Prayers

 

I need to learn, but one thing I trust in is that our intentions imprint in this world. I've prayed, transcendent delineating indication of the spirit through the dimensions of time & space into the universe. The waters of the soul reflecting back into the infinite through tears. In the darkness, I've prayed through the forces of death & life for her. Touching the oxygen of the beyond, tears into the transmundane infinite.

There's truth in the details of the light Paul of Tarsus saw on his trip, like trees in the desperate grasp for oxygen in the soul of a man trapped in the darkness. "Damascus" is being written into a song, it's about her. But despite the peaceful tranquility the man observed, that light is impossible to be as beautiful as her eyes in that Orlando park.

Hawthorne (Flashforwards)

It occurred in my room back before my soul was tested. In those weeks, I was intrigued by the blonde shocks and lightning flashes of her lust-filled lips breathing, biting, and fucking my face and neck. In a block away from where I lived, I knew she was a trophy and in need to be utilized. That face wasn't being appreciated enough. In a flash, I gave her my number and took her soul from an inadequate mate.

But in the walk to my place, after many weeks (months?) of intense love and passion, it felt like an inevitable funeral that was meant to be a sign of respect for her. I was unable to love, but still did. It was more than lust, and it didn't need to grow beyond that, but it did. In those precious eyes, an innocent affection stared back at me and I couldn't deny the thrill of needing to protect her in a brutal display of truth.

"I can't love. Not right now." It hurt to display those words, but I remembered the tattoo on the back of my right arm, and the imperative need to do what is necessary. She burst into tears, and screamed in my face, as if this didn't hurt me more than her. I think she thought something was wrong with her, which couldn't have been further from the truth. If anything, I would have loved to produce a marriage with her. I didn't think that was possible, after what I lost. But it wasn't time for me to love. I couldn't.

In a burst of instinct and intense emotion, I dropped to a knee and held her hand and implored her to understand that there were things beyond her understanding, and I just couldn't be involved in a romantic relationship in this period of my life. But her insecurities overtook her, I could detect it, and no amount of begging turned what was intended to be a protective break-up into another traumatic episode in my life. Before she left the room, she took a glance back at the love poem taped to my closet door, and angrily tore it before departing into isolation.

On the floor, I tried to decipher what just occurred in the air, this moment in time and space. Since the age of 16, I've tried desperately not to hurt girls and be dear and a knight to a beloved. But it is here, again, another broken girl, bleeding memories and a destroyed dream. It felt necessary to travel into this decision, in her best interest, but yet again - lonely crying girl in the aftermath. In rebirth people transform into something stronger, I just wish there was a way to drain the pain and block it. The destroyed poem on the floor, it occurred to me to just pick it up again, tape it to the wall and line out the Wolfsangel.

This time, at least, it wasn't on a ribcage, across a tattoo dedicated to me. This time at least, I didn't need to stop a suicide. It looks like I'm learning, isolated. A born villain in the end, though. Obviously.

--------------------------------

7 years later, and I'm staring at a music video, preparing myself to meet up with a girl who traveled through half of Oregon to see me. I'm not even turned on. "Just say you remember me, standing in a nice dress, staring at the sunset, babe." It hurt reminiscing the last drive in Orlando to the airport, holding the hand of the woman intended to be my wife. What was meant to be a death and resurrection show turned out to be a long dragged out death (yet another), but without the resurrection. "Red lips and rosy cheeks," masculine teardrops isolatedly dropping, this time from me, as the blue expansive sky transformed into a infuriated but despondent orange-red incinerating peacefully. "Say you'll see me again."

In the window, I saw my reflection and it looked like a shadow on the other side of a necromantic divination, the soul who refused to die and was forced to see the remaining world transform. In a Portland studio. Like I imagined. "I thought heaven can't help me now." But I put myself together. "Nothing lasts forever."

This girl I am spending tonight with is my lust desire, but I intended on also treating her in an incendiary trend. Ignite a fire within her, to drape her in confidence and inject joy and friendly love into her. It felt fun fucking girls in the past decade, and distracting myself with men and boys, but this was different. It felt intimate, like (ha!) in the beforetime. I wanted her to use me to build her confidence back. I was bewildered how such an incredibly lush and beautiful precious blonde didn't rejoice in her innate sluttiness and sexual tenacity. It was a drag, like a fountain of precious water being stopped by a douchebag or bad situation, I don't know what happened. But as I watched the wilderness and beasts in the video, it occurred to me if the same had happened to me.

