and hoping i look good- stacey, sixteen years old, white and helpless

i took off my shirt, more stagefright
than pure fear; hoping i look right, hoping
i pass as coy, and that

it is sensual, and that sensual means "love potion".

there is a war of urgency
so too i enter the polarized, desperate body, perhaps
a vaccination.

my ideas stick, so are revolutionary; no, not ideology
ideology is for suckers, henceforth, crucified.

i know revolution as language, and am fluent.
i don't know what words other languages cover
that this does not.