is it?

I tried to lick the honey which formerly consoled me, but the honey no longer gave me pleasure..., tolstoy.

This is, was, and shall be... my theology.

Going form peace to peace until I've destroyed it all.

Oh vices, pull further into and out of darkness. What a shame it's come to such. Good day. I said good day!

Rejection has sadly become my truth. Narcissism has been put in place of any wisdom I have had. And it's seen in my dwindling strength. That cursed honey, night and day, despairing dragon lair... I can't ignore it just as much as it won't ignore me.

simple moments are like decades or, when you're young it seems like an eternity and you wake up fifty. I've imposed blindness on myself, something like sleep... right? goodnight, until we're old and no longer young. waiting to die... blah blah blah... inception quote... blah blah blah, I talk a lot.

Quote 4(I'm not original): Youth is counted sweetest by those who are no longer young.

Maybe that, over stayed welcome, you discussed doesn't apply to you but me.

My introvert beard is growing in nicely, a walden type beard. I got that going.


Lates, bruv.

Shattered pieces of that summer sun tea jug, perhaps we are those pieces. Perhaps that is our peace or at least my peace.

From the deepest depths of hell to the tallest radiant flower.
Three blessed innocence lingers,
bodies with souls,
bodies with spirit,
bodies with wear and tear.
Abandonment beyond torment.
Desirable lusting,
milk and honey in my comb.

Throbbing sobs of SOB nature.
All is peaceful, All is war.
Merely perceivable, inevitably believable and
no one really gives a damn.

seas crashn' in,
blood swirln' drain,
busted in tattered glass mess.
Tides come in but,
"it is well in my soul."
Disenfranchised thine eye.

Bursting through seams,
selling nations denim jeans.
Destroy icons by making them icons,
deliberate fundamental image-less.
Turntables booming loud meaningless.
All amplified, All important.

Passing writings through the day. Depressing/happy day. The tides of emotion

2 P.M. (Post on oneword.com for the day, Suicide.)
What a romantic, poetic end to whatever it is I live today. Even though it’s all I shouldn’t and never shall do, for I am a coward to it’s grasp. Poor and homeless, what else is there left? I’ve been rich, intellectual, at Fancier studies and even battled the best. Worked for my money. I even spent the biggest gaps of my time in the synagogue of many religions… I’m like Siddhartha starring in the river… what next? Om, perhaps…

5 P.M.
It's been exhausted, the last nerve, scraping the bottom barrel. Depressed, lost and hope given. What's left evaporated in wholes. Common these days. Expressions left, interpretation sucks, spirit fails, body unwilling, mind in shambles... shambles, shambles, shambles... sweet bumblebee didn't help me. Dormant time and time again. Rodent under floorboards, rodents gnawing away night and day, rodents common to the commoners. Typing rhythmic doom, beats in tune, notes in truth, revelations of conscious, negative hindsight. What's next is to drown in it's sounds; where inferno awaits.


2 A.M.
epitaph unnatural to the limp ED plan unholy red-line distinctly altering subconscious, dragging battling through war and gutter. spreading gospels of dysfunction, with well placed functional numerical layouts of communistic salvation. Chaplin-esque tramps ongoing solutions, nothing but cannon fodder... cannon fodder, cannon fodder, cannon fodder.

in my time of dyin'.

A sugar so sweet
I can taste it in the suite
in the highest of heights
from the depths of a crevasse
but what I can't understand
is whats clasped in these hands

But what I can't begin to mistake
with the bottles booze and instinct
the troubles lost in disillusionment
and all the troubles lost in disillusionment

so who the fuck will ever care?
I'll toss out all philosophy
take part in the irony
of pulling nothing from eternity

the sugary suites
we tasted divided
from the highest of heights
was never for the journey
was never for the journey's sake

but what I'm beginning to mistake
with all the bottles and syringes
all the troubles partaken in
with the struggles partaken in

so who the fuck will ever care?
I've tossed out all theology
taken part in causality
of forgetting my reality

the taste so neat
the damned brisk sweet
deaf to my tongue, deaf to my tone
not yet deaf to sight, not yet deaf to sight.

_______________________________________________

Do tell my love, before the dawn of time passes. We insolent men, deaf to passes. Time ends all to soon. Departure comes shattering on in, the glass castle rests simply upon dirty foundations of tormented souls. Indeed the times shall be changn', but don't be bankn' on it. Sober up all in due time, the glimmer and shimmer we see is polished by moonlight. Our city changes by the second anyhow. We made it up by passing train, flowing blood pumping lusts of our souls. Diminished relics of old, simply laid to waste.

________________________________________________
My post from oneword.com today.

"Wrench."
It was a despicable wrench of the situation. All in which we never knew and it was indeed all that I loathed and hated within myself. the simple effort to fix the things, to change things, to need to know more and more to the effort of humanity. To weep at my own grave before I was ever dead. I weep for everything and nothing all at the same time.

Tears stream like rivers.

Quick and fast you past
shattered away like the summer sun tea jug I broke in youth.
scrambling and playing,
my unknowingly past-life
What a future! my bastard bloodline...
it laughs in slight victory, but the simple crack is enough
bound together, forging on.

if it wasn't for you, where the hell would this be?

