Fuel to burn

And everything seems fine
until you decide to
open your eyes
And I'm so tired
of wanting destruction
to fall on the world

It's all fuel for
Man to burn

I will take out your eyes
I will take out your eyes
I will take out your eyes
I will take out your eyes

Get outside
Get outside
Get outside
Get outside

Get outside
Get outside
Get outside
Get outside

Get outside
Get outside
Get outside
where
the air, I know
is for the last time

These strings that strangle an empty chest...

All I can do sometimes
is stare and fall
and follow myself through
the membrane that is self-fulfillment.
And I know that this
is what I make of it
and what I take from it,
but I still find the same things.

Pain.Contact.Backward.Pain

I'm too tired and strung out to think. Time for sleep.

I forgot what such a momentous crash felt like. But, it is nostalgic in a bad way. I needed a bender to help me be more responsible, I think. Hopefully.

Comfort yourself...

What solace lies in the arms of fate -- The ill embrace of uncertainty?
When did I leave this in other hands, to be pulled down at chance?
Ripped away by destiny-claws; am I another of fate's possessions?
Dwelling the lie of freedom -- Just another straw pulled at random

Reclaimed by deceiving time
A silent judgment I cannot overrule

Drawn back into the origin-vortex;
uprooted and ground to dust
Retracted into anti-existence,
a magnet repelled by life's polarity
Denied the self-control of fate,
we float suspended in semi-life
until the ever-imminent day when oblivion claims our breath

Nowhere indefinitely; not dead, not alive
Existence-patterns ripped of symmetry
as Will and Fate divide

Have I appeased the gods of fate?
Am I allowed another day?
Must I die to escape
the scanning eyes of death?

In the spirit of honesty:

I am still an addict. I am still obsessive and compulsive. I am still a broken mind, a fractured being.

I haven't shot up in a long time. I did tonight, though. It felt amazing. But, I will never do it again. No one who hears me say that would believe me, though. That is my stigma: I am the failure, and Human nature defines me as being so. And I don't necessarily even believe myself, or believe in myself.

It is so difficult for me to simply live day to day. I always feel like I am out of balance, like my brain is eating itself with chemicals and neuroses. I always feel like I'm collapsing and falling in on myself.

I don't feel love and affection in the same way that I once used to. I don't feel attached to reality anymore. I don't feel Human anymore, and I don't know what to do about it. All I've done for the past few years is learn to ignore it like a growing disease that I can't do anything about. And, on nights like this, I guess on nights when I go overboard, it really saddens me to think about how much I've fucked my life up. And this isn't the opiate-mind talking. This is really how I feel most of every day, and how I have felt for a very long time.

So I'm forcing myself to write every day, regardless of whether I want to or not. This is the only therapy I've ever had, and hopefully it will shed light to someone that I love. It will illuminate the darkness inside of me.

And, as irresponsible and stupid and childish and self-destructive and suicidal as I ever am, at least this will be my honesty talking, and not my love of hiding.

Gone

The proclamation screams in billows:
A roar to upend a shaken heart;
the tinge of salt buried in my throat,
forced outward in impatient throes.
I am but the want of escape,
and that is my undoing.

I am the king of Roman sorrow.
I am the bird of wings:
The embodiment of self-reflection,
the wasted space of Hecate's definition
on a new moon's birth.
I have no tide inside of me,
save the one that stirs my feet
and disintegrates my foundation.

A vacuum in continuum,
the armor of Achilles
and every other spaceless myth;
my brain is Ouroboros.

Minus

The deepest part of my psyche, psychosis incarnate, stirs after such a long time. I forgot just how gnarled my perspective was, and when I rush back to the imbalance of stress and apathy, it surprises me. It surprises me how deep it goes.

Two things have largely shaped both my self-image and my emotional development: Constant stress and constant, chronic pains. I don't mean pain in the abstract or emotional sense. Physical pain. Throbbing, unending, infinite cyclic pain.

