No Regrets

You told me you hoped I had regrets, but to tell you the truth, I only have one. When we first broke up, I knew it was necessary. In order to prevent something pure from disintegrating, you need to end it, and I was too weak to resist you.

Shortly after that I got her sigil tattooed on the back of my arm, but what I never told you is that it was also about you. Corruptio Optimi Pessima. You never believed you would ever be as important as her, but either you couldn't believe that about yourself, or worse, didn't trust that my affectionate words were said in the purest of sincerities.

Et cetera. Either it's your anger towards the hurt that blinded you, or you genuinely didn't believe that when I said I saw grandeur in your eyes, I fucking meant it.

You'll always hate me, and possibly never forgive me, and I deserve that. If we all choose our regrets then I should have picked the one that would have been better for you, instead of the one you wanted. But we loved each other and we are human. It's in our nature.

They say tattoos can also be scars, but I hope one day you can see my name upon your ribcage like I see her sigil on the back of my arm. Apart from that, no, I don't have any regrets. I don't have any regrets apart from that. No regrets. I'm grateful I met you. After all, you were my Wonderwall.

Bereavement

I woke up this morning and I still didn’t have a reply from her. For the past week or so, I’ve been dreaming of her nightly. In my dreams, we are together again and walking on some downtown street. She looks so happy, perfect even. Just when I reach over to kiss her, I remember that she’s married and that none of this is real and I wake up. And I don’t think I want to hear her voicemail again, so I just don’t call anymore. As I write this, I’m looking at a blank wall, and my oppressive imagination reminds me of her smile, the way her eyes would look deep into mine, and the precious laugh she would give.

Bereavement - each time she returns to my life, it’s just a shard of glass into my soul as I remember once again what I lost, or what I gave away. If I had decided to stay with her, if I had more trust and optimism, she would have been wearing my ring instead of his.

Now I walk outside my building and feel the Oregon wind. It tastes like desolation and rain, but it is oddly comforting. I whisper song lyrics as I attempt to forget about her. She laughs at our song now (or at least that’s what she told me). It probably doesn’t mean anything to her anymore.

But I’m here, years later, softly saying “I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.”

Loss.

I love her.


She’s my wonderwall.


Our song still means something to me.


Without shame or guilt, I’m moving on from her. It’s time for me to forget and abandon a moment in time that has long been forgotten. I wipe away these tears and not think much of it because I’m not ashamed to experience true love. This isn’t some casual infatuation, I fucking love her inside and out.

I’d forge a fabricated posture more suitable for the public, but being that this is an honest journal, I hold no abashment about expressing myself. I hate dreaming that I can still be the one to make her smile and wake up to the grim reality that she’s gone.

I love her more than he does, and there's no doubt I would have worked harder to make her happy.

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.

Let Go

"How disgusting." I can't tell which character I am, but yes - you are.

It ended so simply. Since the end of high school I tried to sustain our friendship despite her self-destructive behavior, and it hurt trying to stop something from dying. But finally the flames of destruction became too much to breathe, and when you notice that the recipient you are attempting to help does nothing in assistance, and worse, hurts you, the spirit has no choice but to LET GO.

I vanished her from my life: a conclusion so simple, yet brutal. Immediately all the feelings of resentment and hurt vanished as well.

You were my sister.

There is no Us.

You are no longer in my life.

I fucking tried.

Fuck you.

I fucking tried.

At the Bottom of Everything

"So there was this woman, and she was on an airplane. And she was flying to meet her fiancé seaming high above the largest ocean on planet Earth! She was seated next to this man she had tried to start conversation with, but the only thing she really heard him say was to order "Bloody Mary"...

She was sitting there and she was reading this really arduous magazine article about a third world country that she couldn't pronounce the name of. And she was feeling very bored and despondent.

And then suddenly, there was this huge mechanical failure, and one of the engines gave out!

And they started just falling 3,000 feet!

And the pilot's on the microphone and he's saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, go my God... I'm sorry." And apologizing. And she looks at the man and says, "where are we going?" and he looks at her and he says....

"We're going to a party. It's a birthday party. It's your birthday party. Happy birthday, darling. We love you very, very, very much."

And he starts humming this little tune, it kind of goes like this: 1, 2, 1, 2, 3, 4..."

Orlando

Sunsets have always held a feeling of anxiety, sadness, and the reminder of death, but this twilight was different. Looking at Astrid's angelic face in front of the dying California sky was a picture in words - a poem about a teenage story concluded.

The 1920's invented the teenager. With the increased popularity of automobiles, older kids began socializing away from home, in turn sparking a flame in the economic marketplace with which we now know as "nightlife." Parents would give them an allowance to spend at restaurants, shows, events. Sporadic bolts of sexual hormones combined with relative privacy popularized "dates", "boyfriends", "girlfriends", and many sex sessions inside a car on the top of a hill somewhere.

Cars gave children a small taste of adulthood - an illusion of independence. "I can drive away from home and hang out with my friends. I'm a big boy now."

When I listen to "Scary Monsters and Shiny Sprites" I taste the desolation of a wide and half-empty street, the taste of Orlando's expansive sky, and an angry and ever so beautiful girl shouting obscenities and crying while driving her father's car. My mind also shuffles portraits of Mountain View's disgustingly normal 4pm life.

Do I regret moving to Portland? Abandoning my best friends in carcinogenic California, or discarding the beautiful Orlando lights and blonde sky imprinted with my name on the ribcage? Not for a single second.

Absolutely everything that I have acquired has been through my own hard work. I was never granted the gift of a car, and by extension, the illusion of independence that so many like to cling to as if it was their personal Jesus. No - I created my own independence, not settling for a mere hologram, and carved my own niche for "lo que dios no te de, te tienes que robar."

Closing this year in a magnificent paradise, I can safely say that I am overneath the path of misery.