In a fucking coffin! laid to waste! Chewed meat to the dogs!
my mind basic chew toys... unity. one. unheard of.

if it truly wasn't for you. Mistakes-destruction-happenings
divorce. all of what I once thought wrong... was all right.

and I don't write until I'm in the right mind.

social standards claim impossibilites, eternity instills so much more.
I weep for you, my typing weeps for you, I weep for me and all those who cannot weep. I even weep for joy!

I never noticed but a casket
in which a hope laid
in that my hope rebirths
the disillusioned generation pulling up coffins
pulling nails in time. weeping joyful tears on the docks!
Painful fears and lost memories.

oh grandma, I hope to call you now. For it's too late, so Kathy is how it'll be. Do not apologize for troubles, do not apologize for wrong, there was hurt but joy has come from despair. A burden buried. a family born and would never live if not for you.

How blessed your actions blessed me.
never apologize for there is nothing to be sorry for.
forging nothing into something,
forging nothing,
into something....

goodbye.

Insane divinity Pt. II

Caffiene
Nicotine
morphine
alcoholic dreams...
whatever it takes to be free, away from philosophy, theology, egomaniacle cocaine that haunts all the themes. The themes of living, eying all my waking dreams.
The eye of the Beholder, the one that I never question(ed).
All that lysergic liturgy amped up through my veins, riddled disease infesting my brain
cured maniacally by the mystics peyote disillusionment...

the Om of my soul, the Om of man, the Om of you and me and him and her. A virtue of the ferryman, the resolution of a penrose... the depth and simplicity of mandala.
the thousand peering windowed eyes of truth, mirroring my mind and reality in a fun house-esque perception. Turning tricks and back, to the
caffeine
nicotine
morphine seduced alcoholic dreams.

While in the highest of days, being perpetually groped and fucked in the ass by the man, whomever he maybe. Suspicions high within the paranoid drug fiends minds, flying one to the next. Forever celebrating the holy icons....

the Holy Kerouac
Holy Allen
Holy Dylan
Holy Dean
Holy Arlo
Holy Charles
Holy Ben
Holy Andi
Holy Kimmel....
all those holy's that suit our needs.

Passive but never frank activists inserting dirty needles loaded of social justices, and rusty crucifixes. Pumping the theological iron, constantly eying the mirror of society. Intellectually lusting for spiritual masturbations amongst the beauties during shore leave from the phallic bubble. Faithfully pleading to be lead, lead to insanity into the madness only scriptures of old speak of, with nothing to offer besides confusion and nightmares.

Now with Charcoaled cocaine set brain, sculptures portrayed in vein- pumping diligently, raging onward. Through blackened lungs, strained alcoholic livers, the frayed and beaten minds... grooving and moving to their own tunes. Beats of dreams not yet dream-pt, skin not yet set.

Shambling after the mad ones, the dancers in the street seen loco. The unaccustomed tunes in bliss, interested in all things forever burning, and raging and screaming with yells of oo-ing and aww-ing with the twilights of bursting fireworks across the nights sky amongst all the "beautiful and lofty." still near the pursuit of all, the wander lust unshaken...
the caffeine
nicotine
morphine, alcoholic serene.......................

the click-clack serene beat that flows in me, an honest purity never seen. The you I've hoped for, the failure in my hope and the you I truly adored. The me seen free, nothing besides simple happenings. What a peace brought near, what a piece to bring anew, when truth seems to resist simplicities.

A hocked up holy lougey of disenchantedment, the bearer of all the "Beautiful and lofty." pulling the blinders in time to see the laden indistinguishable fears chasing mad ravenous dogs, sick infested disease of Chernobyl. Evolving unknown DNA strand that inhabits such existence, an existence of laughing nothing. laughing at me, with me, for me, or just me laughing at nothing. This unidentified nothing, the void, the chasm, the crevasse, the forever infinite abyss.

The fiending sick Pavlovian drooling dogs, the dawn in my day nipping since midnight from those nights. Those maddening nights. Scuttling under the floorboards, listening in the conversationalists above. Pushing through the darkened streets, keeping the introspective howling dogs at bay,
with the serene click-clack caffeine,
nicotine,
morphine seduced comatose dreams.

Analyzing the hidden heroes of the time, the beautiful crumbling butterfly, chasing and chasing until it no longer flies. The naive innocence of chaos and trouble with more experience to come. The Dean of our time, the apathetic emotional pile nothingness we all hold dear. The user of narcotics, the user of men, and women. The seducers of all the disturbing and angsty. Pilgrims of our day, the slacking lazy-bones of our time. And above all else, the inevitable shift of paradigms in which comforts are despised.

ramblings, what a clever title!

Yup, here I am yet again after questioning the void. The void many have questioned before, the simple truths and yet the truth resists simplicity. Yet I am not mature enough or wise enough to understand, if it's my truth or the worldly truth that persists to resist so intensely. In the end it could simply be my own vapid intellectual ideals that annihilate all... what am I saying, my want, my wanting does all the destruction for me. That unceasing thirst for everything and anything. The thirsts and the wanting that has always drawn me into such a crevasse, such a void, where my thoughts are towering in ivory. As if I'm always looking down upon others form a different and better perspective. As if my reason is better or reason, good or bad truly exists.

I wish there was a pretty girl effect for everything. Einsteins always quoted phrase of, kissing a pretty girl while driving, you aren't giving the girl or the kiss, the attention she deserves. This over analytical self taking away from the pretty girl in the room and pondering the mouse upon the elephant. Wow that was a shitty statement... I sort of hate myself for that one. I'll come back to this later, when I have a statement that is well/better stated.