These things have grated away at me for most of my life. I had forgotten just how big of a role they have had on me, because for the last few months I haven't been in that universe. But, I feel myself being pulled back toward there, now. I can't do anything to halt gravity.

Regardless of anything, it exists, and it is part of me. A facet of my own universe is within this conceptually masochistic framework.

It's a very real part of who I am. The sharp, analytical daggers; my journey within.

"You woke me up. Left me naked in a world I don't recognize anymore. Who is responsible for this? The only thing worse than evil is apathy; a crime we are all guilty of, so we just walk along in silence... But now, I cannot go further."

It's always best when the light is off
It's always better on the outside
Fifteen blows to the back of your head
Fifteen blows to your mind

(dog attack)

I'm afraid of never being able to create the life that I think I can for myself. I want to create, at the very least, the kind of comfort and pleasure that comes in being able to proud of yourself, in a very basic sense.

The reign of ignorance, religiosity and fear completely inundates my life. The delicate interpersonal folds that become frayed with time and so hard to keep steady... completely inundate my life. Everything is flooding me.

Closed-Eye Visuals

Unbound to the pale and lifeless day
by the multicolored, multiform.
A spinning antidream unthought --
Exceeding the obsolete reality.
Overheated inner shape-generator
blowing every cerebral fuse.
Insanity filtered and systematized;
Feeding the tools of mind abuse.

Mind-signal transmission peaked, distorted, bent;
unrestrained.
Neuroreceivers short-circuit.
System parametrs overgained.
Neverthreads decoding the stream
of the reality-inverting revolution
The patterned untruth of non-dream:
The closed-eye visual delusion

A frantic, cellular race
down the switchbacks of mind.
Throttling the existence engine;
a propulsion beyond all limit-lines.
Convulsive thrusts of septic energy,
as infected cells collide.
Unleashing the video-bacterial disease: The sinew-conducted pseudovision.

Self unfolds, like a disintegrating dream:
All revealed but the sinister cause.
My lying eyes come apart at the seams;
still, how could I ever regret the loss?

The self, transformed into wavelengths;
reverberate this unyielding dream.
Lost in this greedy illusion,
I'm forever devoured by
the closed-eye visual delusion.

A twirling visual overload --
Explosions of terror and beauty:
Colors of fear and pain within
clash into unanything

Dead Planet

I haven't slept in forty days
Something here just doesn't feel right
This eerie place keeps me up all night
So tired now, I'm losing my sight

Yellow sky
turning blue
Dead planet

I look around and see no end
Signs of extinction appear everywhere
This place called Earth is just a burning shell
An inner, outer, living Hell

We come so far, just to lose it all
This winding road we call Life
So civilized within our frame of mind,
never having learned to be kind

What is up with this hole I'm in?
No one here can hear me scream
What is up with this place I'm in?
Someone, get me out of this scene

Matter

I am struck by perpetually
moving anguish, stuck in conceptual
mist blown forth from grandeur,
or rather, usurped from the matter.
It is me, all I am and will be;
blown currents
moving in cycles.
And here I am...
pulled like I'm tandem.

Fourth

Independence is a lie,
like 'blank slate' and 'pasteurized'
and 'second chance', the westward push,
the selfish lurch to ignore the truth.

Make believe that nothing's real...

It started with a conversation this morning with my brother. He wants to bang the girl at my work, at least in some fantastical, pseudo-real way. He likes to talk about it, anyway.

And we were talking, and the conversation revolved around until it rested on the point that it's useless to want things like that, because in the end, they aren't worth it. That instantaneous, superfluous feeling of wanting someone based on physical appeal doesn't go as far as people think it does. At least, it doesn't if you actually have a soul.

I've wanted people like that, and it feels more like dread than lust the more it develops. You want to get off, to possess an appearance; to relish a body. It doesn't last that long when you despise the person's soul, and it feels even worse when they are more indifferent than ambivalent or attracted. The strongest want is towards yourself, you want to please yourself by having a tight body to fuck.

