Everyday I do austerities to the spirits.
I starve.
I don't drink water.
I bear pain I cause myself.
I don't feed my addictions
Self destructive spirituality.

I'm stuck in a mystical head space.
One foot here.
Another out there.
Where the Gods dance.
And I, an outsider there.
As I am here.
Hang out in burial grounds.
Starving like the mangy animal I am.

Embrace the change of death.
The shedding of skin of spring.
I am the wisdom of the trickster.
Always leave them guessing.
Never be the same.

And, my life is desperation.
My life is constant worry.
I'm eking out a meagre existence.
Cause when the hunger dies.
I am weak.

But,
With no church to bless me.
I'm just a hobo.

One thousand years ago.
They would have made me a shaman.
Now, I'm just.
A failure.

The poverty monk.
Of limited means.

And, no ambition.

He called me high tension.
As though the random violent outbursts.
Off my meds.
Weren't normal for me.

They say, get off em, you don't need them.
You're not crazy.
Then when I do the depression takes over.
And the delusions.
And the paranoia.
And the rage.

I impulsively lash out at everyone.
A danger to myself and other people.
A sheafed knife.
Tight water surface.
Chaotic and impulsive.
Reading the worst into what you're saying.
Any excuse for my euphoria.
When the hate takes over.

Baby.  
Maybe you get sad.
Cause your dog or mom died.
But me.
I get aggressively impulsive in these psychotic breaks.
I want to breathe in anger.
Give myself over to the obliteration of my ego.
In pure unrefined.
Adrenaline induced.
Trance states of fury.

And they always find out.
They point out the obvious.
Don't listen to me.
So I have to show them.

And, I never feel as happy as I do.
Straight and casing pain.

Once they come and see.
Then they get scared.
And, understand.

Why.

I told you I was a snake in the grass.
*****.

I live among the vile refuse of a left over life.
Everything out of place.
Everything chaotic.
Everything past its expiry date and broken.
A disassembled discordant choir that sings slurs to an angelic host.

The kipple keeps accumulating and I have become one.
With the cigarettes ash and my poorly done tattoos.
NIghts spent in intoxication rambling to myself.
Complex mythologies derived from symbolic associations.
This is reality.
This is divine.
This is the flayed lord, wearing the skin of a sacrifice.


I wallow in the fetid revolting mind that plagues me with.
Existence.
Change and transformation.
Is the ego death of the shaman.
Indoctrinated into taboo spirits.
And ghosts.
Demons.

And.
Are you beautiful?
Well collected and coherent?
Some sort of angel down here in the.
Slums?

Skid row ain't got nothing on me.
As I ferment in the juices of my overbearing ego.
One track mind.
One thought.
One last breath to curse in vain.

I will desecrate the temple.
God gave me.
And become a blasphemy.
Taboo cast out trickster God.
Of a forgotten time.
Rabid coyote.
Biting everything it can.
From an impulse I can't understand.

Spread the virus.
Burn the sacred grounds.
Cover yourself in ash.
And proudly wave the heresy.
In the face of the light.

I wanted perpetual darkness.
I wanted to be a sound in the night.
Fear.
Trembling.

Exegesis.

And if the beasts devour each other.
Who am I to stop them?
Tearing at the throat of a rival billionaire.
I revel in the blood.
The gurgling sound of all their immoral.
Decisions, spoken through broken voices.
To deaf ears.

I cheer on the cannibalism of the bear.
That threatens my life, my reason to be.
I glory in the suffering of the beast who had me by the neck.
I encourage the misery.
I flatter the thing which brings salvation.

And, I know deep in my traitors heart.
I will skin the beast that devours the bear.
Consume its children.
Eliminate its seed.
If even given a chance.

Submission comes with hidden knives.
Poisonous potions and other schemes.
I am no hero.
No honour to be found in me.
I've lived my life in desperation.
Fear and darkness.

But, if all the conditions are set.
I'll **** every beast in the valley.
Unfortunate enough to get too close.

I'm a snake in the grass.
You knew I was an adder *****.
Why did you let me in?
God won't stop me, so doesn't God consent?

You get what you deserve.
In the Kali Yuga.
And, me, I'm Amram.
******.

