New Religion

She felt close enough to me to give me her favorite work of art.

I'm still speechless. I can't remember the last time someone actually gave me one of their creations, or even more, their favorite work. This is going to be a good person in my life.

Pink Suicide

I wrote this poem about a year ago...

Pink Suicide

Under lover's lane, she warms her cheek against my chest

and this pink spotlight grasps yet another cancer of mine.

The tide of chemical explosions and natural high parts

And until he's finished passing by,

I dare not display her lipstick on my collar.

There's notes between him and her,

which if I could grasp and read upon a piano,

would play melodies of, "regret, sin, and secrets."

Sometimes a note escapes my lips and I blush.

[to the girl with the pink highlights]

"Magenta glowing so bright it cuts, a veil of pink extending from my seclusion to your disaster. Such a pretty wreck. And like an angel you cast me into the depths of guilt and shame, but sanctified shall be your name, for cursing someone with scars like yours would be heresy and anathema…"

A Day In Quotes

"I'll never stoop so low again, I guess I don't know my own strength."

"Fuck guilt. This cold wind makes me feel alive."

"Now you're special, you weren't so special when I was with you."

"A silver lining of clouds shines on people Jesus couldn't save."

"I love the way you lie."

"We fell back into the same patterns."

"Maybe I'm addicted to the pain, stress, & trauma."

"I'm just a soul who's intentions are good, please don't let me be misunderstood."

"As they took his soul, they stole his pride."

"The mystery of your rhythm is so feminine."

"A silver lining of clouds shines on people Jesus couldn't save."

"I wanted perfect, I got my perfect, now you're too perfect for someone like me."

"You grabbed your red lipstick and wrote on the mirror 'por siempre.' Now I'm 19 and you're 20 and it should have worn off by now."

"Sadism & masochism. Dominant & submissive. Masculine & feminine."

"Run out the room and I'll follow like a lost puppy."

"Our relationship was a beautiful little girl that was murdered and mutilated and dumped on the side of the road." ('07)

"I'm not answering the phone, let it ring. Lately I've been feeling like a falling bomb."

"You have good intentions, and you always get what you want, but you're always so damn aggressive about it."

"This song is dedicated to a friend of mine. One day we got into a huge fist fight and didn't speak again. A year later he was shot in the head, and killed. This song is about appreciating what you have in the now - it's called Steps Ascending."

"I tried so hard, and in the end, it doesn't even matter."

"Megalomanic, you're no Jesus, yeah, you're no fucking Elvis. Step down. STEP DOWN."

"This is your baptism, and you can't forgive them."

"You can only scream so loud until they forget your existence."

Happy Motherfucker

I met Livia for the first time today and I already think she's one of the coolest pups around.




And also, I was given an amazing present:




I'm a happy motherfucker right now.

"Breathe, breathe in the air."

The Apartment Ritual

An old poem I found that I wrote during the summer. As I have invited many of my personal friends to visit this site on leisure, I'll continue to post more archived writings I find.

The Apartment Ritual

Anxiety flashes in the shape of a twitch

Every inch of skin glowing at the sound of the phone

Vibrant and attentive like pupils

and asphyxiation as her lust flashes in my ear

Yesterday I held a thanatophobia shape

but tonight she's a corpse

"When you breathe in the fumes,

does the Holocaust elucidate your violent mind?"

I question as I obey natural course

"Pretty As A Swastika" in the stereo system and it starts

With every lick and every kiss I burn a Christmas picture

Burn offerings for the night of June 7th

Reflection on fangs, not a whisper

"let me show you where it hurts" is intended

A thrust, was her moan to be attentive?

Every guitar riff, every synth drum, she drives further.

And I fuck furiously burning like the heart of anger

And heart beats, and beats, and beats,

Until I end the ritual with "So it is done."

Wolfsangel

One of my most cherished symbols and when the time is right, will be placed on my skin.

"The Wolf’s Hook represents the Yew tree (Yggdrasil - The World Tree). It connects the three Norse realms; the heavens or consciousness, the humanity or life, and Hell or death. It’s shape (when on its vertical axis) connects all three, with roots in Hell, branches in the heavens and the crossing point ( or balance point) in the human realm. Like the arms of the Baphomet, one up, the other down (as above so below) both proximal ends connecting the human element. The synthesis of opposing forces in a balanced environment; communication between the extremes.

Much of the Wolf’s Hook symbology is derived from the fundamental properties and uses of the Yew.

It is the longest thriving European tree, mostly found in undisturbed lands - such as graveyards; hence the 13th rune’s association with longevity and protection of the dead.

Yew was the wood of choice for the making of the Norseman’s ominous longbows, due to it’s flexibility and strength. In it’s day, the longbow was a most feared and awesome weapon; and when in the hands of a skilled archer, made available the ability to kill, and thereby protect, it’s own from afar. The longbow itself represents the potential energy (tension) contained within the Wolf’s Hook. One’s own ultimate potential, stored and waiting for the skill and discipline of one (pushing the limits of their own personal power) to release this potential resource and focus it into their own kinetic creative force; and to do so, one needs balance.

The 13th rune has long been known as the death rune. Again this relates back to it’s association with the Yew tree. The bark, leaves and berries of the Yew are extremely poisoness, bringing on death when ingested. It’s sap, the tree’s life force, a deep red color; and when cut, resembled a bleeding body. And let us not forget the awesome death rendering longbow, made from the wood of the Yew tree. For a magician, the Wolf’s Hook can be used as a powerful archetypical symbol during a curse (destruction) ritual.