It was a pleasant night, and talking with her and traveling downtown and the waterfront inspired me to open a bit, and in her eyes, I could see she liked that. This girl enjoyed tearing me open. Like a predator. In the hotel room, is when I involuntarily turned. It felt vulnerable, unlike other situations in the past few years. This was uncomfortable.

But our bodies spoke, and as we trashed in the bed, the scent in the air took me back to the girl from high school. I was intending to perform a gentle, loving gesture, unlike previous escapades with other people. This time, it was intimate. I looked in her eyes, inhibiting tears internally, and she looked at me warmly and sweetly said,

"you really loved them, didn't you?"

It felt as if for the first time in my life, a person truly believed me, but it wasn't in words, but in my indeliberate body language that spoke on its own.

"Sorry, I was just having some flashbacks...."

"That's okay. Let's make some flashforwards, then."

It was at then that I turned into the other side of relationships, time, and dimensions. Not the previous transforming chapters that I thought were necromantic turning points, but in that sentence, that point in time, that this almost unknown girl said. As I bowed my head to taste her delicious pussy, my heart was content and it was a lively and joyful fun night. The intensity and trauma was off, and like I intended, I was able to make her quiver, ignite, and unleash her sexual confidence. But in pure honesty, in her predatory lustful eyes (the pupils don't lie) I think I was the one being devoured, all in blissful good fun.

--------------------------------

It's my hope she fucked well-mannered handsome guys, perhaps begin a relationship with one, but it finally seemed like I learned to be intimate. In a different time, in a different dimension, we could have been together, but it looks like it was my role within this timeline to ignite and awaken her confidence again. Healing is produced in the most unexpected areas, and I learned that. Debauchery & sexuality are the Devil's realm, and it's fascinating how it proves to be therapeutic.

If heaven isn't going to help me, it won't prevent me from dispatching the call in the shadow of Hawthorne just to let a high school lover know and say "I love you." And it didn't. It won't stop the chants of "HONOR, COURAGE, COMMITMENT" from a bursting guitar screaming in fury. It didn't stop me from taking that girl into my room, and breaking up with her. Drenched in perversion and sin, distractions of lust candy and debauchery, doesn't change the fact that intimacy is found in unlikely circumstances. It doesn't darken and extinguish the light of the inner soul that is known as love. It doesn't matter what they say and it won't deny, and it won't hide - because what this girl said, in that line, is true.

2014

I need to be more clear and specific now. I have experienced a series of events in the past months that have changed my life forever, and I have gained a lot of knowledge and as well as lost a lot through mistakes. I'm usually very metaphorical and poetic when I write, but I need to change that. I need to be more clear, and easily understood. Misinterpretations have ruined too much.

I'm ready to begin working on my band. Our name is Distinctive Twilight and I will be performing vocals and guitar. The name is inspired by the phrase "the fate of destruction is also the joy of rebirth." My variation of the Wolfsangel is our logo and it perfectly captures the core of our music. I'm not the first person in art to talk about the unification of the worlds of destruction and creation, nor will my music be limited to that, but the image conjured of a distinctive dusk or dawn is what I hope people will envision when they think of us. Besides, it's about time someone reclaimed that word away from the god-awful teenage vampire series. Some people will be upset by the fact that our logo was used by Nazi Germany - I can't really say anything other than pointing out that the first word in our band is "distinctive" and that the symbol can be traced back to ancient runes far back before Hitler was even born. Regardless, our art and intentions are pure, and I hope our integrity and passion for our work will be recognized.

There isn't a single ounce of musical talent in me, but that's something that I feel will be a representation of commitment and willpower. Words fail to provide justice to certain ideas in my head; I need music as another form of expression and hopefully people will be able to relate to what I/we have to express.

This isn't just about me, even though it's my project. I want people to experience something important when they attend our shows. I want them to make my music a part of them, a form of catharsis or comfort, a lucid dream they can join.

Additionally, I would like to speak about why I planned on joining the military, and why it did not work out. I feel that human survival depends on the competition for resources. Nations fight one another for them, and there are men and women putting their lives at risk so that we can enjoy luxuries that the majority of the population takes for granted. I don't feel comfortable with the knowledge that there are people right now making their hands dirty so that we can keep ours clean. I don't like that only a certain percentage of our nation's population is out doing essential duties to keep our country stable, even if its just economically.

