words deprived of meaning
thoughts stranded in translation
feelings imprisoned without sentencing
a stroke of life...un coup de vie
an existence brutally stricken
incapable of verbal expression
communication frustration...no relief
nuances from mundane to sublime
lost in an endless syntax maze
and sure, some actions speak louder
but unspoken words of love and support
fall like an acid rain of futility on the heart
Sad enough when inflicted by fate
tragic as a self-induced metaphor
The muting of squandered opportunities
will keep you disconnected and haunt your future
Aphasics have no say in this matter
What's your excuse?
I'm hiding here
in this space where
I keep brutally exposing myself
I'm not really My self
I wear masks
and there's certain things I can't say
because I'm afraid of who will read them
and what they might learn about me
And sometimes I feel that makes
all of this
I am torn between two
equally important desires
I need to be raw here
I need to be violently open
I need to feel free to express
whatever I am feeling
for no other reason than the simple fact that
I am feeling
But I am also afraid
of the reactions I might get
afraid I might hurt someone
afraid of someone I know
learning something about me
that I don't want them to know
afraid they'll use it to hurt me somehow
I need to be wide open
but can only do it behind the safety of a mask
and even that isn't good enough
I still constantly self-censor
I have pages and pages of writings that no one
has ever seen
will ever see
as I write this
I can't help but wonder at the reactions
I might get
from people I know
in real life
or people I know
in the wire
or people I've
and that wondering changes me
changes my feelings
makes me second-guess
what I'm going to say
The only way my art can ever be
is if no one ever reads it
But what good is Expression
I need to have
an audience of strangers
for each poem
that I will never have to see again
Or I should tag my poems on walls around town
in the middle of the night
like my little brother
(oh, gods, what if he reads this??!)
I'm leaving it in
The mountain of horrors
It isn't red with fire
Nor is it bleeding infested
But truthfully fresh and greened
A great place to lie upon
I am not hot with nerves or rage
Nor brutally unkind, but too ruthless
Meticulous, Mechanical, Mithrils Made Mythic
And because the real Satan wears a hat
and flips a coin ; Be charming
Then when nobody delivers
Cook Them All, please
think nothing of it
- Ψ -
(But the last levels of Doom 3 were easy - I just stopped believing in demons Ծ_Ծ )
He, Btch, Smut, WH*re, Smese, Fat Pig,
All those words
They hurt soo bad
And you don’t realize what you do
When you say that I find
Little pieces of myself gone
Overdosing on diet pills,
Constantly throwing up little bits of me,
Hiding myself from the world,
Letting my pride drop
But then again, you don’t really care
It makes you look “cool” to your “friends”.
Killing everybody else’s spirits and self-Image
But then again, you STILL don’t care
It should be illegal
What you do to everyone else,
Killing them not
With a knife,
Or a gun, or with a rope,
Not your hands, not your feet,
But brutally beating me,
Killing me from the inside out,
That you don’t even think hurt!
You have no one behind
You laughing and cheering
Now everyone has
They know that it’s not fun
They have suffered the cruelty
Of your words
They don’t want to be a part of it anymore,
They want the violence to stop too
Maybe leaving you
To your see what your words can do to
Will make you want to stop
Them, and others won’t follow
Do you know how much better
It would be without your words?
People are learning
Now, you’re alone
You’re the one that
The one being beat down
With other people’s words
The people that you taught,
If you would have never
Did this in the first place, you would
Still be one, not pieces of
The person you could have been.
Now you’re all alone,
And need me
Because there is no one else
You think it’s
Just forgive and forget,
We can start over,
Become friends again,
But it doesn’t work because the
Shadow of Words will always remain in
I am trapped
With bleeding wrists
I'm my own prisoner
Cuffed deep down in the cold dark dungeon of my own soul
Impossible to break free
Why can't I see what other people see
A kind, gentle, and fun loving person
Because I'm the one behind the scenes
Controlling these puppet strings
With the help of shitty judgement
They're the crazy ones
I beat myself to death
And I believe that I deserve every ounce of it
I'm convinced that I'm a monster
I run my life by portraying illusions
Making people see what they want to see
But I am no magician
I hold no tricks up my sleeve
I try to make myself as fun and loving as I can
For the sake of others
But there's always someone that gets hurt
Which constantly hurts myself
I feel all these lies,
All these fake fuck attitudes twisted up in my guts
And fault dances around my head
Taunting and cussing
Pointing its bullying finger at me
"You fake fuck!"
