demon in the bathroom mirror last rock of crystal went missing bulging eyes in my reflection I didn’t like that i couldn’t find crystal but i don’t ask those guys actually saved my life. two hours to billings, montana and the prairie grass glistened in the last minute Sunday morning sunlight thanksgiving day drive.
designer machete and the wineberries broken shabbat demarcation line and i tried yet again to perform a task to completion without getting distracted screaming from the bathroom
‘i can’t hit a vein! I can’t hit a vein!’ water in the rig miss crystal swimming in mine Christ in the Cosmos two plantains on the kitchen island in a town house on west orange. no man is an island but I pretended that i was so i could finally climb the double helix home.
i can’t be creative if i’m always in a mad rush. ‘Prove to me your value! Justify your being here, can you see me? Why can’t anyone see me? how about now?’ tongue caught in a snare pestilence in the mason jar smoked paprika in the finish water in the rig ‘Jordan? Was there even anything in here?’
i used to lay prostrate on the couch ad infinitum. one thing they don’t tell you is that when you’re dope sick you have to take a giant **** about every five minutes. the free cable in the apartment complex actually saved my life. furniture - mid century modern - had to let it go. hadn’t really listened to music in 18 months besides pop country radio stations ‘i got that summertime, summertime sadness’ ad infinitum. somehow I had decent pair of headphones and a small, black verizon smartphone circa July 2013. ‘do what you want, what you want with my body…’ Lady Gaga actually saved my life that day.
demon in the ikea medicine cabinet mirror giant rock of crystal missing water in the rig ‘was there even anything in there?!?!?!’ the mirror reflected back to me a stranger’s eyes mirror is another name for a stranger's eyes. i tabernacled in the high desert plains, Sheridan, Wyoming - powder river country.
i felt the God-force emerge yesterday up and outward from deep within my belly. but today i’m fussing over straw-men in plaster-of-paris suits and i ate tortured beef at a diner in Leesport, PA and I can’t turn back into the man I was no matter how hard I try.
so now I sit before the most holy apostle St. Jude located at Our Lady of Fatima Grotto across the street from Kings College, Wilkes-Barre, PA. ‘The quickest way to Hell are the temptations of the flesh, exclamation point.’ i came here to reclaim my value but i can’t seem to find it anywhere.
i keep getting flashbacks of the water in the rig and the screaming from the bathroom and if i didn’t tell somebody about this i was probably going to *****.
3 cheers for the Black Madonna and the big surrender. i’ve swallowed so many shadows by now that i don’t recognize myself in the mirror or in your eyes. but my body is a christmas tree and from the branches i hang plastic tinsel and crystals and broken timing chains and a cedar wood mala.
I see that Christ is always pointing to his sacred heart but no one ever told me that the anahata chakra had a back door. no wonder sometimes I feel like i’m a hydrogen bomb welded inside a lead casket. someone open the ******* door and let some light in.
the sun doesn’t rise from the west and there is no rest for the weary and to this day I act like that wasn’t only water in the rig.
I miss my old hair clippers I had them since before I got sober. at the rehab near Philly, I would trade rollies for head shaves until I learned that I could shave my own head without a mirror. that was ok with me, I saved on tobacco but I still had my cup and bowl out. like an anchorite begging for alms by the road side. some 3000 shaves of the head later and I don’t need a mirror for much anymore. I set the old clippers aside and I don't know where they went to.
When I wake up the sun is going down. I do my shopping beneath the cold chalice of the moonlight, cold glistening, somehow still reflecting of the Sun even though I said goodbye from my window to the early evening dawn 9 hours before the burning of the midnight oil. I chant and ring my bells so I don’t drift back to sleep. but I can still smell sulfur so I Aum and pray and ring the bells a little louder.
I found God on the carpet once. It only took me 14 hours to pick through every crystalline crumb that glistened in the kitchen light. the next morning I had a half soup spoon full of the Almighty but the hook and the plunger swallowed Him whole and with haste turned me back to dust.
sometimes I’ll make a to-do list with every strike of the pen another performance for the bushels and the bones, I like grocery shopping at night. normally there are only a few souls and old drifters wandering about and they usually keep their eyes pointed down. sometimes I practice small talk with the clerk, endeavoring to exchange appropriate amounts of eye contact throughout. personalities and performances and I am so tired of caring.
when I’m waking up the sun is going down but monica gave me a hand full of vitamin D and a fire in the hearth and sometimes the world Is like a seven pointed centrifuge. the heavy particles are all hitting the chalice walls and I’m spinning so fast all I can do is look up and breathe.