All of the attractions in my life like that ended with emptiness. Physicality doesn't get me very far. Far more important is the mind and the thoughts that circulate therein. In a mate, that is what I look for more than anything. So, for me to feel not like I am sated or satisfied, nor content, but related to, connected to... is a whole other thing entirely.

I've never felt that way in a relationship. I've wanted things to work, I've wanted things to end, I've wanted desperately to see someone again. I've never felt calm and secure, and felt as though I could plan a future with another person before. My real, primal animal sense of nesting, of mating and settling down... that has never really activated before. I've played house, but never actually wanted it.

And I feel that, now. Although I am not the greatest breadwinner or the most competent mate, I want it and I may want it forever.

Deafening...

The plague that I hide from shows itself periodically, as chronic instability. My brother, the one who was supposed to be the leader, gets too drunk to think and feels sorry for himself, lashing out like a child. It is so pathetic, and at the same time I can see the same feelings in myself.

The first time it was profound, I took it seriously, and I was affected by it. Now, I know that this will all be forgotten shortly thereafter, and I will still be affected by it. It bolsters my own instability by separating me from without.

It is a fracture in our pasts, in our upbringing that becomes such a virulent corpse, rotting slowly in the mind. I have generally found a way past it; at least, temporarily.

But every time I see this... it crushes me again. I'm ripped out all over, to be pulled back into feelings that gave me every idiosyncratic twitch, every neurosis. And I do not know what to do about it.

How empty would I be to just escape? Even if there is no salvation for this kind of life, this kind of reality, would I be able to live with my deeper self if I threw it all away and left? This is where I came from, whether I like it or not.

My roots, and the lack thereof.

I will probably always be stricken with the reiterating sickness of being born in my family.

It makes me so angry that I am shattered by childishness and irresponsibility. I gave an ultimatum, and it was forgotten in the way that a gambler goes back to the den of thieves, to be corrupted all over again.

I self-medicate for reasons like these... so I'm no better, in a way.

I think of all of the things I'm going to say tomorrow, the disappointment and the anger, but none of that really matters. Now is the only important time frame.

I see how much the world is driven by its chemistry. I see people being pulled and ripped apart because of their selves. I see myself falling in the same way, and I don't know what to do about it.

Completion...

My cycle brings me back to the same feeling. The feeling that I've had since childhood has never stopped its domination of me. I want to escape.

I want to be that prince, the savior. But am I... really? Can I do something like that?

To defeat the Dragon, the God and the Thought, I run into circular logic: Fear, inhibition, caution, the reversed sagacity of a hermit. I run into Me.

I will sever though negligence, even though I don't want to. I delve too far inside myself, and everything else is shut out, whether I like it or not. It is the only part of my continual, ephemeral rebirth that keeps me intact. I just don't believe that I am the kind of magnanimous cadence that draws along the best intentions. I can put up that front, but I do not think I can make it real.

And so, my love will smolder and burn and rage, and confuse me. It will never cease, though... believe me. There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.

one day....

this will all pass. I won't be flinching, startled awake by the limp cigarette in my hand that has been inching, closing in and finally burning the fuck out of me. I have mny small golff

my heart and brain... AWOL.....


I toss and turn.
Yeah, I can't sleep.
I don't understand my life,
I don't understand my suffering...
I try to fight,
I try to resist,
but all the hate and all the pain and all the lies;
I can't take this....

Myspace. Pictures.

Sexuality is a very ambiguous thing. It represents our lust, the flavor of sexual desire we find appealing. We can't always choose them, and I believe they are based more on personality than anything. Personality itself is something shaped by your surroundings, the 'nurture' within the 'nature'.

So, naturally, our sexual desires manifest themselves in ways that affirm both our ego and id. The only one who truly knows these things is the person themself. We can only be so deeply intimate when we're alone.

By isolation, you can free every desire in your mind and body. It's like singing into a hairbrush as a microphone, or just doing something you think is very embarrassing... you only feel comfortable doing it by yourself.