Society always said that its better to be nice
And it's easier to be nice
But it's not
It's not at all
I've always thought that I was considerably nice enough
But my ego is what tells me that
And egos run purely on lies
I wish I was a kind and gentle being
But these scars don't scream gentle to me
I'm sunk below the surface
Not even reaching for air anymore
The struggle is not worth it
Hurting people isn't what I want to do
But it's all that ever happens
So how am I not a monster?
I'm a monster full of lies
How can I be both kind and hurtful
One or the other
How doesn't anyone else see how awful I am
"Because you hide every ounce of honesty behind a thick brick wall"
You hide all your bad thoughts because your super ego says that they are morally wrong
So I filter it out and say things that are socially acceptable
The clean and nice version
And 20 years of this
Turned me into a freak who has no identification
I'm a blank screen
No real personality
I blame school
I blame my sexuality
I blame society
All school taught me was how to be fake
And how to only show emotions that are acceptable
It never taught me how to deal with the emotions that I can't handle
It conditioned me to hide everything that's wrong
Store it away and forget about it
Black it out and pretend to be this nice person who cares about others
Tuck your shirt in and stand up tall
But whispers from some deep far away place come knocking at my door
And remind me that everyone does see how fucked up you are
"Everyone fucking hates your guts! Remember?"
"You're a fuck up and you deserve no happiness."
And I realize that I will never love myself
I will never respect myself
I will never attract anyone
I'm a loner who will remain alone forever
Because I'm a box full of trash and lies
I can't love a monster
How can I tell myself I love myself if I stay this way
I need to change something in order for that to happen
I can't be a monster
How the fuck am I suppose to accept myself
How do I truly change
And still be faithful
How do I break that conditioned habit
If I become honest
It'll be brutally honest
If I let myself free
How will I ever keep myself tame
Acceptance is the number one step
If I go around hurting people then how can I possibly accept that?
Or the way I go through each day ignoring everyone
Because I don't feel worthy enough to even meet someone else's eyes
I have demons whispering into my ear
Telling me all these rotten ideas
Convincing me that I'm a coward and a fuck up
And I straight up listen
And I hear "that no one wants you"
And I get so mad
But I believe every word
I can't block them out
And anger takes over and I dare someone to say something to me
Pick a fight
Throw a jab
All so I can release these images of violence that are being fed to my nerves
But I'm afraid there's no safe way
There is no way to be myself
Because I simply don't know how
How do I filter myself without filtering myself too much
But I feel like it has to happen
I feel like I HAVE to let myself go
I have to start living
Maybe once I let go and get a feel for it
I'll swing into something that's real
Explore the options
Ill never know what will happen unless I do something about it
And I can not,
Straight up refuse,
To be this fake person any longer
I'm done being pushed around
I'm done letting you control me
I've been controlled for too long and I think that's why I don't have a fucking clue who I am
I let people choose my words
I let people tell me what to do
But not anymore
No fucking more
You know, my love, that the worlds we have each created for ourselves
are galaxies apart.
Our language games are mutually untranslatable.
We never had a chance, my love. Even I know that.
We would never have been able to achieve an understanding of each other
to overcome our fear of the unknown, (and utterly unknowable),
that we symbolize for each other.
The logical, brutally rational part of me knows that we could never have made each other happy.
So why must I, though you have been gone now for quite some time,
keep my mind on you all the time?
Why do I still feel this way, thinking about you every day?
And I don’t even know you.
I write this not to try to change anything.
I have lived long enough not to hold out for what cannot be.
Despite my unwanted, embarrassingly unrealistic romantic dreams from Hell,
well, not exactly Hell,
say, from the dark cave out of which fly the blind bats of activated archetypes,
we still would have had to face eternity, or the lack thereof, alone.
You are still looking forward to an eternal life with God and, I realize now that, ridiculously,
I still can’t stop dreaming of an earthly paradise with you.