The swallows are singing swooping for the Black Madonna and the Popes of the white smoke.
God jumps from the sky to the spoon to the corkscrew and L/L research put up a new tweet: more from Hatonn about the bitter wine, and this being quite a dense illusion for the thickness of the veiling, and the chakras being tuned like strings on a harp to be plucked by the Hands of the Creator.
This isn’t the density of knowing as faith is the evidence for things unseen. I’m still half blind but I can hear them chanting and I’m just this side of single pointed thought but facebook keeps breaking my ****** attention. so I stand here awoken to the sun going down over the highway and the snakes winding up my spine and a mouth full of Vitamin D.
She says, "Chad, **** me hard." She puts her hands on my shoulders and slips on to my *******. She bangs herself while she thinks of me. She knocks on my front door and disrobes in the entryway. I cup her ******* with my hands as I **** her from behind. Our rocking motion ebbs and flows. I kiss her neck as she pulls back her hair. My lips slowly go down her shoulders onto her chest and I taste her salty skin We walk through a forest in daylight hand in hand. We bicycle to a coffee shop together and sit down at a booth with our warm mugs. Then I read this poem to her. The words dance in her receivers, she says "thank you". Then she walks away by herself With her memory of us together. Knowing we will meet again.
O silver and black knight of the forest, what goal have you taken up for the castle? "I seek to slay with my beauty only..." "Slay those cries and moans from lonely damsels."
"What business does an evil eye have in the land of purity and repose?" "I have many good deeds fine guardian." "Then enter secure, but let no evil in, or you will be cast out." .... "You have no business here until your wicked deeds are paid for, get out!"
"Hey, that's okay," a fair damsel allows me to part from my solitude. Put on the sandy veil of partnership, for the spirit has reached into the divine female and divine male. Let those chakras make a transpersonal point, but sacral business is all I see. Maidens forever young.
It seems an eunich has breached our display. But are we allowed back into the land of purity and repose? It seems the true goal of a babe's heart at the lap of his mother has entered the lair.
Now is the fair damsel taken to the merciless judge.
Now is a beautiful friend, waiting all this time, to exchange a breeze of heartfelt love. ****** purity is sought after, yet there is no place to hide a ****.
Light no longer is transferred from the 8th dimension. The male/female chakras above the crown open up again for sacral play. The sattvic essence remains, and I am held dearly at this party.
The children outlast me during the night.
I enter through a circular gate of pastel crystal petals into a deck of superstrength beings of all colors. A female face is grafted to mine. She puts on silver and black armor and the walls are crimson.
Meditation in front of a mirror and inside my pyramid made of clothes hangers.
Like a snake shedding skin, Only holding my identity to the moment You want to keep me frozen in time, frozen in space But I wasn’t even the same person a dozen days ago, constantly embrace the flow From one goal to the next, from one bed to the next Never dreaming of what's ahead, just ready for any tests Might trip up on my coolness and ponder on our past The long chats, the defined abs Abstract my memories are Glimpses in my art Fell before our hands met My heart burning up like a cigarette **** you still got your hook deep in this Pisces’ head
Brilliant beams sent by the moon to me Always understanding my perfect remedy Whenever the world is too chaotic I can always come to you for peace And serenity Guaranteed that I will feel better and at ease The orange flower birthed in my subconscious The bud was never a tracked process Like a rose that grew from concrete, we grew from doom From trauma and drama, it conceived me anew Get me my broom, let me taste the sky Get me my love, let us dance all night Put me underneath your tongue, show you a joyride Love being in love with you, so different than what we knew
ME: Nah bun all dat nonsense, this time I’ll switch grain. This time will be different. This time…
You might think the title a subtle reference to Mr.Anderson's role in the Matrix as The Adversary and that, as with Neo, it is by immersion in The Adversary that we can ameliorate our inner being and motivate ourselves. You might think this and my sub-conscious might agree.
The rest of me just chuckled at the text and slipped in a joke