Where the internet comes into this, is digital media. You have that same emotional isolation with a video camera, or a keyboard. You don't have to worry about someone watching, and you can present anything you want. There is no limit line, because there is no one there to take offense to your actions.

It seems to me that this is what makes online dating so appealing. But beyond just the dating sites, the matchmaker scams... it appears everywhere. A girl character in an MMO is almost always, at some point in their playing career, asked if they're really a girl. If you put up the front that you ARE a girl, then you're treated much differently than a guy would be. It's pedantic, I know... but it brings up a point.

When opposite genders meet on a medium that can't be seen through, things get out of hand. It doesn't matter if the guy is some fat-assed, thirteen year old nerd, because it's the words he types that defines who he is. On a site or messenger service with video and pictures, it's not as incognito, but the same trends are prevalent. You can infer a lot from looking at someone's picture, especially in this day and age, when pictures are much more informal.

It's invigorating to not have to take the risks of physical growth. It's easier to display what you want than to have someone deal with your full, head-on personality.

So all these children, who grow up learning that their faults are best to be hidden, that there is no complete vulnerability through a veil. For example, the new thing I saw on MySpace, called "IConfessional". It allows people to confess their "sins", completely anonymously.

Now, I can see how this would be constructive-- but I feel that on a larger scale, it just feeds into the complex detatchment associated with congressing on the internet. It doesn't help that most of the demographic these services apply to and are marketted towards don't really know what it's like to form a long-term physical bond with someone. I know that this is a blanket statement, and I'm not saying everyone has lost this opportunity. I am saying, though, that the meaning of physical contact, physical growth between people has definitely been reduced in significance among society today.

With this shameless display of egoism, it's easy to see that a large effect of this would be censorship degredation. Everything becomes more sexual by the week-- the standard is lowering itself because of this "emotional enlightenment". Underaged kids become camwhores, in a sense, because it's a venue that is free to the individual's use.

People use things in these ways, to liberate themselves, when really they're restricting their way of thinking. When you become addicted to an outlet, your creative soul loses power to the lustral, earthly voice telling you how to justify your isolation.

And believe me, it is isolation. I don't care the argument, or the reason. If any part of you is hidden, you are completely isolated. To form a real bond is to have everything about you accepted.

And, to become an advertiser of your own soul -- marketing what you feel is attractive, you have lost all worth as a person. If you hide pieces of yourself from those you want to be intimate with, you will lose those pieces. These words would have more meaning if the problem wasn't so wide-scale. I don't even think anyone would agree with what I've written, because everyone seems to think this way.

But I'm fucking glad I didn't grow up with a cell phone.

But my lungs go on...

This is what I needed, the final cutting loose of our bond. This is what I needed, for real. I needed to be away from you, to be done with this trip, for a painful reason.

I needed to be back in my world, even if only for a short while, because now that I am, I understand all of the confusion and hesitation that I've had. Nearly all of my relationships have involved a good few months, or a good few weeks, that was complete co-dependence, and then ended abruptly. But after the end, we would be shattered apart, whether I liked it or not, whether I wanted to or not. It would be nonexistent from there on. But this is different. Now that I am away, I only feel it more strongly, and I somehow know that she does too. I somehow hold that pure knowledge, of being completely faithful that something is true. I know that we are for real.

All of the times I've doubted it in those small ways that thoughts build up in the back, the small whispers that tell me that it will not last, or I will fall, or we will part, or she will see me for who I really am... these are all moot. We are both real, and we are both accepted on each side. And so, that persona is born: The person between two people, the anti-Gemini twin, the embodiment of symmetry in one formless shape.

True love.

We clasped...

Slow rain; brown eyes see shadows...
they focus:
the seed and the locust;
the hearth and the porthole;
a fire burns with painted eyes.
We fall over
onto each other
once and for all.
And that is my pride,
my sore and my meadow.
You will be my shadow,
to follow me forever,
and blackness will be forgotten.