Nasty business, my love, that we are each in love with an illusion.
What if we lived in a world in which our longed for illusions
were not just desperate self-delusion but pointed at some kind of Truth?
Do you think that would make us happy?
Isn’t it pretty to think so, my love? Isn’t it pretty to think so?
I am an ogre.
Ah I know
I'm an Ogre
I can't help but feel brutally angry and distracted and blurred by the people trying to speak to me through my hard shell of bitter lemon juice
but I know
I'M AN OGRE
Don't you DARE talk to me
if you're a happy perfect person
today, an Ogre
and always a
Je refuse chocolat
... Mais si vous me refusez chocolat!
too much trust?
Let more people in,
Too much, too soon?
Talk during emotion,
not ignore, put off, bottle up.
Let people help.
Need for people to know ME
People throw away,
Easy to look up to people,
don't stretch your neck so readily.
even though everything may not be as I want.
So light, so free,
Where I want.
Get to know deeply,
let what happens, happen.
Accept flaws as I see
Work to accept?
Bad brutally honest?
Don't want to work,
Shouldn't have to work so hard
But I can't let go,
You've made your way in.
Not being with you a distinct possibility,
Yet I still hope we can remain together on some level.
Despite what happens,
I am happy.
And I will continue to make choices that ensure my
I wish to get this out in the open,
I wish to clarify something
I must confess something to those who care about my writing:
My sense of humour is... well...
If you know me in person, you know my sense of humour
or what could be errantly said
to be a sense of humour.
I draw heavily upon:
facetiousness, mythic interpretation, sarcasm, satire, excessive formality, irony, wordplay,
a somewhat predisposed tendency towards not taking most things entirely seriously
even and almost especially when I am 'supposed to',
resorting to profanity on rare occasions,
and quite simply and succinctly a fucked up world perspective
amassed over many years of living in this society
and from living with my late, similarly minded, brutally honest alcoholic Father,
in this society, nonetheless,
who in fact was at least quite fucking directly responsible for my aforementioned errant sense of humour.
If you knew him, you might say that I'm a "chip off the ol' block" in some ways,
but I know I'm quite fucking deviant from it in others.
So, to those of you who simply know of my existence via this digital outlet/public-sketchpad for my new-found passion of writing down every goddamn thing I think it worthwhile to ponder again later, or perhaps even share with similarly minded, or at least accepting people; I wish to convey my deepest and most sincere pity, not in that it is anything that was your doing, just in that you can't possibly know my sense of humour and tasteless applications of irony and satire, and as such; I've probably offended some people.
However, for some anomalous reason,
some of you seem to like this stuff
So I'm going to keep it up.
If you read this: thank you,
but if you did not, then fuck you;
however, if you didn't initially read this but were later directed to it by me or by some other personage,
fictional or real,
or for some other reason happened across it,
I rescind the aforementioned "fuck you" in light of conveying my deepest and most sincere
"Thank you for putting up with my weird-ass bullshit."
I appreciate anyone who finds any value in my works.
I also appreciate the improbable nature of anyone liking my brain-vomit.
I love creating and I love sharing my creations,
so when that all works out,
I'm fucking fit as a fiddle;
Giddy as a schoolgirl on Prozac;
Happier than a young necrophiliac who achieves his boyhood ambition of becoming coroner.
Five men were camping in the Skyland Trees.
The commander appeared and said: Master has to eat
Three men went hunting and soon prepared a feast
They got full and drank ale
They started reminiscing about olden days
The crew men had so many stories to tell
Their lives had not been all that well
But they had plenty of experiences to share
Tobi was a shoesmith who got left by his wife for a rich business-man...Dangku was a soldier-general who had fought in the age-old tribal wars and had a son whom he sent to flee to a safe colony...
Shandel was a classic ladies' man and sailor who worked for the TrimSeas Cruise Company... Bobi was a chef who had a loving wife and two young boys to whom he had to return on a ship
... Sam was a writer who seemed very dissociative, quiet and pretty much kept to himself...
