Winners Don't Shiver

I don’t deny I shiver. When the cold shower sprays down my neck, I turn the faucet over and increase the intensity of the cold temperature. It makes me feel awake. It’s like a thousand knives stabbing into my

body, and truly introduces meaning into the phrase “mind over body” and I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t still tied to the carnal, the part that seeks comfort & warmth. But I do it anyway.

Transcendence is a word that was introduced into my brain by the local black magician Diabolus Rex, magus of the Chaos Imperium. I never believed there was something “out there.” But in his interviews I’ve never been so thoroughly informed about the Left-Hand Path in a form that I instinctually understood through personal verification and plain understanding of what I’ve read. I think the inertia of sexuality determines spirituality, in the direction of this force. Dedicating your Qi to things beyond the flesh, brings brightness into your eyes in an unspeakable way. There are no words to describe this phenomena, it is beyond definition or mathematical calculation. The thing that is important to understand is that individual choices have importance.

I think it was Aleister Crowley who said that every act, intention, is a magical act.

Little by little, I turn the faucet a little bit colder. In these days I find cutting to be despicable, and I think physical fitness is the path to true development. Both methods are the same, accomplishing the purpose of catharsis by inflicting pain, but one will leave you weaker and the other stronger. There is the deepest level of respect for the U.S. Navy Seals in my soul, facing death in their training sessions. 

In the darkest dawn, turning in push-ups in the fierce dark beach finding strength through pain. Not to mention they are the first responders to an urgent “diplomatic” mission. Their brutality leaves them with the option to shiver internally only. It’s the desire to overcome and push beyond physical limitations to protect.

There’s pride in me sucking off strong men, but it is difficult quenching the thirst of obliterating the desolate and weak. The tearing of flesh, destroying skinny bones in desperate thirst to obliterate decadence

in the garden of Darwin and to continue the paint it has coated over the plants and nature. I’m desperate for competition, seeking those stronger than I am. In fact, I praise them. I thirst for the more intelligent, to be impacted and obtain virtue through force. To look into the eyes of a man better than me and force him to bow.

In the direction of this force, I’m desperate for competition. I seek those stronger than I am, in fact I praise them. The plants, the animals, that inner instinct that transcends and penetrates through the nothingness into a defined being.

I opened the shower curtain and looked directly into the mirror, and just like the instinct of a boy kissing a girl for the first time I unconsciously raised my arms like a dying corpse on a cross and insultingly looked into the mirror. It was blasphemous. This unholy frown was too intense to be incorrectly seen as the mocking & duplicitous smile it was intended to be; I became shocked.

This look looked scary but divine.

There’s something in it that was truly beautiful, but it felt like cutting into my own personal spirit. It felt wrong.

I felt it.

I’ve been numb to the presence of things in the beyond that I’ve felt cutting others, or following this philosophy, is the only path to being in touch with the divine. But I think instead of looking for this thing outside, I’m forced to admit that I shiver in the cold water. There’s soldiers that finish and pass their tests, but do not finish in perfection. I shiver. Just like push-up that is imperfect.

There’s always going to be limitations in life, this is the direct purpose under which you were designed for. It won’t ever happen - pushing beyond the divine, but I understand transgression. I’m not interested in doing that look in the mirror again. He was someone who understood that people fuck up on their test. It is intelligent to understand pain because injury differentiates from discernment. It’s direct perception that instructs, but it is subjective and inevitably you’re going to fuck up. There's objective judgement.

I shiver.

But I turn the cold water temperature colder, because I want to learn and go to church.

Devil In A New Dress

I just got finished getting my cock sucked. There's something about women that makes me so submissive to their seductive charms and atmospheric femininity. Every three and a half seconds I fall in love with a new girl, and every minute I imagine a new dream of marriage.

Their love bites on my chest and neck are recognitions of dominance and ownership, and my willingness to be a slave to their erotic malevolence always arrives with an underlying misogynistic distrust and an almost hateful resentment for their power over me. I break her face with every flirtatious act, and her nose bleeds estrogen which is my savored cocaine.

"So fucking cute. So fucking gorgeous. So fucking beautiful. Darling, I want to destroy you."

My ex-girlfriend called me yesterday and as always my compulsion drove me to say that I would have stayed with her in California if she asked, but of course that was just my adrenaline speaking. After some of the batshit crazy and disturbed people I have encountered  in the past few years, it feels great to have someone in my life that isn't immature or passive aggressive, but I wonder if I'm holding myself to the same standard. Probably not, my hellmouth can't stop itself from spitting seductive charms out of a lustful adoration to every girl I meet.

"I'm making love to the Angel of Death."