In summation, the Wolf’s Hook symbolizes creative potential, extremes in natural balance, discipline and strength of will, protection and longevity, curse and death..."

- Diana DeMagis

The Painter

She walks in slow steps and looks at everything with great analysis and caution. In her expression you can read her entire life story, and she doesn't shed a single tear.

It's hard to ignore her, or thoughts about her, when a pink veil of sweet scent is trailed around the place. In the rare occasions in where she opens up, it is a light of pink that swells up your heart with empathy and concern.

Her paintings are a mix of grotesque black and illuminating magenta. Humble, quiet, but nevertheless, beautiful works.

The painter, of which I am unworthy of. In these days, "of late it is hard to step outside," much less approach anybody that seems warm. You can see regret, disgust, and annoyance tattooed on my forehead like a large "L." Detoxify, ignore, forget, forgive, and relive from guilt are the wash I use to scrub this off, but my entitlements and obligations still take the best of me.

Her invitation into her home might cure this. Because if someone takes an interest in me, how much of an abusive monster can I possibly be, right?

A Warm Place

Suffocation

Blind Ape

"I feel that when I'm old, I'll look at you and know: the world was grotesque."

"(1) callous unconcern for the feelings of others, (2) incapacity to maintain enduring relationships, (3) reckless disregard for the safety of others, (4) deceitfulness: repeated lying and conning others for profit, (5) incapacity to experience guilt, (6) failure to conform to social norms with respect to lawful behaviors."

You're not hot shit and you never have been. What you are is a reckless individual without any concern for your own safety or that of others. In short, you're a fucking crazy bitch.

Fabric of Time

"I feel that when I'm old, I'll look at you and know: the world was grotesque."

Part 2, The Persistence of War

While you wallow in the wake of your destruction, you never take a moment to look at the path which brought you here. Your ego is so large that you can't realize that the mistakes you have made are fatal, and have destroyed our relationship to a point where even looking at you is self-inflicted mutilation.

It doesn't take a genius to realize that if it causes you to burn in fury and scream words of hate, it is the moment to remove yourself before you are marked as an infernal monster. Being with you and the lies which you brought to me time after time have turned me into an insecure fool - too scared to run, unsure about myself and the constant hurt you injected into my arm like your drugs of choice.

A knife or letterbomb won't be necessary to hurt you, because in the same way that you caused this car crash, you will injure yourself in the coming days. You will injure yourself when you touch his (whoever it may be) skin and feel nothing but cold and distance.

You should be ashamed of what you have done to the person who truly took an effort to help, and stood by you regardless of all the high disrespect you shoved in his face.

I will wipe this dry cum, shit, and spit you have spilled on me like a cocoon and fashion myself into a form of hawk eyes to distinguish the unworthy and like the wolfsangel carved from the yew tree, be a weapon of might that will cut itself through this burning fabric covering me and step forth into the third chapter of my life.

"Use your fist and not your mouth. <3"

Go ahead and mock me, but I will no longer lower myself to be fit into your tabloid salivating horny desire to persecute me as a monster. I quit.

Space Bound

Walking while listening to Space Bound at 4 o'clock in the morning. I can feel the fabric of time.

"We touch I feel a rush. We clutch it isn't much, but it's enough to make me wonder whats in store for us. It's lust, it's torturous."

Gray Blood

As we glide through these scenes with too much detail to fully grasp, each other's lives cut the shape of our own and fashion scars that make us into new people. Paintings that were in our head made their way into real life, but like all art it isn't exactly as planned.

But here you stand, covered in blood and some cliche melodramatic song in the background. With the perfume of self-mutilation it is no wonder why you encounter the disturbed vampires that you do, and with your new lover in sight the blood suits you quite well as a fucking lubricant. Blood paintings of gray, because what runs through your veins is a cancerous carcinogen that has made it's way into my lungs.

I don't give, the fire isn't there anymore, just give me back my innocence and you'll hear from me never more. If I had the calmness I would continue that into a song, but my disgust with you shakes my hands so much it is hard to think. These days it is hard to shake off this sickness, and I'm feeling like the quicksand will consume every small glimpse of oxygen I hold.

I don't give, the fire isn't there anymore. Like I said, give me back my innocence and you'll hear from me never more.

With your stupid smile in place, you can't see the farce on your forehead, and I wish I could rip off every affection I "kiss blew" to you.

My dry breath gasps for renewal, and my nicotine-stained fingers have curled into an asphyxiated despaired fist.

1:17AM

I want to lie shirtless next to a beautiful woman after we've made love, listen to the album Democracy by Killing Joke, while we smoke a blunt and enjoy each other's body and the music.

Unworthy of a Pink Rebirth

I'd ask you to crawl into my arms, but such grace cannot possibly survive in my rotting soul and corrupted mind. The flesh is a pornographic ruin, and mind has been reduced to complacent blur & lethargy.

Like a drink of water, this wreckage of mine requires renewal, and your temptation makes things even harder (without a pun intended). Stockings and heels, perfume and magic. Your trail leaves a pink veil to a sweeter morning. It's too bad your sugar would melt at the touch of my anathema fingers, and as such I'm left with memories of spoiled sex and outdated kisses.

Give me a lighter and fuel, let me start a holocaust and sacrifice to the Gods of the phrase "a better tomorrow." Each push-up leads me closer to being worthy of you, as does each medicated smile and medicinal conversation.