Chief Zung was called Master as he was the eldest among the men and it so happened that Zung was a chief of a fallen village that got destroyed by a cataclysm after which he lived moving from forest to forest. Zung had been betrayed by a tyrannical rival chief who had overtly agreed to peace-making negotiations between the two clans but was covertly planning to bomb the Zung-led clan's village. The Chief spoke of how beautiful the land which he ruled was, palm trees, waterfalls, golden mounds, women who bathed naked in rivers and how infants were raised in caves to protect them from negative atmospheric energies. For the virgins, being clothed was a matter of choice. The men began hunting and building huts before they had their first wet dreams. The food eaten was fruit, vegetables and yeast and debris from the tree of fertility. The Chief spoke of how envious the chief Zokakongu was and that he was scheming to use machine to take over the land and sell it to foreign investors, thereafter kill the inhabitants as well as the investors after the deal. After this Zokakongu would burn the precious land and leave it inhabitable, relocating with power, money, gold and resources to establish colonies in far distant lands. The chief (Zung) spoke of how he then had to move from forest to forest hoping to find fruit and temporary shelter after he had lost everything. The story was told and lasted well into the night. They all slept and woke on the next day with a plan to return to their homelands. Tobi spoke of how he was planning to make a revolutionary shoe and how his boss never took him seriously and that he had to return to bring this amazing idea to the world. Shandel told the men that there was a ship no farther than 1000 meters from where they were, it appeared that Shandel got into a fight after he slept with a prominent government official's wife and this caused much commotion on the ship that the crew lost its route and got stuck on this huge island they were now camping in. This idea got Sam the writer interested as he had to return to his daughter whom he had promised to help with her essay at school. The chef Bobi had mysteriously suffered long-term memory loss but had glimpses of cooking in a ship at one time or another in his life. The men, Shandel, Sam and Bobi went to go search for the ship at once. Dangku stayed behind and insisted to look after the old Chief Zung. While they both stayed behind Dangku spoke of how he was manipulated by a tyrannical king who promised the soldiers freedom after they had conquered a piece of land... He went on to say that this chief forced the soldiers to burn some 'worthless' piece of land, this the chief (Tangut) said would be their last mission... After burning the land the soldiers were brutally shot by cannon balls under Tangut's orders. Dangku survived the shots and stumbled until a group of men lifted him and left him where he now was, in the forest at which they were camping. All the while the three men who went searching for the ship found no ship but rather remains of burnt clothes, equipment and some dead bodies. This triggered a vibration of consciousness and it turned out that Shandel drowned after he was thrown off the cruise ship, punishment for sleeping with the government official's wife. Bobi was a chef on the same boat though they had never met and suffered a head injury due to the commotion on the ship, he hit a metallic casing for vegetables and died immediately. Sam was writing a book that aimed to expose the corruption of the TrimSeas Cruise Company and was mysteriously found shot dead in his apartment. The same energy spiraled across the forest and Chief Zung remembered that he was poisoned and not in any way attacked and took at least three days to die as he moved from forest to forest ill. Chief Zung then informed Dangku that Tangut was another name for the tyrannical chief: Zokakongu and told Dangku that he belonged to the Army of The DarkBlade, the strongest army there ever was. General Dangku then remembered that he survived the mass-murder through cannon balls, which came from machines, however that he suffered internal bleeding and the group of men who helped him move were the Spirits of the Dead of the Kontoki underworld. All the men then realised that they were ghosts and had been dead for about a year. They had slowly met over a peroid of time and they all had one connection, the shadow of the Barons of The TrimSea Company and its cartels. And this is how the ship and its story became a mystery. Tobi the shoesmith had only been in a comma after a fallout with his boss in his homeland (physical world), he negotiated with the The Spirits of the dead of the Kontoki underworld while the three went searching for the ship and while the Chief and General Dangku were chattting; the spirits agreed to give him his life back on condition that he wouldn't investigate the mysterious ship's whereabouts and that he would let the world know about this mystic island. The common thing between the men now was that they were dead and belonged to the forest of the dead... Their mission now was to meet others on the island, form an army, come back to life and avenge the TrimSea Cruise Company elite and its networks. And it is said that this is how The Army of the Forest of the Dead came to be.