From my experience, the majority of people who join the military are from a bad family or have limited life choices. I'm no exception to that. My father was abusive, my mother was a disgrace, and my sister deserted me. The opportunity to join was stripped from me because I am currently in the middle of an immigration procedure to help my mother return into the country. Despite no longer being in my life, she is still causing damage - but "fraudulent enlistment" is also another factor into why I was afraid of going forward into service, something I will not expand on but those knowledgeable can read between the lines. An investment with no return is not a smart decision.

Despite this, I still trust that I can find true family in the world, and there's been people I've met and had close to me that meant more to me, and me to them, than my own blood. We don't choose into which circumstances we are born into, but it's how we handle the cards that we are dealt that matter. This is why Satanism is such an important influence, and symbol, for what I believe in. Worship yourself, look out for what is in your best interest, cherish your loved ones, and take responsibility for your actions - especially your successes. As well, I love the fact that one's own birthday is the highest holiday.

I am not, and never have been, a follower or disciple of Satanism, it is just a religion that runs parallel to what I believe in, and labeling myself as a Satanist is just a way of describing myself more specifically. The term is commonly referred to so many different practices, but before Anton LaVey started his church in San Francisco, there was no organized group or set of beliefs labeling itself as such. Therefore, I highly encourage people who wish to read an intelligent, knowledgeable, and productive view/interpretation of the subject to read The Satanic Bible or visit www.churchofsatan.com

I will become an official member by the end of this year. Affiliation is purely a personal spiritual matter, not a need to provoke outrage or controversy.

Thank you for reading, and more will be posted shortly.

Burials Pt. I (Introduction)

It was in the dark, and I was breathing into the mirror. My reflection began to blur, almost morph, and I knew there was nothing to be afraid of, but regardless, the image scared me. I knew I was turning older, wiser, and into something, someone, else. There’s many benefits that come with age, but unfortunately it is also one step closer to death. I finished my meditation and walked out the door.

There was an urge for me to walk, so I entered into the cold night and the song “A Deep Slow Panic” sent shivers down my spine. The new album by AFI named “Burials” was just recently released and my synchronicity with the theme and content manner was shocking. I needed to go to the Lovecraft bar for some reason. It was like an instinct.

There was something within me that was almost being led by the sky above. The melodies were like liquid electricity, and I had an urge to scream, cut, shout, or fuck. Letting go of counterproductive pride, I texted Alexis back and we spoke for a while. Our conversation shall remain private, but it was highly cathartic. I passed by a freemason building and felt an eery feeling, almost as if the grand architect himself was trying to send me a sign. I brushed the feeling away as a delusion, but then again, to any psychiatrist, spirituality is a delusion.

After I crossed the Hawthorne bridge, I looked up at the large and orange moon and wondered what existed beyond our sensory systems. It’s impossible to know, and there’s many groups of humans that have organized ideas and concepts, but then again, with such method of thinking, the possibilities of what this is all about are endless. Prayer or worship doesn’t accomplish anything, it is merely fierce will. If that’s not a higher power, I don’t know what the fuck is.

I started a conversation with a homeless man at a gas station on route. He was wearing a shirt or pants supporting the Navy and said that it was done out of respect for someone in his family. When I asked how he supported himself, he told me that he goes to a local church and assists in exchange for food. There was shame in me for tolerating “holier than thou” douchebags in my life who exhibit hypocritical behavior that makes them feel superior to this individual, yet cling to their good-guy badge. He wasn’t any part of my responsibility, but I surprised him with a few dollars anyway before stepping away.

Inside the bar I struck an enlightening conversation with the bartender. The room was illuminated by gorgeous and haunting blue and green lights, and there weren’t many people there yet. Fog filled the room lightly, and I could still feel the lifeforce from the night prior. We spoke about Dr. LaVey and I explained to her the concept of a total environment, which is an artificial environment designed to enrapture an individual’s imagination towards a particular concept, whether it be a real or imaginary location, a time period, or a situation. The Lovecraft bar was a portal into another world, you could literally smell it in the air. I have had many good experiences here.

And the best one walked through the door.

As I finished my drink, I looked at the girl next to me and she was talking to the bartender, explaining how this was her first time here, and how much she admired it already. A deep slow panic struck me, and before she had the opportunity to pay for her beverage, I put it on my tab.

And that is how I was introduced to V.