My fingers drip of a different carcinogenic nectar, and instead of nicotine-stained fingers they now are covered in the most obvious sexual acceptance, their sacred honey, my addiction. I savor all the precious that is female and to watch her squeal in delight is a beautiful dream of heaven. There's a stripper in there too. I've dated the nymphet of a stripper, along with a musician, blood-painter, college girl, and cute girl next door. Always do I bow down over their pink and purple atmospheres in the blue shade. Some I fuck furiously and imagine with other men, others I cuddle and claim and want nobody to take them from me. But I adore all.

Wolf monster satisfied by the women of Portland.

Exquisite is when you choke on your own breath as an absolutely gorgeous princess gives you a seductive smile. "I'm sooooooo your slave" I plead to her, and hold her hand to kiss. Bending over for her is fine, fine just fine.

Addiction is such a thrilling demise when the magnificent girl of your dreams cuddles with you on the couch and discreetly whispers her most fragile secrets and opens her gorgeous neck for consumption. I want her, her war, her disaster, her lust, her vanity, and her adoration. Sitting next to her on that couch made the hotel party seem like a precursor to some sort of sexual heaven and the intoxicating perfume still has not left my mind.

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.

Don't Get Comfortable

♫ I'm not saying this to shake you up. I'm just saying this to wake you up. It's all good when we're making love - all I ask is don't take our love for granted. My love for you is real, and baby, if you don't love me, somebody else will. So don't you ever get too comfortable. ♫

Wolf Snarl

And I will jab this knife into your back for every time that you placed warmth into my face, and you will receive no comfort but the delicacy of blood embracing your sweet little face.

Will the frost of winter be enough to thaw these vicious flames of passion? For your sake, you better hope so, because my heart is a ticking bullet ready to penetrate and fuck sweet, betraying, and disloyal skin.

Tragically Infernal

Constantly consuming is your warmth, and you have conquered and divided my defenses. Now as you move in for the kill, you bring down the fire and throw down my dominos of indiscretion leading to the vulnerable child crying at the end of the hallway.

Inescapable, molded solid, and biological imprisonment. "A permanent solution to a temporary problem" the warning sign says, but the thought of you out of my sight reeks of screaming infidelity. This will end in bloodshed, and that won't be lipstick on your fucking lips.

In Memoriam

I grabbed your hair roughly and thrust myself into you violently. There was no denying your lust and immediate orgasm as your cheeks blushed the most vibrant red. "You're my bitch, and I'm your man. Tell me how much you love my cock." You tried to mumble a word but only a moan was able to escape the mouth that was covered by my aggressive hand. A bite into your neck and I couldn't tell whether it was one of pain, pleasure, or a combination of both.

"You wanted PERFEKT. You got your PERFEKT. But now I'm too perfekt for someone like you."

My misogyny stems from the fact that they never love you, they love the way you make them feel. These vampires thirst after certain emotions that some people can provide them, and if you are able to learn their patterns and figure out how to release those chemicals in their head, like carnal beginnings intended, reservation has no extent. You are an object, a phallus toy, to be used to fulfill their desires, their needs, and their expectations.

That's why I'm aggressive when I fuck you -- and the more you beg for it, the angrier it makes me.

Vanity

Whether it's leaving a fat bothersome obligation for a divine seductress who has stolen my attention, looking at past enemies and seeing them in jail or dead, looking into my future and seeing limitless potential, the satisfaction of receiving an intense stare from a gorgeous girl, and of course, in the purest Nietzschean fashion, looking at my past self with loathe as I drive further to perfecting skills of mine, I breathe in these fumes of everlasting war and rejoice in the fleshy life.

I know there will be even more obstacles in my path, but because of my progress I am confident that nothing worse than what has already occurred will pass my way. And my performance in this past year proves that I am able to handle things accordingly and spend my time well. I will still be ready for troubles, and my experience will be my compass in this jungle of bullets, knives, and fire. In a world ruled by biological determination it isn't difficult to understand how the cards will fall, who will be blind, who will be dead, and who will be fucked in both the pleasurable and/or destructive sense.

Lust, my indulgent companion, the areas in which you have carried me have brought experiences which can only be brought justice with a sexual moan, but at the end of the night vanity is the true superior for it is what has put everything together.

Romantic Gore

Jonathan is a sinister minister, and my religion is to please you. Ride with this pup, and I'll be arrested for another break-up. Such a bore: the two of you need some romantic gore. So invite this vampire in, and I'll devour your nectar as if in a cup...

Rambling encompassing, giving Dada a name with a sentiment I wish to express in my [ex] peer wince:

"She rolled her eyes back frenziedly to avoid seeing me, inside I didn't know if her or my hand was bleeding. Mutilated by a smoke of blonde, her fumes sharpened me to memories I've never gone (or wanted to). Infidelity is my mentality, discarding relationships like an untidy reaper. When the court sentenced me, I was forced to present their gravestone of a relationship through my hickey. My name is Jonathan, and I'll destroy your boyfriends."

In the spirit of Wilde, Madame, retort with wit, or if the night calls for Dada, resort to it.

Cheers. *raises cup of absinthe*