Mahakala will destroy in time.
Abaddon will be let loose and obliterate the wicked.
Samael will be crowned king of Satans and wreak havoc..

Until Azrael whispers the final word.
Death has come.

I met the girl of my dreams.
An existential compliment.
To everything I thought I wanted.

And,
We didn't really stay together.
At the end.
We just didn't care.

But, we were inseparable from the start.
A passion past by on lazy hazy grey days.
Where the sun hides behind dismal clouds.
Brooding in the sky.

She was my own personal manic pixie dream girl.
That I heard about in movies.
I never watch.

Yet,
I pushed her away.
I cheated,
I lied,
I took her for granted.
I acted contrary to how I thought I would.

I'm not a very mature person.
I'm not good.
I'm not boyfriend material.

I thought she deserved.
Someone successful.
And me,

I was born bad.
Kept chomping at the bit of the Devil's ways.
Immolating every night into a nightmare.
An intoxicated degenerate.
Grovelling in my filth.

And, when she left to become a librarian.
I distanced myself from her and worked through my.
Emotions.
Alone.

So when the inevitable goodbye came.
When my stable life imploded.
When my plan came to fruition.
When she left.

When everything fell apart
I was buffered against the pain.
But, not her.
She balled.
Like she still cared about me.

After all that time I pushed her away.
From her flirtations with other men.
To her forgiveness for my bad behaviour.
I consumed her.

So.
She cried.
Uncontrollably.

I was a stone.

And I remember youthful nights where we.
Would go look at the stars.
Just outside of town where they were crystal clear.
Laughing at the spontaneous romantic event.
That I used to get my hooks in.

I remember the playing.
Sitting around.
The shape of her ***.
The feeling of belonging.
And, the feeling of absence.

I used to lose sleep over her being gone.
She used to haunt my dreams.
A ghost in the machine.

Then one day.
In a distance past tomorrow.

I realized.

That I wasn't in love with her.
Just.  
The thought of her.

And,
My,
Nostalgia for youth.

She was the symbol.
For all my bad choices.
That I want other people to make.

I was born a violent man.
Even though I'm not good at it.
All of my vindictiveness.
All of my resentment.
All of my things which percolate and bubble up from my rotten core.
Consume me.

In the euphoria of rage.
I've bled buckets in the aftermath.
Broken ribs from kicks on the ground.
Broken fists on someone's face.

I might not be the flame that consumes your car.
But, I poured the gasoline.

I am divine.
I am holy.
In my furious furor.
I want to explode.
As my bones tear through flesh.
Amputate lest it gets infected.

A tribute to Cybele.
I want towers shot with RPGs.
Clothing racks on fire.
Trumpeting your broken body.
With concussive force.

Headless corpses lining the streets.
Awash in a thick puddle of fetid blood.
Coagulating in my compassion.
Lumps of human blood sausage.
Rotting in the sun.
The smell of iron and taste.
Of adrenaline

Life is never short enough.
And, I swear to cause as much damage.
As I can.

Hack the hands off the wicked.
For every thief that stole a part of me.
Never to give it back.
I want my.
Vengeance

I will become Abaddon.
The angle of destruction.
A stray bullet.

And I want anihilation..
I want it to all fall apart into rubble.
Reigning over my empire of broken dreams.
And broken bodies.

I will conquer the refuse left over.
With persistence.

And vile.

Putrid hate.

The wind blows through the emptiness.
Of this place.
Out here in nowhere.
The climate is harsh.

It.
Bites.
No matter the season.

In the cities.
The wind exhausts itself.
Without the vast brushstrokes of prairie indigo at sunrise.
And sunset.

And the wind is usually.
Tearing through the streets.
Accentuating the cold.
By twenty degrees.
Below zero.

Whether it's wheat or snow.
Something always envelops the horizon.
As I'm lost at the height.
Of the sky.

These cumulus nimbus clouds.
Pepper the sky with slight accents of pillowy soft white.
In the vast blue sky.

Everywhere is silence when the snow blankets the ground.
Cept in summer you can hear the dull humm of insects.
The yipping of coyotes baiting dogs to lunch.
Magpies eating pigeons.

And they say that hard climates make hard people.
At least I'm resilient.